All posts by philwade

NPR Editor Speaks Out, Gets Suspended

Uri Berliner, a senior editor of NPR business news, a 25-year veteran of America’s iconic radio network, got an article published earlier this month in The Free Press, saying the news network was far more balanced than it is today.

“It’s true NPR has always had a liberal bent, but during most of my tenure here, an open-minded, curious culture prevailed. We were nerdy, but not knee-jerk, activist, or scolding.”

Until 2016. After that watermark year in which nothing remotely remarkable happened, NPR has driven down the hill of leftist ideology and lost the faith of American listeners.

In February, our audience insights team sent an email proudly announcing that we had a higher trustworthy score than CNN or The New York Times. But the research from Harris Poll is hardly reassuring. It found that “3-in-10 audience members familiar with NPR said they associate NPR with the characteristic ‘trustworthy.’ ” Only in a world where media credibility has completely imploded would a 3-in-10 trustworthy score be something to boast about. 

Today, NPR reports they suspended Berliner without pay for the last five days because he did not get approval to release an article to The Free Press. They said could be fired if he does this again.

Berliner said he had been trying to his concerned heard for a few years without success. Going public was a way to get heard.

Update: Berliner resigned today, calling NPR “a great American institution” and not for defunding it.

Sunday Singing: Deck Thyself, My Soul, with Gladness

Here’s a devotional hymn from German poet Johann Franck (1618-1677), translated into English by scholar Catherine Winkworth (1827-1878).

I will greatly rejoice in the LORD;
my soul shall exult in my God,
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. (Isaiah 61:10 ESV)

1 Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness,
leave the gloomy haunts of sadness;
come into the daylight’s splendour,
there with joy thy praises render
unto him whose grace unbounded
hath this wondrous banquet founded:
high o’er all the heavens he reigneth,
yet to dwell with thee he deigneth.

2 Now I sink before thee lowly,
filled with joy most deep and holy,
as with trembling awe and wonder
on thy mighty works I ponder:
how, by mystery surrounded,
depth no mortal ever sounded,
none may dare to pierce unbidden
secrets that with thee are hidden.

3 Sun, who all my life dost brighten,
light, who dost my soul enlighten,
joy, the sweetest heart e’er knoweth,
fount, whence all my being floweth,
at thy feet I cry, my Maker,
let me be a fit partaker
of this blessed food from heaven,
for our good, thy glory, given.

4 Jesus, Bread of Life, I pray thee,
let me gladly here obey thee;
never to my hurt invited,
be thy love with love requited:
from this banquet let me measure,
Lord, how vast and deep its treasure;
through the gifts thou here dost give me,
as thy guest in heaven receive me.

Sunday Singing: Up From the Grave He Arose

Lars talked about rousing Easter music last week, so I thought I’d find one for today. “Up From the Grave He Arose” was written by American preacher and hymn writer Robert Lowry (1826-1899). It’s one of those stirring kind of songs that calls up images of evangelistic rallies or brass bands on the sidewalk.

“God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for him to be held by it.” (Acts 2:24 ESV)

1 Low in the grave he lay, Jesus my Savior,
waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord!

Refrain:
Up from the grave he arose;
with a mighty triumph o’er his foes;
he arose a victor from the dark domain,
and he lives forever, with his saints to reign.
He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!

2 Vainly they watch his bed, Jesus my Savior,
vainly they seal the dead, Jesus my Lord! [Refrain]

3 Death cannot keep its prey, Jesus my Savior;
he tore the bars away, Jesus my Lord! [Refrain]

My Daughter Has Published Her Poetry

Earlier this year, my oldest daughter told me she had published a book of her poetry. She didn’t ask me about it ahead of time. She didn’t come to me with an idea and say she understood I’ve looked into writing and publishing for years so maybe I would have some thoughts. No. She just made it happen behind my back.

As you would expect, I reacted as gently and affirmingly as could be imagined. I think I yelled at her. I tried to keep a level head and ask questions like, “What do you mean?!” and “Are you kidding me?”

