Religion

The Incarnation in a chicken coop

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Photo: Oruanui Road, Oruanui, New Zealand, credit: Leonie Clough, leoniec. Unsplash license.

I’ve told this story here before, but it was a long time back. For me, it’s as good an illustration of the Incarnation, the meaning of Christmas, as any I’ve ever heard.

I heard it from an old man I met some years back. He passed away several years ago. His father had been a pastor in what was the predecessor organization to my church body. The events happened when he was a boy – I suppose it must have been in the 1930s or ’40s.

They lived in a small town in the Upper Midwest. My friend (I’ll call him John) was a teenager at the time, and feeling his oats. Some kind of entertainment event (John did not specify) was coming to their town, and John announced one night at the supper table that he intended to go to it.

“You will not go to that event,” his father told him. “It would cause a scandal in our congregation.”

John stuck his chin out. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’m going, and you can’t stop me.”

His father gazed at him a moment. Finally he said, “You’re right. You’re old enough now that I can’t stop you. But understand this. If you disobey me by going to this event, when you come back here afterward, you’ll find the house locked against you. You’ll have to find some other place to sleep that night.”

John said he didn’t care. When the day came, he went to the event. “I honestly can’t remember,” he told me, “whether I had a good time or not. But I’ll never forget what happened when I went home.”

He found the house locked, as his father had promised. Front door. Back door. Side door. Even that window in the basement that was always unlatched if you needed it in an emergency – tonight it was hooked up tight.

Where could he go? All the neighbors were in bed.

He thought about their chicken house. Their family kept chickens to stretch their budget with eggs and meat. Inside the chicken coop there was a little loft, and the kids had made a play space up there. They’d left an old quilt on the floor.

He went out to the chicken coop. Climbed the ladder to the loft.

The floor was bare. Someone had removed the quilt.

At least he was under a roof. He lay down and tugged his jacket up around his neck. He shivered and breathed in the ammonia smell of chicken droppings, preparing for a long night.

He lay there for some time.

At last he heard the coop door creaking open. Quiet steps crossed the floor. The ladder creaked as someone climbed up to him.

In the darkness he felt a quilt being wrapped around him. Then strong arms enfolded him and held him, laying down behind him.

In his ear, he heard his father’s voice:

“Son, when I told you that if you disobeyed me you’d have to sleep outside, I never said that I’d be sleeping inside.”

A blessed Christmas to you all.

Music, Religion

‘Det Lyser i Stille Grender,’ with Sissel

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It’s Christmas Eve. Very likely Christmas Day (or later) by the time you see it. Consider this your Christmas greeting from me.

I’m sure I’ve posted this song before (though perhaps not this performance), but I consider it one of the most beautiful Scandinavian Christmas songs out there. If I post it enough, maybe Americans will catch on to it. If not, you’ll have the satisfaction of being among the few, the proud, the Initiated.

God became man. Without in any way questioning the primacy of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, I have long noted that the great heresies almost always began by getting the Incarnation wrong. So it’s perfectly all right to make a big day of this one.

God jul, as we Norwegians say.

Non-fiction, Reviews

‘Ask Not: The Kennedys and the Women They Destroyed,’ by Maureen Callahan

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What Marilyn could not see was that Bobby, like Jack before him, was less interested in strengthening her than annealing her; heating her up like white gold, then leaving her alone to cool down, making her more pliable, bendable, easier to manipulate. Wearing down her strength.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table for lunch with my family one day back in the early 1960s. The news was on the radio, and the announcer mentioned that the first lady, Jacqueline Kennedy, had suffered another miscarriage. There was, the report said, great grief in the family.

My grandfather, who was at the table with us, said drily, “All that money Joe Kennedy made running bootleg whisky during Prohibition sure didn’t bring their family much joy.”

Talk of the Kennedy curse was common back then, and continues today. But Maureen Callahan’s book Ask Not: The Kennedys and the Women They Destroyed offers a more prosaic explanation – Jack was carrying asymptomatic chlamydia, and had infected Jackie.

That’s essentially the tone of this book – there’s a lot of legend and romanticism in the Kennedy story, but it all boils down to some pretty sordid facts about a truly degenerate political dynasty.

