The Heart of Marx

 

We have been reading Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s ‘The Gulag Archipelago’ and it is obvious that a powerful and ruthlessly evil intelligence was behind this slaughter of over fifty million Russian innocent people. How does a country recover from that? Solzhenitsyn’s book totally exposed this evil for what it was in a way that the USSR could not slip out of. Their ideology was finally seen for that it was. Nowadays this book is mandatory reading for Russian adolescents (at least we have been led to believe that) in order that it never happens again (at least in Russia). Communism is waxing in other places so it is certainly important that we get to the root cause. Let us inspect the heart of one of the original thinkers of this doctrine, Karl Marx.

Over 200 years ago, Karl Marx was born (5 May 1818) in the Prussian city of Trier, Prussia, into an Ashkenazi Jewish family. Karl's father, Herschel Marx, was a lawyer and his mother, Henrietta Pressburg, was a semi-literate Dutch Jew. He was the third of the nine children born to his parents and was baptized in the Lutheran Church. How might Karl have felt as a Jew having to perform as a Christian? How coerced was this for himself and his siblings?

In 1830 Karl Marx attended Trier Gymnasium ‘secondary education’ and then in 1835 he enrolled at the Bonn University as a law student. To do this, he was adequately supported financially by his father. In the summer of 1836, Karl was engaged to Jenny von Westphalen in Trier. He then enrolled at Berlin University to continue law and pursue philosophy, with a strong interest in Hengel.

While still a student Marx had begun to express his deeper self through his poetry, “I wish to avenge myself against the One who rules above”.

From the poem ‘Invocation of One in Despair’ are the words:

So a god has snatched from me my all

In the curse and rack of destiny.

All his worlds are gone beyond recall!

Nothing but revenge is left to me!

I shall build my throne high overhead,

Cold, tremendous shall its summit be.

For its bulwark – superstitious dread.

For its marshal – blackest agony.

Who looks on it with a healthy eye

Shall turn back, deathly pale and dumb

Clutched by blind and chill mortality.

May his happiness prepare his tomb.

From another poem written during his student years, “The Player”:

The hellish vapours rise and fill the brain,

Till I go mad and my heart is utterly changed.

See this sword?

The prince of darkness sold it to me.

For me he beats the time and gives the signs.

Ever more boldly I play the dance of death.

The purchase of a sword from Satan and its cutting to spill blood is listed as part of a satanic rite. At this stage, Karl would be in too deep to easily return to what is good and wholesome.

From the poetic drama of his “Oulanem”:

(Act 1, Scene 2)

Yet I have power within my youthful arms

To clench and crush you [i.e. personified

Humanity] with tempestuous force,

While for us both the abyss yawns in darkness

You will sink down and I shall follow laughing,

Whispering in your ears, ‘Descent,

Come with me, friend.’

 (Act 1, Scene 3)

Ruined, ruined. My time has clean run out

The clock has stopped, the pygmy house has crumbled.

Soon I shall embrace eternity at my breast, and soon

I shall howl gigantic curses on mankind.

The above references are drawn from: Marx, Karl und Friedrich Engles, Historisch-kritisch Gesamtausgabe. Werke, Schriften, Briefe. (Complete Historical Critical Edition. Works, Writings, Letters) on behalf of the Marx-Engles Institute, Moscow, published by David Rjazanov. (Frankfurt-am-Main: Marx-Engles Archive, 1927), from the pages ranging from 30-68.

What Marx reveals in the imagery of his youthful poetry (which soon discontinues) is that he made a critical turn into Satan’s hands while still a student at the university. He believed God was real enough but set out to punish God for reasons unclear. The words above feel as though it is Satan not Marx writing them and they make much more sense when read that way.

