From Kentucky with Love (July Newsletter)

Dear Friends,

Appalachia Service Project

Harlan County, Kentucky

Round 2

         This year we worked with Snapper (his given name), Autumn (Snapper’s significant other), Mamaw, and Uncle Andy.

         Snapper’s home, where his grandmother, Mamaw, was born and raised – and where she raised Snapper – hunkers at the foot of a vertical, west-facing, granite crag. From the front porch one can watch the skies delivering gentle rains or devastating storms. Just across the street, Jones’ Creek flows down from the mountains. The creeks banks are steep, and high, and tinseled shabbily with garbage. In those tight hollows, a 100-year rain would squeegee away everything in sight.

Three or four years ago a thunder storm slung a lightning bolt at a large oak tree tottering on the lip of the 50-foot bluff above Snapper’s home. About six weeks ago, the dead tree dropped from the cliff and landed squarely on the two-room addition that had been built on the north side of the house. Snapper’s kitchen and bedroom were destroyed. No one was hurt. Our job was to begin constructing a new addition.

The front porch, where the family goes to escape the heat, to watch the weather, and to smoke (Mamaw is on oxygen inside), is the kitchen and laundry room now. Stove/Oven, washer and dryer are crammed on the porch. All are plugged up and fully operable. To enter Snapper’s yard is, essentially, to enter his kitchen. And that seems appropriate, metaphorically anyway.

Life in the hills of eastern Kentucky can be cruel. Young people often find themselves unwelcome in their own homes. Mamaw, like the unforgettable “whiskey priest” in Graham Greene’s novel, The Power and the Glory, learned to live according to the laws of a rough-edged hospitality appropriate to her place and time. Over the years, many dispossessed young folks found refuge in that small house crouched up against the rocks in defiant grace.

“You cain’t jus’ turn’em away,” says Snapper who is only thirty-six. Mamaw has passed the torch to him. He cares for her. And for his challengingly disabled Uncle Andy. And for whoever drops by. These days, the visitors are mostly middle-aged men checking on the now-elderly lady who welcomed them years ago. They drop by to say hello. To remember. To help if they can.

Compassion creates its own gravity. It is called gratitude.

                                                  Peace,

                                                         Allen

I was glad when they said to me,
     “Let us go to the house of the Lord!”

Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.

Jerusalem—built as a city that is bound firmly together.

To it the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord,
     as was decreed for Israel,
         to give thanks to the name of the Lord. (Ps. 122:1-4)

Table Grace (August Newsletter)

Dear Friends,

         “I love summer.”

         My wife says this almost every evening between July and late September when our table is laid with fresh vegetables and summer fruits that she has just picked from her garden or bought at the farmers’ market.

         “I love your cooking,” I say, regardless of the season.

         We both love not just to eat, but to eat well. And we do recognize that the bounty that fills our plates – be it animal or vegetable – was once a living creature whose life now sustains our lives. And we do express our gratitude for that which we cannot live without, but which we cannot create for ourselves.

         I offer, then, the following table prayer to you. Use it if you like. Share it with others if it seems appropriate to do so. Remember, too, the true measure of gratitude lies not in the words we say, but in the generosity it inspires. So, may your own recognitions of God’s grace lead you to new expressions of generosity toward others.

                                                               Peace,

                                                                        Allen

     Table Grace

Our hungry dependence

     upon the earth

     is our prayer to you, O God.

In its abundance

     we hear your

     gracious reply.

So we receive this meal

     in humble gratitude.

And as we season our food,

     by your Spirit,

     season our thanks

     with generosity,

          that all may eat

          and have enough.

Amen.

The Heresy of Grace (Sermon [Revised, May 2016])

“The Heresy of Grace”

Ephesians 3

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

(Revised - 5/2/16, for a community worship service)

         

In my opinion, Ephesians 3 provides a window into the very heart and soul of Christian spirituality.