But this is the world we have. Little girls can earn their own money and pay for publishing services, not unlike those which have employed me in the past, and get their words in print on actual pages and physical books–without their father’s involvement.

Her book is Silent Beauty Speaks. It’s a collection of nature poems, efforts at capturing the sunrise or a night’s calm.

The gentle swell of airy song,
The lullaby of breath belongs
To quiet winds that round the ear,
Whispering softly,
"Do not fear."

That’s a stanza from “Lilac Night.” Here’s her opening poem, “A Marbled Sky.”

When first I rose, and laid my eyes
Upon the marbled sunrise,
The moving clouds of dark and gold,
I saw a story yet untold
The expectation of the day
A light to hold, to hope, and pray
May I find grace enough today

I’d love to hear your thoughts on her work, not that I would share them. I’m too critical on my own. Any criticism you have will stay between us. But if you say you’ve been moved to invest in the future of humanity, I might pass that on.

Photo: Luke Ellis-Craven via Unsplash

Easter Singing: The Strife Is O’er, the Battle Done

“The Strife Is Over, the Battle Done” performed by a choir under the direction of Roshni Sharon Rajan

Our Easter hymn is “The Strife Is O’er, the Battle Done,” written by an anonymous Jesuit in the late 17th century and translated into English by the Curate of Ticehurst, East Sussex, Franis Pott in 1861.

“He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth,
for the LORD has spoken.” (Isaiah 25:8 ESV)

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

1 The strife is o’er, the battle done;
the victory of life is won;
the song of triumph has begun.
Alleluia!

2 The powers of death have done their worst,
but Christ their legions has dispersed.
Let shouts of holy joy outburst.
Alleluia!

3 The three sad days are quickly sped;
he rises glorious from the dead.
All glory to our risen Head.
Alleluia!

4 He closed the yawning gates of hell;
the bars from heaven’s high portals fell.
Let hymns of praise his triumph tell.
Alleluia!

5 Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee,
from death’s dread sting thy servants free,
that we may live and sing to thee.
Alleluia!

Holy Saturday: ‘There Is No Longer Any Prophet’

The day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday is an odd, muted day. Between a sober Friday service, in which the Christ candle leaves the sanctuary, and a joyous Sunday service, which, if we could, we would pack with sunlight as dazzling as a Hallelujah, stands a Saturday that feels like any other end of the week. 

On that first Saturday before Easter, I doubt the disciples would find much comfort in the habits of the Sabbath. The light of the world was gone. “O God, why do you cast us off forever? Why does your anger smoke against the sheep of your pasture?” (Psalm 74:1) 

Joseph of Arimathea had put Jesus’s body in his tomb Friday night, and when he woke up on Saturday, he may have wondered how the sun was still allowed rise. How could anything carry on normally with Jesus of Nazareth in the grave? 

We do not see our signs; 
there is no longer any prophet, 
and there is none among us who knows how long. 
How long, O God, is the foe to scoff? 
Is the enemy to revile your name forever? (vv. 9-10) 

Holy Saturday is a good day to ask these questions and to consider the darkness that lingers, the dream that’s deferred, the disappointment that goes unresolved.  

Psalm 74 is a cry to God after the destruction of the temple. “The enemy has destroyed everything in the sanctuary!” (v. 4). That was in the 6th century B.C. Later, in A.D. 33, Jesus had left a similar hole in his disciples’ hearts. He had told the Jews, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” referring to his body, but no one understood at the time (John 2:19, 21). On that first Saturday, it felt as if the enemy had destroyed everything. 

We live in brighter days comparatively, but it’s still easy to ask the Lord whether he has cast us off when our own bodies fail us or when our communities are threatened. How long will enemies war against us and our neighbors? Does our current pain mean he has rejected us?  

War, crime, and countless inhumanities—no one knows how long they will last. But we do know who has broken them. “Yet God my King is from of old, working salvation in the midst of the earth” (v. 12). 

