After a calendrical blip in January (no ACS meeting), we hope you will join us on Thursday, 7PM February 4th at Smith’s for our next gathering. We will be making the leap into Part Four of What’s Wrong With The World, chapters I, II, and III.
As always, we invite all active or potential Chestertonians regardless of shape, size, stripe or experience. In other words, if you’ve been keeping tabs via facebook, email or this humble website but have yet to make the corporeal leap (or drive) to Cohoes, please come! Chesterton has an uncanny knack for creating friendships.
Not only that, but WWWTW lends itself nicely to a mid-book entrance, so don’t stay away just because we’re in the middle of a reading selection. You may just discover what us ACS regulars already know – which is that good company, good food and drink, and Chesterton really do help to combat the dreariness of winter and to gird against the inhospitable chaos of our post-Christian habitat. ;)
Cheers, Merry Christmas and blessings in the year to come,
Albany Chesterton Society
The Wise Men
Step softly, under snow or rain,
To find the place where men can pray;
The way is all so very plain
That we may lose the way.
Oh, we have learnt to peer and pore
On tortured puzzles from our youth,
We know all labyrinthine lore,
We are the three wise men of yore,
And we know all things but the truth.
We have gone round and round the hill
And lost the wood among the trees,
And learnt long names for every ill,
And served the mad gods, naming still
The furies the Eumenides.
The gods of violence took the veil
Of vision and philosophy,
The Serpent that brought all men bale,
He bites his own accursed tail,
And calls himself Eternity.
Go humbly…it has hailed and snowed…
With voices low and lanterns lit;
So very simple is the road,
That we may stray from it.
The world grows terrible and white,
And blinding white the breaking day;
We walk bewildered in the light,
For something is too large for sight,
And something much too plain to say.
The Child that was ere worlds begun
(…We need but walk a little way,
We need but see a latch undone…)
The Child that played with moon and sun
Is playing with a little hay.
The house from which the heavens are fed,
The old strange house that is our own,
Where trick of words are never said,
And Mercy is as plain as bread,
And Honour is as hard as stone.
Go humbly, humble are the skies,
And low and large and fierce the Star;
So very near the Manger lies
That we may travel far.
Hark! Laughter like a lion wakes
To roar to the resounding plain.
And the whole heaven shouts and shakes,
For God Himself is born again,
And we are little children walking
Through the snow and rain.