         Paul regularly writes to Gentiles who, for countless generations, have been treated as less than human by the Jewish community – at least by the theologically severe Pharisees. Having assumed the role of protectors of Abrahamic tradition, Pharisees consider themselves the gatekeepers of religious purity. And having codified not only laws and doctrines, but specific prejudices and fears, they have reduced the world to Jews and non-Jews

         Into that culture of black-and-white, right-and-wrong, us-and-them, an iconoclastic, Galilean rabbi has lived in such a way as to reveal the full promise of God’s covenant with Abram.

         “The Lord said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.’” (Gen 12:1-3)

         Pharisaic Judaism claims the first part of that covenant while largely ignoring the second part. After Constantine, the Christian church develops the same spiritual pathology. So, in many ways, over the last 1700 years, the church has lived as curse as often as it has (as we have) we have lived as blessing. The late British missionary, teacher, and author, Lesslie Newbigin, was fond of saying that the “greatest heresy…in monotheism results from taking the first half of God’s call to Abraham…and neglecting or rejecting the second half.”¹

         It is ironic: When followers of Jesus have tried to live as he lived, offering help, forgiveness, community, and hope without rigid preconditions, Pharisaic Christianity, being hostile and clannish, declares such efforts unbiblical, even heretical.

Throughout his letter to the Ephesians, Paul embraces the second half of that seminal covenant. He declares that God is Mystery, and that all life – everywhere and for all time – comes from, belongs to, and returns to God.

“With all wisdom and insight,” Paul writes in Ephesians 1, God “has made known to us the mystery of his will…a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.”

Ephesians 3 continues this affirmation. Listen for God’s Word to you and to God’s church.

Ephesians 3 - NRSV

¹This is the reason that I Paul am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles— ²for surely you have already heard of the commission of God’s grace that was given me for you, ³and how the mystery was made known to me by revelation, as I wrote above in a few words, ⁴a reading of which will enable you to perceive my understanding of the mystery of Christ. ⁵In former generations this mystery was not made known to humankind, as it has now been revealed to his holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit: ⁶that is, the Gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.

⁷Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God’s grace that was given me by the working of his power. ⁸Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ, ⁹and to make everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things; ¹⁰so that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places. ¹¹This was in accordance with the eternal purpose that he has carried out in Christ Jesus our Lord, ¹²in whom we have access to God in boldness and confidence through faith in him. ¹³I pray therefore that you may not lose heart over my sufferings for you; they are your glory.

¹⁴For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, ¹⁵from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. ¹⁶I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, ¹⁷and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. ¹⁸I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, ¹⁹and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

²⁰Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, ²¹to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

“The plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God.” Paul also calls it “the eternal purpose…carried out in Christ,” and “the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge.” This well-planned mystery gives “every family in heaven and on earth…its name.”

Do you hear the echoes of God’s promise to Abram? “I will bless you, and make your name great, so that…in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”

Abram packs up his family and his belongings. He gets a new name, Abraham. He begins a new family, Israel. In his wanderings, belongings are replaced by belonging. He is “rooted and grounded in love,” a Love that “surpasses knowledge,” and “dwells in his heart by faith.”

         The Cloud of Unknowing is a timeless, spiritual classic. It is a letter written by an anonymous, 14^th-century mentor to a novice just beginning his monastic journey. Toward the beginning of the book, the author offers this foundational, if confusing teaching: “Lift up your heart to God, with a humble impulse of love; and have [God] as your aim, not any of his goods…labor in it until you experience the desire. For when you first begin to undertake it, all that you find is a darkness, a sort of cloud of unknowing…This darkness and cloud is always between you and your God, no matter what you do, and it prevents you from seeing him by the light of understanding in your reason…So set yourself to rest in this darkness as long as you can…For if you are to see…or to experience [God] at all…it must always be in this cloud and in this darkness.”²

         Whoever said God is all sweetness and light – bless his heart.

         Abram enters the dark, unknowing cloud of Love by going, though he has no idea what or where.

Moses, a fugitive felon, enters it by confronting Pharaoh and demanding the release of Pharaoh’s entire Hebrew labor force.

Isaiah describes the Cloud of Unknowing as the landscape of a God whose “thoughts and ways” are incomprehensible to humankind.