The book is told from the viewpoints of a series of women (there are many, and more could have been listed) whose lives were ruined – and sometimes ended – because they flew too close to the Kennedy flame. Some had their reputations ruined, a couple died (at least one murdered), and one was crippled for life. What they got from the Kennedy men was a brief encounter (none of them seem to have been very good lovers) and all the bad consequences, because no Kennedy male ever took responsibility.

The stories are told out of sequence, which can be confusing to the reader. Also, because viewpoints change, characters often surprisingly change… character. Someone who was kind in one story is vicious in another. As in the play, Rashomon, it all depends on the point of view. There’s little sisterly solidarity here – the women tend to rip each other up when wounded.

I was often annoyed by the author’s point of view. She seems to be an orthodox neo-feminist. For her the real problem with all these women was that they’d been expected to marry and have children. If they’d just devoted their lives to career and money, I suppose, they’d have found happiness and fulfillment.

Frequent jabs are taken at the Roman Catholic Church, which admittedly does not cover itself in glory in this narrative. However, more recent Kennedys, like Jack Jr. and Bobby Jr., affirm(ed) feminism, and there’s no implication that their hypocrisy was feminism’s fault.

Even when I was a Democrat, I was never a Kennedy fan. So I wasn’t shocked by these revelations, and had no illusions to be dissed. But the coming new administration, which I support, includes one of the characters described in this book, and not one of the least reprehensible. He must be watched – no journalistic firewall will protect him this time out.

My conclusion is that Ask Not is an important book, clearing out a lot of mythical cobwebs in an era of American history. It is not a salacious book, and not particularly sexy to read. It’s dismal. A dismal, bleak story about a dysfunctional family with abysmal values that held too much power too long.

Music

Best Christmas Carols Ever

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You can find lists of great and favorite Christmas songs everywhere, and whose list is definitive will depend on who you trust. This morning, I looked up Parade’s list of 50 best and compared it to a list of 30 from ClassicFM. You might think Parade’s list leans toward pop songs, but I found a 46% overlap between the lists out of a possible 60%. I wish these songs were what you could expect on the radio or while shopping.

Parade’s first 10 (with ClassicFM’s number in parentheses), not intended ranking priority:

  1. Silent night (2) 
  1. O Come All Ye Faithful (6) 
  1. 12 Days of Christmas  
  1. Do You Hear What I Hear 
  1. The Little Drummer Boy 
  1. Joy to The World (13) 
  1. The First Noel (29) 
  1. Jingle Bells 
  1. Deck the Halls 
  1. O Christmas Tree (this one also made it on the list at #43 as “O Tannenbaum”)

That leans toward popular fare, and it’s a good, fun list. “O Come All Ye Faithful” is one of the best carols of all time. You could sing it year round in English or Latin. On “Silent Night,” ClassicFM notes, “During the Christmas truce of 1914 during World War I, the carol was sung simultaneously by English and German troops.”

Continue reading Best Christmas Carols Ever →
Music, Religion

Two Scandinavian Christmas Hymns

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My second day after eye surgery. (It was a detached retina, I might as well admit.) I have no reason to complain. I can go about my life moderately well (though my depth perception, never the best, is pretty poor right now). I am in very minor discomfort, not pain. Just enough to make me grumpy,  if I took the trouble to be around people to be grumpy at. Give it time.

The little two-hymn medley above from a young Sissel Kyrkjebø is included on her classic Christmas album, Glade Jul, which sold almost as many copies as there are people in Norway. The first one is Det Kimer Nå Til Julefest ([Bells] Ring Now for the Christmas Celebration). The lyrics are by the Danish preacher and author N.F.S. Grundtvig. The second is Jeg Synger Julekvad (I Sing a Christmas Song), which is, I believe, more of a folk hymn. Both hymns are offered with subtitles, apparently done by AI and not always to be relied upon.

Have a blessed weekend.

Fiction, Reviews

Star Wars: Skeleton Crew – A Long Way Home

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A skeleton crew (from 1778 military usage) is a term meaning the smallest team needed to do a job or keep the ship running. That and the pirate-vibe skeletons have may be the reason the new Disney+ series has its title. Maybe the four kids teamed with a pirate and pirate-themed droid will accomplish a big job for their civilization; hopefully, the final episode won’t have someone saying, “Look what they accomplished — and with a skeleton crew no less.” Or worse: “We’re a real team now. The galaxy will feel the power of …”

So far, four episodes have been released, and the show isn’t bad. The main actors, who are 13-14 years old, are stretching their skills and performing well. The fast-talking biker girl and the reckless boy who seems to forget their clear and present danger in seconds do get tiring, but unlike many other series, the show has only touched those tropes lightly.

