Category Archives: Religion

‘A Short History of England,’ by G.K. Chesterton

We make the Puritans picturesque in a way they would violently repudiate, in novels and plays they would have publicly burnt. We are interested in everything about them, except the only thing in which they were interested at all…. About the Puritans we can find no great legend. We must put up as best we can with great literature.

Anyone approaching G.K. Chesterton’s A Short History of England in the hope of learning many facts is likely to be sadly disappointed. I expect Chesterton himself would have been astonished at the very expectation – in his day, anyone who bought a Chesterton book knew he’d be getting a polemic. A witty polemic that might be very illuminating – even if one disagrees with the premises – but the author assumes a fair knowledge of the dates and facts from the outset. What Chesterton offers is a fresh perspective.

In this relatively short, very superficial overview of English history, the author has two advantages in creating his provocations – first of all, he’s G.K. Chesterton, a man who forever looked at the world as if in a fun house mirror or a photographic negative; and secondly that he’s a Catholic, a perpetual outsider in a land of lapsed Protestants.

Sometimes he can be surprising – he seems to anticipate interpretations of events that were unusual at the time, but are commonplace today – such as that the Saxon invaders in Arthur’s time may have only been an aristocratic minority.

As Chesterton sees it, England went wrong at two major junctures (aside from the Reformation, something he thinks self-evident) – when Richard II lost his bid to reform the government, and when, more recently, England began to ally itself with the Germans. He is writing, of course, as World War I rages, and is comforted by the fact that England is once again allied with France, which he considers a much more fitting combination.

I do recommend A Short History of England, but only if you already know a good deal of English history. (I’ll admit a lot of the names were unfamiliar to me, too.)

The Incarnation in a chicken coop

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.

‘Det Lyser i Stille Grender,’ with Sissel

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.

Two Scandinavian Christmas Hymns

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.

‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’

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!”

‘Mitt hjerte alltid vanker’

It’s Advent season, coming up on Christmas. I have my Christmas tree lit, and some candles are burning away like the billy-o, and I’m going to share another Sissel Christmas clip, because that’s what I do.

I believe Sissel has said this is her favorite song out of all her repertoire. I especially like the arranger’s hat tip to Grieg in the instrumentation.

Another update, and Sissel

I’m sure you’ve spent the whole day wondering how my project of uploading The Year of the Warrior for Amazon (paperback) went this morning. I thank you for your concern, but (as is so often the case) I overestimated my capacity.

What actually happened was that I spent my whole session doing some final tweaks on formatting – I had to create a table of contents, for one thing. MS Word has this utility for creating tables of contents, and it’s pretty slick once you’ve figured it out. Then I fixed my page headings and numbers, which I should have done before creating the table of contents. Because adding the page headings changed the word capacity of each page, so all the numbering changed, and I had to update the table. Also, I had to go through the whole thing and find places where I’d inadvertently created unnecessary blank pages by not keeping my page breaks tight. Which, of course, changed the page numbers again and required another table update. Several, in fact.

I’ll try to upload tomorrow. I’m thinking I’ll probably be able to upload it on my own account, rather than piggybacking on Baen’s listing. The main problem with that is that I won’t have my reviews to go with it. The reviews are many and – surprisingly – largely favorable.

I’ll  probably have to beg my fans to put up new reviews. (Hint, hint.)

The video above is, of course, the immortal Sissel Kyrkjebø, doing the Norwegian Christmas hymn, “Deilig er Jorden” on Norwegian TV in 1991 (with English subtitles). The melody will be familiar to you. We call it “Beautiful Savior.” It generally surprises Americans (it surprised me) to learn that “Beautiful Savior” is a Christmas hymn in Norway.

I’ll also draw your attention to the way the Christmas tree is decorated. In Norway, it’s customary to take the silver garlands and run them straight down from the tree-tip to the base. The intention, I think, is to suggest the rays of the star (or angel) at the tree-top.

We Americans tend to wind our garlands around the tree. I’ve always assumed the intention is to mimic the way snow lies on fir tree branches.

Mahalia Jackson: ‘Just As I Am’

I thought of Mahalia Jackson tonight, for some reason. I don’t think she’s much remembered anymore, but in the Ancient Days she was the most acclaimed and respected gospel singer in the world. Here she sings “Just As I Am.”

The hymn is an English one, written by Charlotte Elliott (1789-1871) who spent much of her life as a semi-invalid. The story is that she said to the Swiss evangelist Henri A. Cesar Melan one day that she did not know how to come to Christ. He replied, “Come just as you are!”

‘The Thurber Carnival,’ by James Thurber

In the early years of the nineteenth century, Columbus won out, as state capital, by only one vote over Lancaster, and ever since then has had the hallucination that it is being followed, a curious municipal state of mind which affects, in some way or other, all those who live there.

I had read bits of it already. I remember finding “The Night the Bed Fell On Father” hilarious when I was a boy. So I looked forward to reading A Thurber Carnival.

To be honest, I found it less funny, and more troubling, than I expected.

James Thurber is a classic American humorist, one of the founding fathers of The New Yorker. Some of his pieces, especially the story, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” have become classics. Even legends.

As I worked my way through this collection of essays, stories, and cartoons, I was surprised how dark I found it. Not overtly – there was no obvious self-pity on display here. But I thought I felt the presence of a bitter spirit behind it all.

James Thurber, born in Columbus, Ohio, suffered the loss of an eye in a game of William Tell as a small boy. For the rest of his life, he lived with the fear – then the certainty – that the other eye was going to fail. He lost his sight entirely in the end, a terrible fate for a man of letters. For this reader, that unspoken fear seemed to form a background to everything. Here is not the lightness of Robert Benchley. Here is a humorist cracking wise on the scaffold.

Or so it seemed to me.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m not bright enough to appreciate the sophisticated gags.

Anyway, it’s a classic. You should probably read it. You might enjoy it more than I did.

I should perhaps warn that there’s some casual racism, characteristic of the time but not vicious, in descriptions of black people.

A friend interviewed

Dale Nelson, retired professor of English at Mayville State University, North Dakota, is a good friend of mine and one of the more frequent commenters on this blog. He is also a presence in the world of Inklings and fantastic fiction scholarship.

Linked here is a recent interview he gave to the Fellowship & Fairydust web site. The interview actually comes in two parts. This is the first, and deals mainly with horror literature.

A second segment, more about the Inklings, is coming soon. I’ll post that too.