Jesus embodies the cloud by giving human expression to those incomprehensible thoughts and ways. He fearlessly demonstrates the “breadth and length and height and depth” of the perfect Love and the heretical grace of God. Paul calls it “scandal of the cross.”

         We cannot create the Cloud of Unknowing. We simply enter it by faith.

Almost a year ago now, nine senseless deaths in a Charleston church cast us into the dark mystery. How have we responded? Some states removed Confederate flags from public buildings. Many individuals have flown the stars and bars all the more because of that. Still, the wider body, wisely choosing critical reflection over biased nostalgia, has said, ‘We remove this symbol to museums, to places of interpretive remembrance.’ Whether this was a good step into the cloud remains to be seen.

Few lawmakers are willing to risk their lives on the slippery slope of gun control. And maybe stricter laws would help. Maybe not.

Here’s the thing: The lowering of flags and the passing of laws are outward, symbolic actions. Societies that experience progress, growth, and healing usually have some bold and hopeful core who enters the Cloud of Unknowing on behalf of the whole. They wade into the darkness. They – and We are part of They – so, we entrust ourselves to the mysterious workings of Love, where visible acts reflect invisible, spiritual transformation. Only Love and Gratitude can transform outward action into sacramental living. Until then, our responses to violence and fear will likely remain superficial – bruises rather than scars.

         It seems to me that the Church’s role on earth is to re-present the sacramental life of Christ for the earth. When “rooted and grounded in love,” the Church exists not for its own sake, but so that in us “all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”

         It was a blistering hot day when the Confederate flag came down over the South Carolina state capitol. Celebrants and protestors alike wearied in the heat. At one point, an elderly white gentleman wearing a black t-shirt with a swastika emblazoned on the front began to show signs of dangerous heat exhaustion. A black police officer – in fact, the head of the SC Department of Public Safety – saw the man’s distress. He immediately held the man upright and led him up the 40 or so stairs to the capitol. Inside, the black officer situated the white man comfortably in an air-conditioned room and left him in the care of a black EMT.

A snapshot of the officer helping the withering, neo-Nazi protestor got posted on the internet and seen around the world.

         The officer, Leroy Smith, “said he was taken aback by the worldwide attention but hoped the image would help society move past the recent spasms of hate and violence…Asked why he thinks the photo has had such resonance, he gave a simple answer: Love.

         ‘I think that’s the greatest thing in the world,’ he said, ‘love. And that’s why so many people were moved by it.’”³

         “Rulers and authorities” can fight their wars, raise and lower their flags, enact and repeal their laws. And you and I, we simply cannot afford to find solace in clannish religion. We can no longer serve as drones of hostility and fear. We who live, and move, and have our being in the Household of God must be rooted and grounded in the Love of Christ which surpasses all knowing – and all ignorance.

When abiding in grateful, fearless Love, even our most personal actions become sacramental acts of community.

They are acts of the transforming, heretical grace through which God is choosing, and blessing “all the families of the earth.” 

¹Brian D. McLaren, A Generous Orthodoxy, Zondervan, Grand Rapids, MI, 2004. Pp.120-121.

²The Cloud of Unknowing, Author Unknown, Paulist Press, Ed., James Walsh, 1981. Pp. 119-121.

³http://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/black-south-carolina-trooper-explains-why-he-embraced-a-white-supremacist/ar-AAduOIF

The Most Important Thing (Sermon)

“The Most Important Thing”  

Mark 12:28-34

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

7/12/15

         Jesus has come to Kingsport for what promises to be the mother of all presbytery meetings. All the gatekeeper types are in a stew at the way he’s been walking that fine line between prophet and heretic. They claim that he has thumbed his nose at scripture. They have him on record saying, “I know the Bible says that you should take an eye for an eye, but I disagree. If a person hits you on the right cheek, turn the left to them, as well.” Whether by word or deed, rewriting scripture is like a recreational sport for Jesus. And he has thrown the Book of Order out the window. Imagine, letting his disciples go to Food City on Sunday, letting them rub elbows with Hispanics, AIDS patients, drug dealers, Alabama fans*, and people who drive Fords. 

