Sometimes I forget, but God is still at work in the world.
Over at Power Line, they’ve posted Orson Bean’s account of how he came to faith.
All posts by Lars Walker
Sacramone reviews Eszterhas
Over at Strange Herring, Anthony Sacramone writes “a strange review” of Joe Eszterhas’ earthy memoir of his conversion, Crossbearer.
RIP, Cousin Andreas
Got the news from Norway this morning. Cousin Andreas died on December 1.
Cousin Andreas Andreassen (I call him a cousin, because they’re all some kind of cousin over there, and it’s too much trouble to work out the degrees) was my host the last time I visited the relatives in Norway. He was an elderly widower who lived in a house on a small wharf. He rented the lower floor to some kind of business and lived upstairs (or rented from the business; I never inquired). Living alone, he had plenty of room for a guest. What was notable was that he was a very quiet man; nearly as quiet as me. The upshot was that not a lot of talking got done while I was with him. Which was kind of relaxing, to tell the truth.
But I wish we’d talked more. I heard a few things about his life. He’d been a merchant seaman, if I recall correctly, during the Second World War, when the Norwegians who were at sea when the invasion happened found themselves the de facto navy of a government in exile. There must have been stories connected with that. I think I even heard one, one that was quite dramatic. But my Norwegian comprehension wasn’t up to following it, and I’ve lost the shreds I had.
You miss a lot when you’re pathologically shy.
This is a picture we took the last time I saw him, when I was doing my first lecturing cruise. Andreas is the one on your left. He and Cousin Tom-Erik and Cousin Arne drove up to Bergen to meet my ship, and they bought me a snack in a coffee shop.
While I’m thinking of Norway, I’ll link to this site, Haugelandet.net It’s in Norwegian, but most of the stuff is translated. It showcases photos from southwest Norway, the area around Haugesund (Karmøy Island, where Cousin Andreas lived, is just across the sound). The site’s proprieter, Eirik Hustvedt, hasn’t posted much for a while, but recently he’s gotten active again. So if you click over there, you’ll encourage him. And see some interesting scenery. This is really my favorite part of the world, my “quiet place.”
Suicide, in theory
It’s winter now. Not full winter. It’s snowed a few times (it snowed a little today), but there’s no accumulation to speak of—yet. Winter has been sneaking up on us in an Avoidant manner—hanging around the edge of the conversation, gradually making its presence known without drawing too much attention to itself. But today was seriously cold. And naturally I began to have trouble with the starter on my car. Not the usual kind of trouble, but the peculiar variety that goes with the Chevy Tracker’s idiosyncratic ignition system, which involves tramping down on the clutch while turning the key.
Ah well.
Rev. Paul T. McCain of Cyberbrethren wrote a moving and thoughtful post the other day on the subject of suicide. A friend of his took his life recently, and in meditating on it, Rev. McCain quoted a statement of Luther’s I’d never read before. This is part of it:
“I don’t share the opinion that suicides are certainly to be damned. My reason is that they do not wish to kill themselves but are overcome by the power of the devil. They are like a man who is murdered in the woods by a robber. . . .”
This was one of many statements of Luther’s they never told us about in the church I grew up in. We were taught the view (which, I believe, used to be taught by the Roman Catholic Church as well) that suicide left one with no opportunity to repent of the sin of murder, and therefore could not be forgiven. This view doesn’t actually jibe very well with Lutheran grace-centered theology, but that never occurred to me.
It must be a great comfort to the families of suicides to believe this, and I’m glad of that.
But I have reservations, too. (If you’ve recently lost a friend or family member to suicide, I recommend not following on to the portion of this post below the fold. It might upset you, and I have no wish to do that. I want to consider an argument here, not rub salt in wounds.) Continue reading Suicide, in theory
My top 5: Mysteries and thrillers
Late posting tonight. I had to usher for Advent services.
Dale requested in Comments my list of the best mysteries/thrillers written in the past twenty years.
I’m reluctant to produce such a list, for a couple reasons.
One, my knowledge of the field is highly limited. I read authors I like and trust, and there are dozens (at least) I’ve never even tried. The mystery field in particular is dominated by female writers, many of whom have feminist agendas, and I just don’t cruise that side of the street. And there are a number of very popular writers whom I avoid either because I simply haven’t tried them yet, or I’ve tried one book and didn’t care to read any more. There’s a good chance there are several out there whom, once I discover them, I’ll be tugging at your (metaphorical) sleeve and boring you about. It’s also possible that an author I’ve weighed and found wanting in the past may surprise me with his/her growth and win me over (this has already happened with Dean Koontz).