Watch the trailer to see exactly the tone and direction of this show. There’s a moment I enjoyed from the second ep (not in the trailer, but close) where they ask their droid to take them home. The droid doesn’t know of their planet, so he points out the capsule window at thousands of stars and says, “Okay, which one is it?”

At the end of that episode, the kids have been locked up with none of their goods confiscated. They meet Jude Law, the pirate, and he helps them escape. They get through a crowded space port with people who probably would have recognized them from the scuffle that happened an hour or so ago, but hey, are you checking a list of details? Let this one slide. In episode three, they go to a new planet, learn something, and get into a slight scrape with professional space pilots. In episode four, they go to another planet, get into a much bigger scrape, and learn something else. It’s not a bad pattern, but thinking of the sci-fi TV shows of yesteryear, the pattern could be cleaner.

It’s a good show. So far, nothing has been wasted. I haven’t noticed any turn of events that negates or undermines everything that comes before it. The main question many people have asked it whether it’s a Star Wars story, and I wouldn’t say it is. It’s a fun, side story that doesn’t clash with the Star Wars saga as I know it, except maybe in its use of alien lifeforms. Whenever I see a Hammerhead type walking around like an average citizen, I think that kind of alien should probably be reserved as one of the bad guys. There are many like that. But if Star Wars is essentially about rebels fighting the Galactic Empire or Jedis resisting the Sith, Skeleton Crew isn’t one of those stories. It’s an adventure with kids in space.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Vanishing Kin,’ by Thomas Fincham

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[Since I know you’ve been waiting for news, I’ll just interject a short status report on my surgery, and then move on. I’m always willing to hear about people’s ills, but I’d rather not know the details.

My surgery went by the numbers. Everything seems to be on track. (Special thanks to my friend Mark, who drove me there and back.) The first 24 hours involved certain restrictions on my movements that were annoying, but that has passed. I have blurred vision in one eye and some minor irritation. But I seem on track for a complete recovery – though not a full and useful life – it’s a little late for that.]

I shall review yet another mystery novel here – The Vanishing Kin, by Thomas Fincham. I am given to understand it’s part of an ongoing series about a detective named Lee Callaway. In this story Callaway is contacted by an old man whose son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren disappeared suddenly about 15 years ago. No trace of them has ever been found.

There’s a parallel plot about a female police officer investigating the death of a video blogger who posted short films about living in a van on the road, who has been discovered beaten to death near her van.

I am a longsuffering man. Sometimes I pick up a story that could be better written, but the author seems to be able to tell a good story at a basic level, even if they lack style. I am almost never happy I did that. I wasn’t this time either.

Years ago I took some kind of correspondence writing course where one of our exercises was to cut a long passage down to a short passage. It’s amazing how much any piece of writing can be compressed if you search out shorter words and phrases, more active verbs, fewer descriptors. This author should have taken that course. He’s always piling the information on, to try to make sure we understand his points:

Callaway wasn’t going to tell Joely what he thought. That’s not what a friend would do at a time like this. They wouldn’t try to put salt on an open wound. That would only make the matter worse. And plus, it wouldn’t bring either Rosie or the money back.

Look at that paragraph. Now cut out all but the first two sentences. Would the reader lose anything?

The Vanishing Kin is not a very good job of writing, and I can’t account for all the positive reviews it has gotten on Amazon.

Fiction

M. R. James Ghost Story Performed by Christopher Lee

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Author M. R. James (1862–1936) is known for his ghost stories. The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, where he was director for fifteen years, called him “the originator of the ‘antiquarian ghost story.'” In doing so, he updated such stories for a new generation. He told these stories to friends and students at King’s and Eton Colleges on Christmas Eve, and since we’ve told our own stories in like manner, allow me to share this wonderful video of Christopher Lee performing “A Warning to the Curious” in a setting akin to James’ Christmas Eve parties.

Music, Religion

‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’

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First of all, I feel I should warn you (the horror!) that it’s possible I may not be posting tomorrow. I am scheduled for minor surgery involving my vision, and will just have to see whether I’m in shape to work a computer or not.

I would appreciate your prayers if you think of it, but they assure me it’s a common procedure and the risks are low. (At least that’s how I choose to interpret it.)