         This apostasy won’t do. It’s time to nip it in the bud. So the Committee on Ministry has scrambled. They’ve cobbled together an ad hoc committee to bring charges against this itinerate preacher from Johnson County.

         The presbytery gathers in a large sanctuary for a called meeting. Tension hangs in the air like an odor everyone is pretending to ignore. The committee clusters in the back. They compare notes. Their eyes are fierce. They’ll try first to challenge Jesus’ authority.

When the meeting begins, Jesus tells them he’ll answer their questions, after they answer one of his.

“Dr. Martin Luther King,” says Jesus. “Did he preach the gospel, or was he just some rabble-rousing black man?”

The committee members look at each other in silence. They’re not about to touch that one.

         They shuffle some papers.

“Teacher,” someone says, “we work hard for our money, but the government taxes us blind. Wouldn’t God prefer it if we kept our money and gave it to those in need as we see fit?”

         “Will someone loan me a dollar?” asks Jesus. A wrinkled bill floats hand-to-hand through the crowd. Jesus holds it high and points to a place on the back of bill. “What does that say?” he asks.

         “In God We Trust,” reads the man.

         “Well, do you?” asks Jesus. “Do you really trust God more than you trust this dollar?”

A snicker ripples through the room. Some are beginning to enjoy watching the committee sweat for a change.

         Members of the press have come to the meeting, too. Of course, they don’t care about all the religious stuff. They just want to sell papers, so they begin to mock everyone.

“Hey, Jesus!” one of them yells from the balcony, “when you die and God gives you you’re fancy nightgown and wings and stuff, if you die young will you be young in heaven, and if you die old will you be old in heaven? If so, would you pray that a truck runs over me today? ‘Cause I’m pretty young and feel pretty good right now. I wouldn’t mind feeling like this forever!”

         Jesus peers into the balcony. Grief and Love collide on his face. Every person in the room who sees his expression, and who has ever truly loved, feels the sad ache of Jesus’ disappointment.

“You sound kind of dead already,” says Jesus. “Yes. I’ll pray for you.”

         The reporter’s grin flat lines.

More silence. Who will speak next?

         The committee’s secretary steps out of the crowd and walks up to Jesus. “Teacher,” he says, “in your opinion, out of everything we teach, preach, and debate, what is the most important thing of all?”

         His voice is genuine, his face honest. Jesus feels his own heart lift.

“Jehovah is one,” he says. “Love God, then, with all your courage and enthusiasm. Love God with all your forward momentum, with all your thoughtfulness and cleverness. Love God with all of your God-given breath. That is the first most important thing. And the second follows inseparably from the first: Love one another. Love one another as if you were loving yourself. Nothing is more important than Love. Nothing.”

         The man nods thoughtfully and says, “You’re right. Honest-to-goodness, fearless Love is more important than any religious tradition or moral code.”

         “You’re on God’s path,” says Jesus. “You are not far from home.”

------------------------------------

         A scribe asks Jesus about the most important commandment. When he hears Jesus’ answer, in the midst of a very tense and public conflict, the man boldly agrees with Jesus. Loving God and neighbor always trumps doctrinal correctness and ritual purity. This constitutes a brand new and radically transforming foundation: Faithfulness to the Law is a matter of Love, not of adherence to the mandates of legalistic religion.

         Years ago, the great Fred Craddock summed it up well: “Important as the search for truth is,” he wrote, “the kingdom of God is not agreeing on the right answers…It is rather living, doing, and relating in ways that the love of God and love of neighbor inspire, inform, and discipline.”

         That is profoundly liberating, redeeming – and challenging. Of all the answers that the scribe might expect or want, nothing could be more demanding than the command to Love with every stitch and fiber of our being. It’s demanding, because it is clear that by “neighbor” Jesus means pretty much everyone, even – and maybe even especially – those folks we don’t much like.

