Post 151.
This watch, I read the explanation of the Parable of the Sower in the gospel of Mark. In it, the Word is the seed, and we are the soil in which the seed lands. Satan, stealing hope and instigating despair, whispers to me that I am the rocky soil, and that in me the Word is received with joy, but with tribulation and hope for earthly riches my Faith withers and dies. Satan is the prince of lies. This lie works because, despite my growing closer to the Word in my suffering—in my professional failure as an academic, my financial fragility, my oft fruitless workdays, my lack of distinction, and lately in my shoulder pain—I persist in cultivating my marriage with the Lord. Even on days when passion is weak, I have meditated upon scripture, prayed for divine help, and lived as if Christ walks with me.
Comparison is the thief of joy. It’s an old saying, I suppose, for a reason: It holds truth. Comparison plans a seed of envy, increasing expectation for earthly riches. My expectation of earthly riches does not come in the form of money—certainly capital would be welcomed if the Lord sent it my way—but in earthly riches. Thomas Hardy’s last novel, Jude the Obscure, was originally titled the Simpletons. In it, the poor, rural Jude Fawley teaches himself Latin and some Greek and works hard to gain admittance to Christminster College, dreaming of becoming a scholar, a Doctor of Divinity, and maybe even a bishop. Hardy, the realistic and insightful author, never portrays Jude as faultless—in fact, his faults provide the novel with much of its deepest insights. Often readers of Hardy come to this novel with preconceptions, especially having read Hardy’s previous novels like Tess of the d’Urbervilles, where the pure and inherently noble Tess suffers misfortunes by an unjust society.
In comparison, Jude is complicated. He misunderstands much of what he reads, is boastful and self-centered, is filled with self-pride and persistent melancholy that leads to worsening of his situation. But is this critique even fair? Does he really worsen his situation from a penniless, unwanted child through his study and hard work, even if he never gains admittance to Christminster, is terrible at relationships, and fails to reach the proverbial stars? One could argue that when you start in a ditch, even if you don’t fully drag yourself from it, you have made some headway in a life of imperfect effort.
Some have suggested Jude is such a complex character—sometimes likeable but oft unpleasant—because Hardy modeled much of Jude on himself. Hardy was able to clutch the mirror of truth, holding it to himself and scrutinizing every defect and error while grasping only some of his virtues, and those with discernment into how even these are flawed. Many people who lack self-understanding, those today who are ignorant to original sin—at least their own—cannot empathize with Jude. When he, after pulling himself from being nobody, stands in a tavern reciting better than Christminster’s students, he exposes how the alma mater is nothing like the real mother Jude lived without. Hardy was right in changing the name of the novel from the Simpletons to Jude the Obscure, even if it places too much focus on one figure, Jude, and not enough to other interesting characters like Sue and Arabella. To call Jude, Sue, Arabella and the other simpletons, even in their most foolish, idiotic, and oafish instances, misses something important. We are these characters who scheme our successes, fail, hurt those we love most, compromise, and even in compromises fail, hate ourselves, and continue to push on, praying our efforts will one day be fruitful.
Our efforts never bear fruit, particularly when we were born in a ditch and pull ourselves out. This is because there is an implicit Bible verse that unlocks the mystery of this novel, Ephesians 2:8-9. Paul admonishes Christians that grace is a gift from the Lord, and that we cannot boast about our works, because they cannot save us. Jude, however hard he works, will never overcome the fallen society into which he was born and brutally raised. It is deformed to instill the hope for a golden crown but offers the poor only tin. But never fear because consecrated to the Lord are the poor in spirit (Matthew 5:3). The Christian who was, like Jude, born poor and worked fruitlessly accepts failure in the social world, because it is infused with diabolical iniquities and seemingly beautiful vices.
Through the grace of the Holy Spirit, hope in that which is undying can replace our defiled hope in acknowledgement, appreciation, and eminence. Love can replace defiled love. Goodness can replace defiled goodness. Truth can replace defiled truth. Beauty can replace defiled beauty.