But having said that, I’ll list my favorite books of the last twenty years. They’re all from two authors whom I consider preeminent in the field. They are books that not only entertain, but educate the heart, making the reader want to live more generously and courageously. Continue reading My top 5: Mysteries and thrillers
A couple reviews
I read a couple books over the holiday, but I don’t think they’re really worth separate reviews. I’ll take a few superficial swipes and move along.
Strangers by Dean Koontz appears to me to be a transitional work for the author. First published in 1986, it shows considerable improvement in character development and dialogue from much of his other early work.
It follows the adventures of a group of people, scattered all over the country, who begin to have similar anxiety symptoms (but not identical symptoms—there are interesting variations and contradictions). Most of them are suffering nightmares. Some of them develop obsessions. The moon, in particular, becomes the focus of more than one. Continue reading A couple reviews
How very odd
The strange things you discover while looking at your Sitemeter statistics. I checked somebody in Denmark who visited our page, and found they’d been referred from this Wiki page in Denmark. We’re reference note number [13], in relation to the Fairy Flag of Dunvegan. It’s lovely to be a citation, but I’m not sure I’ve really earned it.
Postmortem on a turkey
Thanksgiving was good, thank you. As usual, the family gathered in my CBBS* house. Everything went according to programme. It goes without saying that, being me, I drove myself nuts anticipating disasters (forget propagation of the species; a man needs a wife mostly in order to have somebody competent on whom to shove these responsibilities), but either everything went fine, or my family kindly overlooked it and kept me in the dark.
The turkey might have profited from ten more minutes in the oven, I think, but I also suspect that’s a matter of taste. And I could have bought a larger one (those leftovers, I now see, are there for a purpose).
Now, on to Christmas. Tree decorating is for me a gradual process, but the thing’s up and lighted. Only the ornaments remain to be hanged, together or separately. I have tea lights to burn (in pine scent). Last night I watched my videotape of Sissel’s Christmas concert with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
And tonight I’ll begin the Christmas Letter. I wonder if I took any pictures this year worth including in it. Probably not.
Come to think of it, the whole letter may be no more than a couple paragraphs.
Not such a bad thing, actually.
*Clean By Bachelor Standards
The Day the Silent Planet Stood Still
Back in college, I took an interterm course that appeared to be an easy grade. It simply required the students to read a certain number of books chosen from a list of famous novels, and to participate in one discussion on each of them.
I found it more difficult than I expected, mainly because it required me to read rather faster than I generally do (though I’m a fairly fast reader), and because some of the books I chose (like The Brothers Karamazov) were pretty long.
But I recall in particular one book I read that summer. It was Sinclair Lewis’ Main Street. I remember it in part because I found it unusually repellent. It’s a book (in case you haven’t read it, which a lot of people haven’t nowadays, and I’m OK with that) by an intellectual who had the misfortune to grow up in a small Minnesota town (Sauk Centre), and who just had to write this book in order to tell the world how soul-destroying life in such a town was (though why we should be interested in the opinion of an author whose soul has been destroyed is not explained). The book itself centers on a young woman from Minneapolis who marries a man from the town of “Gopher Prairie,” and how she struggles to maintain her intellectual and artistic life in its barren environment. I learned after I’d read the book that it’s supposed to be humorous, and I’m glad someone told me, because I’d have never guessed it.
The one thing I recall most clearly about Main Street was a realization I came to while reading it. I couldn’t understand why this book was supposed to be so important, until I realized that it was a pioneering work. Up until then, American literature had generally celebrated the small town as the source of American strength, goodness and wisdom. Lewis was the first writer to convince Americans that small towns were places where they actually didn’t want to live, spiritual swamps inhabited almost exclusively by rubes, yokels and bigots. It’s hard to get the original impact of Main Street today, because Lewis’ revolutionary manifesto has become our popular prejudice. Continue reading The Day the Silent Planet Stood Still
Thanksgiving
“He who sits by the fire, thankless for the fire, is just as if he had no fire. Nothing is possessed save in appreciation, of which thankfulness is the indispensable ingredient.” ~W.J. Cameron