Severe Mercy Book Quotes

Remember that unbalanced force is evil; that unbalanced severity is but cruelty and oppression; but that also unbalanced mercy is but weakness which would allow and abet Evil. Act passionately; think rationally; be Thyself.

But in the books again, great joy through love seemed always to go hand in hand with frightful pain. Still, he thought, looking out across the meadow, still, the joy would be worth the pain—if, indeed, they went together. If

He had been wont to despise emotions: girls were weak, emotions–tears– were weakness. But this morning he was thinking that being a great brain in a tower, nothing but brain, wouldn’t be much fun. No excitement, no dog to love, no joy in the blue sky– no feelings at all. But feelings– feelings are emotions! He was suddenly overwhelmed by the revelation that what makes life worth living is, precisely, the emotions. But then– this was awful!– maybe girls with their tears and laughter were getting more out of life. Shattering! He checked himself, showing one’s emotions was not the thing: having them was. Still, he was dizzy with the revelation. What is beauty but something is responded to with emotion? Courage, at least, is partly emotional. All the splendour of life. But if the best of life is, in fact, emotional, then one wanted the highest, the purest emotions: and that meant joy. Joy was the highest. How did one find joy? In books it was found in love– a great love… So if he wanted the heights of joy, he must have it, if he could find it, in great love. But in the books again, great joy through love always seemed go hand in hand with frightful pain. Still, he thought, looking out across the meadow, still, the joy would be worth the pain– if indeed, they went together. If there were a choice– and he suspected there was– a choice between, on the one hand, the hights and the depths and, on the other hand, some sort of safe, cautious middle way, he, for one, here and now chose the heights and the depths. Since then the years have gone by and he– had he not had what he chose that day in the meadow? He had had the love. And the joy– what joy it had been! And the sorrow. He had had– was having– all the sorrow there was. And yet, the joy was worth the pain. Even now he re-affirmed that long-past choice.

February 10 "I know how to abound." Philippians 4:12 There are many who know "how to be abased" who have not learned "how to abound." When they are set upon the top of a pinnacle their heads grow dizzy, and they are ready to fall. The Christian far oftener disgraces his profession in prosperity than in adversity. It is a dangerous thing to be prosperous. The crucible of adversity is a less severe trial to the Christian than the refining pot of prosperity. Oh, what leanness of soul and neglect of spiritual things have been brought on through the very mercies and bounties of God! Yet this is not a matter of necessity, for the apostle tells us that he knew how to abound. When he had much he knew how to use it. Abundant grace enabled him to bear abundant prosperity. When he had a full sail he was loaded with much ballast, and so floated safely. It needs more than human skill to carry the brimming cup of mortal joy with a steady hand, yet Paul had learned that skill, for he declares, "In all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry." It is a divine lesson to know how to be full, for the Israelites were full once, but while the flesh was yet in their mouth, the wrath of God came upon them. Many have asked for mercies that they might satisfy their own hearts' lust. Fulness of bread has often made fulness of blood, and that has brought on wantonness of spirit. When we have much of God's providential mercies, it often happens that we have but little of God's grace, and little gratitude for the bounties we have received. We are full and we forget God: satisfied with earth, we are content to do without heaven. Rest assured it is harder to know how to be full than it is to know how to be hungry--so desperate is the tendency of human nature to pride and forgetfulness of God. Take care that you ask in your prayers that God would teach you "how to be full." "Let not the gifts thy love bestows Estrange our hearts from thee.

The wholeness of Davy. That wholeness can only be gained by death, I believe. In writing to Lewis of my understanding of this astonishing phenomenon, I used the analogy of reading a novel like David Copperfield that covers many years. In that book one follows the boy David running away to his Aunt Betsey Trotwood, the youth David loving Dora, the mature David with Agnes. While one reads, chapter by chapter, even as one lives one’s own life week by week, David is what he is at that particular point in the book’s time. But then, when one shuts the book at the end, all the Davids—small boy, youth, man—are equally close: and, indeed, are one. The whole David. One is then, with reference to the book’s created time, in an eternity, seeing it all in one’s own Now, even as God in His eternal Now sees the whole of history that was and is and will be.

The severe frost last February destroyed many branches as well as young trees that had already been full of sap as a result of the warm weather. In addition to this punishment by God, there is another one, namely, an unbelievable number of caterpillar-type worms which do very great damage to our wheat, barley, and oats. They also eat down to the ground the Indian corn sprouts and whatever young plants we have in our gardens. It would be even worse except for the birds, particularly the starlings, which fly over the fields in large numbers and eat the worms. . . . Last month the unusually large number of worms threatened to ruin our crops completely, but it pleased God (for, according to the Second Book of Chronicles 7:13, He commands the locusts to devour the land and, according to Verse 14, He promises to heal it) that a large number of starlings and other small birds came to the fields and gradually ate all the worms. Thanks be to God for His merciful regime!