Daniel J. Shevock
Link to the image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hardy_-_Jude_the_Obscure,_1896_(page_163_crop).jpg
This watch, I read the explanation of the Parable of the Sower in the gospel of Mark. In it, the Word is the seed, and we are the soil in which the seed lands. Satan, stealing hope and instigating despair, whispers to me that I am the rocky soil, and that in me the Word is received with joy, but with tribulation and hope for earthly riches my Faith withers and dies. Satan is the prince of lies. This lie works because, despite my growing closer to the Word in my suffering—in my professional failure as an academic, my financial fragility, my oft fruitless workdays, my lack of distinction, and lately in my shoulder pain—I persist in cultivating my marriage with the Lord. Even on days when passion is weak, I have meditated upon scripture, prayed for divine help, and lived as if Christ walks with me.
Comparison is the thief of joy. It’s an old saying, I suppose, for a reason: It holds truth. Comparison plans a seed of envy, increasing expectation for earthly riches. My expectation of earthly riches does not come in the form of money—certainly capital would be welcomed if the Lord sent it my way—but in earthly riches. Thomas Hardy’s last novel, Jude the Obscure, was originally titled the Simpletons. In it, the poor, rural Jude Fawley teaches himself Latin and some Greek and works hard to gain admittance to Christminster College, dreaming of becoming a scholar, a Doctor of Divinity, and maybe even a bishop. Hardy, the realistic and insightful author, never portrays Jude as faultless—in fact, his faults provide the novel with much of its deepest insights. Often readers of Hardy come to this novel with preconceptions, especially having read Hardy’s previous novels like Tess of the d’Urbervilles, where the pure and inherently noble Tess suffers misfortunes by an unjust society.
In comparison, Jude is complicated. He misunderstands much of what he reads, is boastful and self-centered, is filled with self-pride and persistent melancholy that leads to worsening of his situation. But is this critique even fair? Does he really worsen his situation from a penniless, unwanted child through his study and hard work, even if he never gains admittance to Christminster, is terrible at relationships, and fails to reach the proverbial stars? One could argue that when you start in a ditch, even if you don’t fully drag yourself from it, you have made some headway in a life of imperfect effort.
Some have suggested Jude is such a complex character—sometimes likeable but oft unpleasant—because Hardy modeled much of Jude on himself. Hardy was able to clutch the mirror of truth, holding it to himself and scrutinizing every defect and error while grasping only some of his virtues, and those with discernment into how even these are flawed. Many people who lack self-understanding, those today who are ignorant to original sin—at least their own—cannot empathize with Jude. When he, after pulling himself from being nobody, stands in a tavern reciting better than Christminster’s students, he exposes how the alma mater is nothing like the real mother Jude lived without. Hardy was right in changing the name of the novel from the Simpletons to Jude the Obscure, even if it places too much focus on one figure, Jude, and not enough to other interesting characters like Sue and Arabella. To call Jude, Sue, Arabella and the other simpletons, even in their most foolish, idiotic, and oafish instances, misses something important. We are these characters who scheme our successes, fail, hurt those we love most, compromise, and even in compromises fail, hate ourselves, and continue to push on, praying our efforts will one day be fruitful.
Our efforts never bear fruit, particularly when we were born in a ditch and pull ourselves out. This is because there is an implicit Bible verse that unlocks the mystery of this novel, Ephesians 2:8-9. Paul admonishes Christians that grace is a gift from the Lord, and that we cannot boast about our works, because they cannot save us. Jude, however hard he works, will never overcome the fallen society into which he was born and brutally raised. It is deformed to instill the hope for a golden crown but offers the poor only tin. But never fear because consecrated to the Lord are the poor in spirit (Matthew 5:3). The Christian who was, like Jude, born poor and worked fruitlessly accepts failure in the social world, because it is infused with diabolical iniquities and seemingly beautiful vices.
Through the grace of the Holy Spirit, hope in that which is undying can replace our defiled hope in acknowledgement, appreciation, and eminence. Love can replace defiled love. Goodness can replace defiled goodness. Truth can replace defiled truth. Beauty can replace defiled beauty.
Daniel J. Shevock
Link to the image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hardy_-_Jude_the_Obscure,_1896_(page_163_crop).jpg
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