A letter (2 March 1837) from Karl’s father reflected a growing concern: “Your advancement, the dear hope of seeing your name someday of great repute, and your earthly well-being are not the only desires of my heart. These are illusions I had for a long time, but I can assure you that their fulfilment would not have made me happy. Only if your heart remains pure and beats humanly and if no demon is able to alienate your heart from better feelings, only then will I be happy.” (ibid., p. 203)

This father to son letter was too little and too late. Karl wrote to his father later that year (10 November 1837): “A curtain has fallen. My holy of holies was rent asunder and new gods had to be installed.” (ibid., 218) He was obviously very reluctant to admit to his father that the new gods were Satan and his legion.

The following year, 10 May 1838 his father died. Marx graduated with a doctorate in philosophy in 1841, then late in 1842 he first met Engels. They then work together to sow discontent in German and French society. In the course of their lives they create a counter-productive narrative, exploiting ever-present injustice. Through Moses Hess, who introduced the socialist ideal, Marx and Engels saw in it a way of destroying religion and politics. That was it! Socialism was to be the bait to entice intellectuals to embrace Satan’s perpetual agenda of destroying God’s creation.

It is clearer now! The Communist Manifesto carries with it an aggressive anti-Christian doctrine, which in the case of Russia slaughtered over fifty million innocent people (one hundred million souls as an upper estimate). Marx’s heart, through his poetry, exposes the origin of this sinister plot. Christians for their part, once self-stripped of the trappings of materialism (pride and the like), will find ways to live the socialist ideal, applying truth and equality to all and still preserve individual sovereignty and respect. That is the very ideology that Satan fears.

So we are in a cycle of needing to share some hard truths about Marx as the devil’s elect servant and the importance of never letting the history of the Russian ‘experiment’ fade. History will repeat itself on a people who forget. Posted with prayerful care.

Beach Walk

Wind behind beach ahead, water glimmering calling to join

Dogs upon dogs everywhere, freely running and panting

Water rolling, rolling gently forward, wetting naked feet

Cold steps, shoes under arm, letting water bite and splash

Hello black dog looming past unknown, and round again dripping

Raising black thoughts long past long forgotten like the wind

Walked like this before, once again deep in mind and heart

Water foaming, gentle rolling and bubbling, return them to mind

Dogs of every kind, happy white dogs and black, chasing a ball

Running back with it to chase it again, across the glossy surface

Cold water stinging, bare feet not caring, striding forth, thinking

Onward forever onward, not catching up, giving up, turning around

Headland goal too far to reach, turn now and face the wind

How constant it is, gently caressing, lessening each step

Keep walking not letting it win, any other choice but acceptance

Feelings grow stockpiled as memories heap unrelenting 

Walking easy, thinking, seeing pictures to take, retracing each step

Black dog close yet far in a mix of positive and negative swings

Like wet seaweed scattered about the sand in random expression

Ending in collection and recollection, in love and compassion

Many walkers with memories a-rolling with gentle surf a-braking

Taking or leaving with wind lifting resolve to whole new levels

Thoughts past with others present like wet sand over cold feet

Grey sea windswept clouds, solitary thoughts offering more 

Now the walk is done, occasions opened and memories touched

Feelings exposed, wounds remembered, times long gone

Consume them now with a warming and thawing, easing toes

Fish, chips and breaking sun saying, enough, soak me and eat 

A poem by Peter after our walk on Fisherman's Beach Torquay.

The Start of Easter' 18

Breaking up from school

Entering into holidays

Making Principal reports

Booking a PD

Finishing early breakfast

Reflecting on the cross

Singing worship songs

Partaking in bread and wine

Welcoming friends

Enjoying chocolate strawberries

Watching Passion YouTubes

Chilling out

Tank watering garden

Shopping at Coles

Shopping at Safeway

Harvesting greens

Doing family catch-up

Listening to classics

Chopping vegies

Steaming rice

Autumn full moon

Mature pumpkins in the glow

Munching hard crossed buns

Getting back the hour

Upward Bound with Menergy

Menergy is the name of our Victorian Men's Wellbeing gathering. Providing a place of safety is one of the most dynamic things we can do and listening is one of the most valuable things we can do for another. These were key ingredients for the 48 men who came. The wounded healer was found there at the edge of things, still healing. Below are random and rare images from the event and below that a poem truly inspired by it.