So, tonight – another Christmas carol. Not Sissel, I’m afraid. She doesn’t seem to have done this one. There are performances by the Heretic Tabernacle Choir, but I don’t want to give them more business than I already have done. There are English choir versions, but the English sing it to the wrong tune (I believe that was a major reason for the unpleasantness of 1776).

At last I found a nice one by the Hillsdale College Choir. That will do.

I remember that when I was a kid, my first favorite Christmas hymn was “Away in the Manger” (erroneously believed, at the time, to have been written by Martin Luther). It’s a kid’s carol, and one of the first songs I ever learned by heart.

Then, some years later, I remember, I decided I preferred “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”

I’ve gone on to other favorite Christmas hymns since that time, but I still favor the Little Town, in a general way.

It was written by Phillips Brooks (1835-1893), an Episcopal priest who eventually became bishop of Massachusetts. (According to Wikipedia, he introduced Helen Keller to both Christianity and Annie Sullivan.) He said he wrote it after visiting the Holy Land, and Bethlehem on Christmas night.  I recall reading an anecdote that after his death, a little girl in his congregation is supposed to have said, “How happy the angels will be to have him in Heaven!”

Reviews

Another movie I worked on: ‘Gold Run’

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It happens occasionally that I discover that a movie I worked on as a script translator is now available in this country. In the case of Gold Run, the movie has in fact been out for a couple years and I hadn’t noticed it. So I watched it over the weekend.

I think what I did on this one was actually an editing job. If I remember right, the script had been translated by AI, but back then the production people were still willing to run it past actual human beings, to avoid major incoherence. I think I worked the whole script, and I thought it was a pretty good one.

Viewing it did not disappoint. This is a solid, exciting film.

Movie fans interested in the subject have been able, in the past few years, to get a pretty good education about the Norwegian response to the German invasion in 1940 . The King’s Choice (which I didn’t work on) and Atlantic Crossing (which I did) told the story of the royal family, on the crown prince’s and crown princess’ sides respectively. Narvik (which I also worked on) told the story of the doomed military defense. And now Gold Run follows another important facet of the story – the (genuinely) amazing story of how the Norwegian government managed to get its entire gold reserve to the coast and off to England, with the Germans on their heels.

The unlikely hero of the story is Fredrik Haslund (Jon Øigarden), a financial secretary for the Norwegian Labor Party. As the bigwigs (Labor is in power) rush to get out of Oslo, they dump the job of evacuating the gold onto Fredrik’s narrow shoulders. Somehow, with the help of an exasperated army officer and his troops, he manages to get the boxes of gold onto trucks to transport to Lillehammer, where they think it will be safe. But the Germans keep coming, so it all has to be put on a train for transportation to the coast. Fredrik is an OCD type, and there’s dark humor in the way he insists on checking every box off his inventory before it can be transferred (multiple times) from one place to another – even with German fighter planes overhead.

For a more assertive – if secondary – protagonist, we also have Fredrik’s sister Nini, who is, we are told, a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, and whom I suspect to be entirely fictional, added solely for purposes of inclusivity. Also there’s the poet Nordahl Grieg, who did exist (though he didn’t look like this). His Wikipedia page says he was on the gold ship, though I don’t know if he was actually as much involved in the gold run as this movie makes him. Grieg was a committed Communist and a stalwart supporter of Stalin, by the way.

There’s also a nice subplot about a nerdy bank teller and a rugged truck driver thrown together by chance or fate, who learn to respect each other through shared dangers.

And dangers there are. The closer they get to the coast, the closer the German planes are, until we see Fredrik and Nini breaking into a bank in Ålesund with a battering ram as the city burns around them.

This is the first time I’ve seen a film I’ve translated that was exactly like the script I worked on. And it’s quite a good script. This is a very solid, exciting war movie.

My only disappointment was a personal issue I’d forgotten. At the end, Nordahl Grieg reads one of his own poems, about the feeling of being conquered, and vowing to come back again someday. When I translated the script, I composed a lyrical translation of that poem which I thought was quite good. I had the whisper of a dream that when the film was made, somebody would notice how good my translation was and use my words in the subtitles.

Alas, as I pretty much expected, it was not to be. The lyrics they use are a literal translation (and flat wrong in one line).

Ah well.

I do recommend Gold Run. I saw it on Amazon Prime, where I had to pay a rental fee.