Christlike Love is not a romantic emotion. And the covetous materialism of saying things like, “Oh, I love your new car!” actually impedes Christlike Love. Christlike Love is the cross-bearing work of striving for the well-being of others and of the creation, even when it means sacrificing our own carefully scheduled comfort or pleasure. It means speaking hard truths, though not in order to beat down and conquer, but rather that all people and all things might be lifted up into the boundless grace, and mercy, and Love of God.

Now, we don’t even see eye-to-eye on what those “truths” are, much less who’s right or wrong. That’s why individual Christians, just like congregations and whole denominations, are always falling out with each other. It would have been so much easier if Jesus had just said that the most important things are to say “please and thank you,” to remove your hat when you come inside, sacrifice a goat once a week, a bull every fifth Sunday, and wash your hands before meals. On the whole, human beings tend to prefer measurable, black-and-white codes. But as first-century Pharisaism illustrates, codifying behavior always devolves into comparative, competitive, and thus abusive religion.

         I know I keep harping on this, but in the deep polarization of our times, it is tempting to deal with our neighbors competitively rather than cooperatively, fearfully rather than Lovingly.

         The story of Jesus and the scribe offers gospel hope to us. In the midst of a chaotic sea of division, these two adversaries step onto an island of understanding and unity. On that island they embrace as brothers. They remind all of us that regardless of differences, the most important thing, the unifying thing, is the long and demanding road of Love.

Could God ask anything simpler than for us to Love one another?

Could God ask anything more difficult than for us to Love one another with the same Love with which Jesus Loves those who crucify him?

         Jesus, the Christ, embodies the immeasurable, technicolor Love of God. And that living Love empowers us to do that which by ourselves would be impossible.

There is simply nothing in this life, says Jesus, nothing more important than striving to Love as God Loves us.

*It’s an SEC thing. Forgive me.

Compassionate Conflict (Sermon)

“Compassionate Conflict”

Mark 5:1-20

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

7/5/15

         All I know about multiple-personality disorder I infer from the name of the condition itself. And if I spell schizophrenia correctly, credit my computer’s autocorrect. Only two things can teach much about complex mental illnesses, and they are extensive training in psychology, or walking faithfully with a loved one who suffers from such a condition. Because of that, when wading into the biblical story of the Gerasene demoniac, we have to lay aside any curiosities regarding the man’s diagnosis. Those are rabbit trails.

We also have to resist the urge to focus on the man’s instant healing. Even well-intentioned proclamations that such recoveries can happen, because ‘with God, all things are possible,’ usually become excuses, ways to distance ourselves from suffering. Excuses cause us to deny, or even to lose our purely Christ-imaged capacity for compassion – which means, of course, to suffer with. And even if our compassion does not actually heal the mental illness, or the leprosy, or the paralysis, or the cancer, it does offer a renewing wholeness. To enter the suffering of another says to them, I still see the indescribable beauty of your full humanity. I will not leave you alone.

         Entering another person’s suffering is difficult because it almost always leads us deeper into our own suffering. It may also reveal how we have caused suffering in others. So for us, the man living among the tombs represents that all-too-real place of chaotic un-reality which lies between the conflicting pulls of conscious and unconscious powers. Inside him, lives a legion of deliberate disorder crying, “We are reality! Do this!” And outside him, other legions, the Gerasene community and everyone else, shout, “No! We are reality. Do that!” Unable to manage these irreconcilable mandates, the man often finds himself shackled and chained.

         Terror can be a source of superhuman strength. It can be a powerful anesthetic, too. So when bound, the man goes berserk. When the psychotic mist thins just enough, he discovers that his chains have been broken, but his battered body aches. His throat hurts. Perhaps he experiences a brief calm. Soon enough, though, it starts all over: Do this! No! Do that!

         Our world is full of folks like this man. Who lives among the tombs. On the other side of the lake. We may often find ourselves helplessly bound to one legion or another. When caught in this unsustainable dualism, we demand that life be all this or all that, all right or all wrong, all us or all them. To bind ourselves to a single legion, whether interior or exterior, is to become terrified, terrifying, howling, destructive creatures. We lose, at least temporarily, our sanctifying capacity for compassion. We become, at least temporarily, incapable of grace and peace.