Upward Bound - Leaving Menergy 2103

We have surfaced from going deep

Found gems we were destined to keep

In workshop windows we dived for this

Birthing riches in the abyss

As men we opened our hearts to bless

Holding each other up no less

Shaking floors and hearts enduring

Love affirmed and life assuring

We embraced each other a brotherly kiss

Our warrior bow is more than a wish

We’re unbound and free to see

The Power of the Divine Mystery

Committee Call

Brother souls hear my call

Men to gather one and all

Fire bright in the standing

Prayer and pipe in the handing

Lifting flames and the falling

Beating heart hear me calling

Sharing deep a new day dawning

Starry night fuggy morning

Letting God

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Be still and know that God is God
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Spending time waiting on the LORD
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In the shade of life 
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In the gentle flow of the Spirit of God
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Resting against the trunk of stability
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Bound to God's call to wholeness
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Weekend Rhythms

For the long weekend (Melbourne Cup) we both went our different ways. Peter to Menergy and Barb to Tasmania. 

Menergy Rhythms included 37 very special men sitting with their drums sharing a common beat. The ages went up from 20 to the oldest man there at 90. The drums were not the only thing that happened. This was a time of great healing and inspiration to do life better.

Menergy Connecting

A true and wonderful gift is to listen generously to another.  

When we do that, we encourage him to find meaning and hope

and help him to know that he matters.  

When we travel with another and share joys and sorrows,

our hearts will touch and find fire in the centre.

Let us try to do this as naturally as breathing.  

No matter how our own journey has transpired,

we have the power to... collaborate... with life in this way.  

If tears are falling, we add to them. 

When another is happy and celebrating, we celebrate too,

and congratulate him. 

We listen generously and by doing so we heal.  

The discovery for doing this, the motivation behind this,

is that our response reflects back... on us. 

If we judge, we judge ourselves. 

If we encourage, we encourage ourselves,

and the happiness reaches out and touches us.  

This attitude has the power to raise us

to a new level of consciousness,  

that we may be able to more easily escape

those negative feelings that await.  

We can dream creatively and help others that way,

when we invite wonder and possibility.  

Strengthening life connects our puzzle pieces

and blesses the life in us.

Peter Ackland - school chaplain 

The labyrinth was carefully cleaned up and repaired by a devoted number of men and Peter walked it twice on the last day.

The dining room had beautiful living Australian bush vistas, each window a new pictorial experience.

The chapel was home for many of the workshops and served as the venue for Peter's daily reflection group. They were a special group of guys.

While that was happening, Barb linked up with her sister in Tazzi and they did a bit of natural dying of old woolen blankets. Parts of particular Australian plants, such as some types of gum nuts and leaves have the potential to leave a lasting stain in greens and many earth colours, provided you do it right. Barb and Donna had a very creative weekend.

Window Light

In their own way windows have special significance. Right from early civilization a window represented a portal into another realm. Occasionally, God opens a window just for a moment and we might see things with renewed clarity. Light enters through a window and illuminates what has little or no light. The same light enters the camera lens. The effect may be a softening of forms kindling the romantic eye. On the other hand a sunbeam takes the eye to only that which is lit. Both share the same window. One pliable and one brutal through the window.

Water Stories

In goes the token and in you go till the light goes red, then stop, wait. There comes the movement, the mechanical arms, the spraying, the soap and finally more spraying followed by a blow dry. The car is then assumed to be clean, and made that way after a thorough wipe over at home.

The day would start fine. The air would feel heavily humid and about our sticky sweaty bodies. And we turn on the ‘conditioner’. The laundry dries quickly enough but you have to watch the sky like a hawk. That cloud is looking heavier suddenly. Bring the clothes in before it is too late. They’ll have to do. And then it falls. It’s a natural cycle, each time the water is further purified and the rain is refreshing, and in a twisted carefree sense a blessed relief.