Much as she needed him to play those self-wounding games with her, she needed even more the solitude necessary for complete self-destruction. Isolation was more than a simple defence mechanism; it also served to prepare one for more severe punishments, possibly culminating in suicide. On another level, she would view her desire to drive him off as an act of mercy on her part. But that was a most irritating form of self-pity.

The sheer quality of the Christians we met at Oxford shattered our stereotype, and thenceforward a reference in a book or conversation to someone’s being a Christian called up an entirely new image.

One of the three points of my childhood code — which is something of a key to this book — was ‘Never betray a friend.’ That might imply that friendship was important to me: and so it was, to me and to Davy, too. We believed in deep and genuine friendship, and we held our friends and our families very dear and were intensely loyal to them.

The books of course had shaped his mind in a hundred ways, especially perhaps the poetry. He thought of the master at his school who had awakened him to the glory of Shakespeare, and his own discovery of Shelley. So many of the books, the best-loved ones, had been about England, and of course the poems were England itself. As a child England had seemed much nearer than New York or the cowboy west.

For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” —Luke 6:45 (NIV) One morning before a church meeting, I made the sign of the cross over my mouth as a quick prayer to keep me from saying negative or critical things. All went well until the end, when we discussed trying a new form of worship. Suddenly, a quick criticism fell right out of my mouth: “The powers that be won’t like it, and they’ll probably veto it.” I immediately felt a twinge of guilt, but I pretended nothing was wrong. After the meeting I knew it was time to visit the prayer chapel. As I knelt, I recalled that last Sunday in class we’d seen a video where the speaker had two glasses filled to the brim with beads. When he knocked them together, several beads popped out of both of them because of the impact. The speaker explained that we can’t blame other people for bringing out the worst in us because nothing can come out of us that’s not already in there to begin with. I left the chapel knowing I had been forgiven, but I still felt I’d let down God and myself. Driving home, I hit road-construction traffic and turned off on a street I rarely take. As I was passing a church, my eye caught a message board sign out front. “Jesus still loves you” was all it said. I let out a deep cleansing breath, thankful that not only are God’s mercies new every morning but so is His unchanging love. Dear Jesus, show me the hidden places inside of me where I need Your mercies every morning, so I can live better days for You. Amen. —Karen Barber Digging Deeper: Jl 2:12–13; Heb 4:16

We bless God, then, for our afflictions; we thank Him for our changes; we extol His name for losses of property; for we feel that had He not chastened us thus, we might have become too secure. Continued worldly prosperity is a fiery trial. "Afflictions, though they seem severe, In mercy oft are sent.

So Davy went on reading the Bible, and I went on not reading it much. I read other things, novels and mysteries, which she didn’t have time to read. No longer in loyalty to our love were we reading the same books. How could I say: Stop reading Isaiah and read Margery Allingham? Besides, if she did, I’ d have to read Isaiah. And the old sharing was going in another way. She was becoming wifely. She was accepting St. Paul on women and wives. She seemed to want to be domestic and make things in the kitchen. I was afraid she might actually obey me if I issued a command. There was something very humble and good in her attitude towards me as well as towards Christ. A humble vocation. But it wasn’t like her. I almost wanted a fight.

Cocking a brow, she rose. “What’s all this about?” she asked the House, following the trail it had left. Down the hall, along the stairs, all the way down to the library itself. “Where are we going?” Nesta asked the warm air. Mercifully, even the night owls amongst the priestesses had gone to sleep, leaving no one to see her hurrying after the trail of branches. Around the levels of the library they twined, deeper and deeper, until they reached the seventh level. Nesta drew up short as the trail stopped at the edge of the wall of darkness. A light flickered beyond it. Several lights. As if to say, Come. Don’t be afraid. So Nesta sucked in a breath as she stepped into the gloom. Little tea lights wended into a familiar darkness. She and Feyre had once ventured down here—had faced horrors here. No evidence remained of that day. Only the firelit dimness, the candles leading her to the lowest levels of the library. To the pit itself. Nesta followed them, spiraling to the bottom of the pit, where one small lantern glowed, faintly illuminating the rows of books veiled in permanent shadow around it. Heart racing, Nesta lifted the lantern in one hand and gazed at the darkness, untouched by the light from the library high, high above. The heart of the world, of existence. Of self. The heart of the House. “This …” Her fingers tightened on the lantern. “This darkness is your heart.” As if in answer, the House laid a little evergreen sprig at her feet. “A Winter Solstice present. For me.” She could have sworn a warm hand brushed her neck in answer. “But your darkness …” Wonder softened her voice. “You were trying to show me. Show others. Who you are, down deep. What haunts you. You were trying to show them all those dark, broken pieces because the priestesses, and Emerie, and I … We’re the same as you.” Her throat constricted at what the House had gifted her. This knowledge. She lifted the lantern higher and blew out its flame. Let the darkness sweep in. Embraced it. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered into it. “You are my friend, and my home. Thank you for sharing this with me.” Again, Nesta could have sworn that phantom touch caressed her neck, her cheek, her brow. “Happy Solstice,” she said into the beautiful, fractured darkness.