         In his book Owning Your Own Shadow, Robert Johnson uses the word “fanaticism” to refer to this common form of possession. “Fanaticism,” writes Johnson, “is always a sign that one has adopted one pair of opposites at the expense of the other. The high energy of fanaticism is a frantic effort to keep one half of the truth at bay while the other half takes control. This always yields a brittle and unrelatable personality.”¹

         While fanaticism can be as devastating as mental illness, the two are not the same. Fanaticism, says Johnson, “depends on ‘being right.’ We may want to hear what the other is saying, but [we become] afraid when the balance of power starts to shift. The old equation is collapsing and [we] are sure that [we] will lose [ourselves] if [we] ‘give in.’ And how the ego works to keep the status quo!”²

         Of course, fanatics can be agents of change as well as champions of convention. Johnson acknowledges this with a wonderfully descriptive image. “When the unstoppable bullet hits the impenetrable wall,” he says, “we find the religious experience.”³

Remember, our word “religion” derives from the Latin word ligare, which means “to connect.” We get our word “ligament” from the same source. The fundamental nature and purpose of re-ligare, of the “religious experience is,” says Johnson, ‘to bond, repair, draw together, to make whole, to find out that which is anterior to the split condition. Our future lies in this religious vision.”⁴

         True religion recognizes that “the split condition,” what we are used to calling sin, is not our fundamental reality. To think that our true nature is sin, and that we are all going to hell unless we say the right things with the right words, is to be as detached from reality as the Gerasene demoniac. True religion seeks to reunite us with the wholeness, the Holy Love, which still lies at the deepest heart of our being. This is the healing our story illustrates. This is our religious vision – not to “accept Christ into our hearts” as if he were not there until we gave him permission. That would be a pretty impotent savior. We accept that he is, has always been and will always be our original and eternal reality.

While Christ may be our primordial and perfected reality, unstoppable bullets are slamming into impenetrable walls all around us, aren’t they? When they hit, both bullet and wall are destroyed. And this devastating “religious experience” always leads to something new.

That is where we come in.

         As the Church, we cannot provide a foothold for fanaticism. We are called to be a place where legions, where unstoppable bullets and impenetrable walls may safely collide. We are called to be an impact zone for religious experiences through which human beings re-connect to the health and wholeness that lies before our “split condition.”

That means, of course, we must enter the deep human suffering on both sides of clashes over care of creation, healthcare, human sexuality, and how to appropriate the various symbols of our varied histories. Even if hogs drown the process (Even if it costs us idols as beloved as bacon!), the church must be a place where substantive conflict is welcomed, but where God’s Spirit of Love and grace shapes that conflict. There will be no peace for any of us if we ignore the “split condition” around us and within us. There will be only more howling, chain-rattling, bone-crushing agony.

Good Friday is our most memorable and transforming metaphor for the unstoppable bullet meeting the impenetrable wall. And the result of the devastation is always healing experience of Easter.

Easter’s table is set before us. It is set with a foretaste of the kingdom, a glimpse our already-happening future. Our future is our re-connection – our re-ligare – to the Loving, gracious, and compassionate wholeness from which we have come.

At this table, may you see anew the Christ within you.

May you see Christ anew in others.

And may we all discover, once again, that the compassion and Love between us, is, in truth, Christ’s eternal, Eastering presence in, with, and for, all creation.

Charge to Congregation:

When the man,

restored to his God-imaged wholeness,

asks to follow Jesus,

Jesus refuses.

Stay here, he says.

Tell your story here,

         among your family and friends.

Having been fed at the table of holy impact,

we, too, are being restored

to our original wholeness.

We, too, are called to witness right here,

         among family and friends,

to the healing compassion of God’s eternal Christ.

¹Robert A. Johnson, Owning Your Own Shadow: Understanding the Dark Side of the Psyche. Harper One, New York, NY, 1991, p. 90.

²Ibid., p. 90.

³Ibid., p. 92.

⁴Ibid., p. 90.