Where water collects it shares our journey. Where it cannot move it waits as still as a mirror for slow evaporation, to return again somewhere else, maybe next time running along the edge of a leaf. It does not matter. It holds life together. It turns the world the right way around and causes us to rest in its splendour and ponder its power.

The rush of the creek, sleek movement over randomly laid rocks, broken and smoothed by the erosive action. Pulled by gravity, the water masses together and races in free abandon headlong down, forever down, held up only in the eddying pools along the way. The sound it makes is a happy song of nature as water traps air in a variety of popping and gurgling tunes that delight the ear. All those little air bubbles burst in rapid succession as the water tumbles and catches still more. Over the next collection of rocks the water falls making more music further down, always drowned by the sound of more water coming, a cacophony of splashing and crashing in a rush to get there.

Daily therapy of the straw

Our Magna Carter shakes at its core

We are under the water and needing more

Straws for those who are under drowning

Wanting help to contend with the clowning

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Rescuers become persecutors if allowed to burn

They feel the heat and go to sleep in their turn

Passing the buck to others on fire

Filo and salad kindly served our desire

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There is not much rope and life lines few

Our aroma mixed with poison anew

And some of it sticks so we go to recoup

We need space to talk over a bowl of hot soup

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Drinking flat white down with the leaf undisturbed

Sucking under and leaving the outer preserved

Sunken image a delicate sign of our state

Tuscan beans are very broad on the plate

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Dripping lemon juice over crusty bread

Buying a book and enjoying the spread

Watching hanging birds in clear glass frames

A Sleeping Brolga and flying Ibis amongst other names

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A hanging Honey Sucker too expensive for us

We buy recipes and healing scripts as such

Ways to wash revenge that seems to stay

We draw this straw of breath today

For Every Window

There is a different glow for every window

Flashy arrows shoot through our panes

Refracted rays from within and without

Transparent gains of having such frames

Such as these in a wall tall and dark

House eyes that open with curtains that fall

Scraping floor and skirt weighted down

Drawn to allow separate worlds to meet

Ridges between two spheres entreat

Blocking cold wind and rain sleet and snow

More than we might need to know

Sparking and trickling and that's not all

There is to show about letting God call

New things aglow for every window

Gembrook Reflecting in the Hut

Wake up to see fresh morning light

Chestnut grove glowing canary gold

A refreshing way to recover a little

Space to reflect on privileged woes

From the flickering logs a scent

Finds its way to self's centre

Burning brightly one is unique

Rippling the air radiating heat

Broken Belles

What is this hand that has overreaching

To crush the hopes of people beseeching
Against what they believe to be true.


Two at hospital all hooked with tube
Wondering why me why God would do
To youth so hurting and dismayed.


Pain relief to ease the bruising
In their lives with staff assuring
How to stay above it.


What can be done to creatively share
To stand in the breach as people there
To travel in a valley so dark.


Pray dream and scheme with hearts that will shove
To cook write and visit with God's Spirit of Love
Making salve with body and breath.

Looking for Healing

The following poem we found embedded in Eugene Peterson's The Contemplative Pastor (1989), and we felt that it spoke to us as we reflected on very troubling illnesses crushing the lives of two precious teenagers that we know personally.

Curing Souls: The Forgotten Art

Blessed are the poor in spirit

A beech tree in winter, white

Intricaces unconcealed

Against sky blue in his emptiness

Ripeness: sap ready to rise

On signal, buds alert to burst

To leaf. And then after a season

Of summer a lean ring to remember

The lush fulfilled promises.

Empty again in wise poverty

That lets the reaching branches stretch

A millimetre more towards heaven,

The bole expand ever so slightly

And push roots into the firm

Foundation, lucky to he leafless:

Deciduous reminder to let it go.

We found this poem helpful as we sought God for help and healing for what seems a slow response. Without anchoring verse, our lives will run on an emotional pendulum. Should we shout, "Master, Master! Save!"? There is a thought that if we scream long enough and hard enough, God will hear. From a human perspective, if we scream long enough and hard enough someone will eventually hear us and cut out our tongues. Yet, what is there left to do if Jesus remains asleep on a cushion? The storm is affecting us! Or do we only think it is a mighty storm and we are simply being conditioned for an even mighter one? We need a break from this - to cry tears of joy and awe. The verse helps to regather our perspective and to have a little faith. May this cup pass.