O God, let us see your salvation at work with the Easter sunrise and every sunrise thereafter. 

(Photo: Sebastian Molina fotografía via Unsplash)

Sunday Singing: O Love, How Deep, How Broad, How High!

Our Palm Sunday hymn this year is “O Love, How Deep, How Broad, How High!” attributed to the great German scholar Thomas à Kempis (1380-1471). Originally in Latin, Benjamin Webb (1819-1885) was the first to translate it into English as a hymn. The tune is a traditional ballad from the 15th century known as Deo Gracias or the Agincourt Hymn.

“It will be counted to us who believe in him who raised from the dead Jesus our Lord, who was delivered up for our trespasses and raised for our justification.” (Romans 4:24–25 ESV)

1 Oh, love, how deep, how broad, how high,
Beyond all thought and fantasy,
That God, the Son of God, should take
Our mortal form for mortals’ sake!

2 He sent no angel to our race,
Of higher or of lower place,
But wore the robe of human frame,
And to this world himself he came.

3 For us baptized, for us he bore
His holy fast and hungered sore;
For us temptation sharp he knew;
For us the tempter overthrew.

4 For us he prayed; for us he taught;
For us his daily works he wrought,
By words and signs and actions thus
Still seeking not himself but us.

5 For us by wickedness betrayed,
For us, in crown of thorns arrayed,
He bore the shameful cross and death;
For us he gave his dying breath.

6 For us he rose from death again;
For us he went on high to reign;
For us he sent his Spirit here
To guide, to strengthen, and to cheer.

7 All glory to our Lord and God
For love so deep, so high, so broad;
The Trinity whom we adore
Forever and forevermore.

The Progressive Era Didn’t End Well and Alban Buns

Last week, I told I was almost done with Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and couldn’t talk about it in full yet. Now that I’ve finished it, I can say I appreciate it overall and it won’t make any list of recommended reading from me. It was a little long-winded, unevenly humorous, and the point driven home at the end is an ugly one.

Twain’s Yankee engineer is an ideal man, in a sense, and very lucky. He applies knowledge to a variety of fortunate occurrences and builds a brilliant reputation for himself. He quickly earns the loyalty of people who pull him through other scrapes, even to when he takes full credit for all actions afterward. He can practically create the entire nineteenth century in Medieval England on his own. And at the height of it, when Camelot falls apart as it does in the historic legend, he says, now we must push to destroy the Catholic Church and the order of chivalry. The final chapters depict this push with horrific bloodshed that could be taken as comic if there weren’t so many bodies on the ground.

Aside: I was offended by Merlin’s stunt at the very end, because when has he demonstrated any skill of this kind before? Is or is he not a charlatan?

What should readers take away from this application of Progressive ideals on the medieval world? Does the Yankee triumph? Does he accomplish his goals?

A Connecticut Yankee was published in 1889, the end of a pretty good decade in the United States. That was before the Spanish-American War for Cuban independence, the Philippine-American War against Filippino independence, the Russo-Japanese War in which the US worked for a balance of powers, and conflicts over the building of the Panama Canal. Theodore Roosevelt was a player in all of these. After these came World War I and the Bolshevik Revolution, so one would understand if viewers came away with the impression that the great Progressive Era ushered mankind into the position he’s always wanted–to play God. If the Yankee’s ideas would not be accepted by rubes too thick to see the wisdom of them, then the rubes could die, and should die to out of the way of progress, and would die in front of the Yankee’s superior technology.

Twain was a member of the Anti-Imperialist League that opposed the U.S. war effort against the Philippines and various conflicts that gave a sense of an expanding American empire. Twain may have asked, if we were a free nation, why would we fight to subjugate other nations? Which is the very thing the Connecticut Yankee attempts in the end. He presses his ideals into tryanny and in a manner of speaking murders everyone. Maybe that was Twain’s point.

Anyway, let me share a few links before I let you go for the day.