The Phlegmatic-Melancholic Person (PHLEG-MEL) The Phlegmatic-Melancholy persons are seen as extreme introverts. They are the quietest persons who rarely voice out their views. The phleg-mel types are the quietest persons among all the groups. Hardly will they offer threats to people or flatter them with words. Often, they are seen walking alone without friends. Strengths of the PHLEG-MEL person They are people who scarcely exchange words with others. They even live at peace with their enemies. Hardly will they be ruthlessly, even in situations that demand severe action, they are gentle. They may only flare up occasionally when they have been criticized and stirred up beyond their limits. At meetings where people argue and insult one another, they will act gently, as if they were not present. They have the natural ability of showing mercy and being helpful to others. They forgive freely and are not often offended by others. They do not verbalize their criticisms nor create hatred for themselves like the San-Mels. They do not criticize their superior officers in their absence to destroy unity, as do the Mel-Chol types. They do not spend precious time to socialize and also, they scarcely come out of themselves to do things. This behavior traits in them make them good in job fields or occupations that demand patience and detail, such as radio mechanics, computer engineering, watch repairing, taking of inventory and costing. When books are misplaced in a library, they are the persons to search for them; they have the patience for it. Weaknesses of the PHLEG-MEL person They are too shy and slothful. They allow the brightest opportunities in their lives to slip by. With the combination of the phlegmatic and the melancholic traits, both of whom refuse leadership, if they are not careful, they will miss all the golden opportunities in their lives

Revelation draws on traditions about judgment from the Hebrew Bible and the teachings of Jesus, and he indicates several ways in which Revelation qualifies the violence. “Much more is happening,” he writes, “than God’s unmitigated revenge.”25 Specifically, according to Carter, there are seven significant qualifications to the book’s apparent vengeful violence:26 1. As noted above, “empire brings about its own demise,” meaning that justice, not merely revenge, is at work. 2. In the seven trumpets, mercy “tempers the destruction,” which is partial rather than total and is intended to bring about repentance. 3. In the figure of the slaughtered Lamb—himself the victim of imperial violence—raised by God we see God’s life-giving, nonviolent, counter-Roman means of triumph. 4. The Lamb’s final conquest comes not in the form of military action but in “revealing, persuading, and judging” words from one who did not kill but died for others. 5. Divine judgment ensues only when people refuse to repent. 6. The “overarching agenda seems to be salvation, not vengeful destruction.” 7. God’s people are not called to overthrow Empire violently but to resist it by nonviolent faithful living.

Smiling, she reached for the book. “I’d be happy to show it to you. It’s one of Arthur’s favorites.” Oh, what wicked fun. She was taunting him without mercy now, she realized, but his reaction was so entertaining— almost adorable —that she couldn’t help herself. When he said nothing, she plucked the book from his hands and flipped it to page forty, revealing a couple in a pose so erotic that even she raised a brow when she saw it again. She stepped closer, turning the book toward him as she tapped the illustration. “This is the one.” As he peered down at the picture, his eyes widened a fraction. She suppressed a grin as she sensed this very staid and proper vicar’s inability to look away, ensnared by his own carnal instincts. He examined the image for several seconds and then lifted his eyes to hers. Something unexpected— something primal — flashed in his expression then, and her knees wobbled and nearly buckled under the intensity of his gaze as it smoldered and bored into her soul. He gently tugged at the book, removing it from her grip, and in so doing, inadvertently brushed her fingers with his own. She wanted to pull away from him, but so help her, she could not break the contact, and suddenly, the tables turned. Suddenly, this was no longer her little game, her amusing trifle. Suddenly, it was very real. All humor vanished as she realized the joke was now very much on her.