A Meal of Words

This is the moment to cook up a score
of words with others and find yet more
alive in layers and then what's next
for every sayer there's room in the text.
.
It's time to let new words entreat
the listener to spy a veritable feast
of dish to inspire a people to plunge
in abandon words and waves
.
of verbal comp all laced together
by beating heart and gaping mind
to find a mix spiced up with chance
to loose the rope and perform the dance.
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Words to eat are all too sweet.
with time to taste what's new.
There's plenty to share and plenty of heat
to break out now with me and you.

Sally Hope

God's love and care everywhere

The Light of life all around us

The Light came into the world

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A new life for the Hope family

A whole new world of meaning

A completely new dynamic

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A little life direct from God

So close to God with wisdom from God

Having recently come from God

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Attached to God's culture

So recently there

A child in our midst

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To remind us of God

We are truly blessed

How the Sea got its Salt

Our niece Michelle took this powerful picture the last time she came to Australia... of a bit of our south coast. She is coming for another visit soon and that is very exciting for all of us 'Down Under'. The snap captures the essence of the words below.
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There are fish in the yammin there is life
The yammin is one great Yam the godess
Yam contended with Baal and Mot
She was a force to be reckoned with
Within her flowed life and death in abundance
She watched as Baal and Mot struggled for supremacy
Over air and land over her waves
And endeavoured to submerge them both

Her substance flowed out of the bowels of 'Erets

As 'Erets cracked and moved his crust

Yam expanded in opportunity and power

Searching for a new crevasse to fill

Baal was a minor god of war and destruction

Mot existed to enclose the dead

Both in Yam and on the surface of 'Erets

But could do nothing to subdue the force of Yam

When she decided to display it

And Mot was there to take the crumbs

'Erets expands and feeds Yam

His minerals dissolve as Yam struck him

'Erets slowly broke up and lost to Yam

And Yam gathered up and found his salt

Without this harvest Yam would diminish

If Yam over-gathers she would surely wane

She would smother the life within her

She carries within her an infinite life

All sharing Yam's plunder of 'Erets

Baal does not understand and Mot does not care

But Yahweh gives her knowing

And has created in Yam this gift

As the blood of 'Erets came gushing up

Gushing up as the God's Great Flood

With salt disolved

To recycle life enclosed in time

Day Twenty-Six

We stayed overnight at the Retreat and in the Hut as we did numerous times last year and the year before. It was nice to be back there again. The morning welcomes us in such a calm way and allows us to be reflective. Jane and Steve's baby was born about a week ago so there was this new blessing to the Retreat to contemplate.

The light of life is all around us
The light came into the world

Just one week ago a new life for the Hope family
That's a whole new world of meaning, a completely new dynamic

A little life direct from God, so close to God
With wisdom from God, having come from God

Closely attached to God's culture, so recently there
How nice to have a new child in our midst

To remind us of God
We are truly blessed

Steve and Gord went for an inspection of part of the property. With them came Peter (camera holder) and Jasper. We counted the sheep and moved the goats and did it nice and slowly.

It was back at the Funks house for lunch which was anything we did not eat the previous day. Bec was very pleased that we could have a meal like this, a meal that required no prep.

Later Dan, with Gord's encouragement, did a bit of wood splitting. Well, Dan did quite well at it. It was his blistered hands that failed him in the end. Still, the little pile of firewood was added to for next Winter.

Ok... after all that work, a bit of recreation was needed and the kids joined in and did their best.

And while all that was happening, there was Bec deciding to harvest some of the garlic. We were very impressed at the size of the bunches of cloves. Well done you guys.

We left in the late afternoon to take Dan back to his place and then on to ours. We each felt that we had had a super time... a true tonic for us all.