More on Connecticut Yankee: James Turner has a long piece on Medievelists.net. “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court found some of its greatest and most engaged champions with Soviet artists, perhaps unsurprisingly when you consider the novel two-pronged critique of both the inherent corruption and excesses of aristocratic society and its cautious approach to the cold heart and supposedly self-defeating exploitation of workers under the capitalist system.”

Recommended changes: Agrarian author Wendell Berry offers revisions to the Marvel cinematic universe in this piece by Jeff King. “The villains have just not been believable. Why a squinting, purple monster looking to eliminate half of life in the universe when the strip mining industry is right there?”

Hot Cross Buns: Alban Buns (the precursor to our Hot Cross Buns) were first baked in 1361 and given to the poor on Good Friday. This and more history of one of my favorite rolls from Richard Baxter.

Role Models: With Purim starting, Mijal Bitton suggests American Jews look to Esther as a role model. “Esther symbolizes the way too many Jews feel today — confronted by rising hatred against their Judaism.”

Good Fun: A little love for Don Quixote. “Cervantes is ingenious.”

Sunday Singing: None Other Lamb

Today’s hymn begins our approach to Easter, which is the last Sunday of the month. “None Other Lamb” was written by the marvelous English poet Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894). She didn’t write it as a hymn but as a poetic response to Revelation 5.

“And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, ‘Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?’” (Revelation 5:2 ESV)

1 None other Lamb, none other name,
none other hope in heav’n or earth or sea,
none other hiding place from guilt and shame,
none beside thee!

2 My faith burns low, my hope burns low;
only my heart’s desire cries out in me
by the deep thunder of its want and woe,
cries out to thee.

3 Lord, thou art Life, though I be dead;
love’s fire thou art, however cold I be:
nor heav’n have I, nor place to lay my head,
nor home, but thee.

We Are the Best Obv. and Some Links

I’ve been reading Mark Twain’s 1889 novel A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and have not finished it, but I wanted to share some thoughts today. Blogging is designed for that, updates along the way.

The point almost from the beginning is that this engineer from 19th century America is an intellectual paragon among sixth century rubes. Their superstition and gullibility make them victims of every charlatan (usually of a religious or magical flavor) who comes into town. Hank the Yankee sees through all of them and will deliver them from all bondage, if he can devise a way to do it. I’m near the end of the book, and though luck has saved his neck many times, his progressive prowess has prepared him for that salvation just as often.

His progressive acumen is as good as magic, because Hank’s been able to create a telephone and telegraph network, school system, railroads, various consumer goods, and many kinds of explosives. He intends to create a thriving democracy in Camelot, if not all of England, and I’m wondering if that’s where Twain will leave it–19th century America triumphing overall. We see a little tension in the story here and there, because Hank is not brilliant and has been successful largely by force of plot and luck. So, I’ve wondered if the satire will turn back on him, and the story will end with everything crashing around him. Will the 19th century man be shown to be the greatest product of society, the pinnacle of the evolutionary process, the smartest and the best of all, or will his Social Darwinian hubris trip him up? I may find out later today.

What can I share with you today?

First, let me apologize for missing the Sunday Singing post last week. Circumstances disrupted by routine and by Sunday afternoon, I decided not to post it. I’ll get one up tomorrow, if I don’t fall a roof in the morning.

Boycotts: The SXSW festival in Austin, Texas, has the U.S. Army and defense contractors as sponsors and participants for years, but this year, helping Israel defend itself against the neighboring monsters is too much for some.

Publishing: A new publishing house formed by three experienced executives intends to forego advances and offer “authors a high percentage of a book’s profits—a model used by some other types of hybrid publishers.”

Food: What is corned beef? It’s an innovation of Irish-Americans who lived near Jewish Americans and took a shine to this kind of meat in Jewish delis.

Poetry: “Trash” by Lowell Jaeger.
“… in the old days there was no such thing as trash”

And slightly related to trash, this post on road kill and opossums.

Photo: Bomber gas station, Milwaukie, Oregon. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.