Religion

Faith lessons under the bathtub

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This 1920 American film is only a little older than my pipes.

Ogden Nash wrote a poem long ago about owning an old house. In it he parodied a popular line from the popular poet Edgar A. Guest: 

It takes a heap o’ livin’ 
To make a house a home.

Nash’s poem is called, with typical Nashian disregard for titling conventions, “Lines to a World-Famous Poet Who Failed to Complete a World-Famous Poem, or, Come Clean, Mr. Guest!” He discusses facts about home-ownership that Guest’s poem fails to mention.

It contains the lines,

And unless you’re spiritually allied to the little Dutch boy who went around inspectin’ dikes lookin’ for leaks to put his thumb in,
 It takes a heap o’ plumbin’.

These lines have haunted my lonely nights over all the years I’ve owned a house built in the same year as the Great Stock Market Crash. Yesterday I had a plumber out to clear a clog in my bathtub drain, a fairly common experience around here. And he gave me the Doleful Word I’d been expecting so long – “We can clear it out, but you’ve got pipes leaking in the basement, and you need some major work done down there.”

He went on to say that he wasn’t qualified to talk to me about the big job himself. But they could have a specialist come out to look at it today. He did, however, take a substantial down payment.

Hence, last night was an exercise in faith. It was one of those times when I have to say, “God has always made sure my financial needs were covered. I believe He’ll look after me now. And if He doesn’t (from a human point of view; it’s not out of the question he might want me to lose the place) then that will be in His blessing too.”

When I got up this morning, having uploaded last night the big script I’d been working on, there was a note from my boss: “We’ve got lots of work coming in, if you’re available.”

These are the words you want to hear on a day like this.

I feel that blessings of this kind coming from God must be acknowledged. And this is my acknowledgement.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Witnesses,’ by Robert Whitlow

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It’s generally a mistake to look for excellence in contemporary Christian fiction (or any other kind of fiction, to be fair). When excellence does appear, it’s a wonderful gift. One to savor. It behooves a grumpy old reviewer like me to be thankful when a Christian novel is okay.

The Witnesses, by Robert Whitlow, is okay.

Parker House is a young attorney in New Bern, North Carolina. He’s working for a small firm, and his bosses work him pretty hard. But he’s proving a valuable asset (though his bosses won’t admit it yet) because of his remarkable talent for making good guesses.

Parker has a grandfather, Frank, who immigrated from Switzerland after World War II. But he’s mysterious about his origins. He is not, in fact, Swiss, but German. And during the war he was valued by his Nazi superiors as someone able to intuit enemy positions and intentions. And, incidentally, places where treasure might be concealed. Frank deserted at last, but he still bears a weight of guilt.

When a man Frank doesn’t remember, who tells him he saved his life once, shows up at his door, Frank is troubled. He only wants to put the past behind him. Frank’s intuition tells him more is going on than the old acquaintance told him.

Meanwhile, young Parker is being headhunted by a famous trial lawyer, who seems to have sensed his hidden gifts. The lawyer has a beautiful daughter whom Parker falls for, but that turns out to be a complication, as she’s bitterly estranged from her father. She gives Parker an ultimatum: You can work for my dad, or you can date me.

The Witnesses kept my interest all through, though I found the writing fairly flat. The Christian elements approached the awkward sometimes (for me, but I’m sensitive). However, the final spiritual climax was quite moving.

I have problems with the idea of anything like “extrasensory perception” as a gift of the Holy Spirit. The author seems to identify it with the gift of prophecy, but I’m wary of such things. So – at least from the point of view of my church – I’d call The Witnesses iffy on the orthodoxy side.

Your beliefs may vary. Nothing objectionable in the content. I think many of our readers may enjoy The Witnesses.

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Listening comprehension

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Photo credit: Franco Antonio Giovanella . Unsplash license.

Still busy with my big translating project. I expect it will be done tomorrow. I worked through the weekend, and even had to work on Sunday, which I generally try not to do. But I kept the hours short that day, and made sure I gave myself time to relax on the sofa with an e-book in the afternoon. It was a beautiful day – not as beautiful as today (it almost got up to 70 degrees), but sunnier.

And a wonderful thing happened.

You may recall how I’ve been talking about “totally immersing” myself in Norwegian, to improve my conversational skills. I read the language well, but have trouble understanding it when spoken. So I started listening to Norwegian radio through an app on my phone. News from the state broadcasting channel, and a gospel station from Stavanger. Which meant the gospel station all weekend, because the all-day news channel turns into a BBC feed on Saturdays and Sundays.

So I was lying there on the couch, reading my book and listening to the gospel station. A man was preaching. And suddenly I realized I could understand him, pretty much.

I stopped reading and listened closely. Yes, I could follow him, most of the time. 75% comprehension, I’d say. Enough to follow his line of thought.

Now I need to explicate. He was speaking very distinctly and clearly, in the way of good preachers (though he was using a dialect, but I know most of the variant terms). And he was preaching from the Bible, so I understood all the quotations right off. So I’d compare my experience to someone learning to read with a beginner’s level book.

But being able to read a beginner’s book is a start. Listening to other things, I’m pretty sure I’m understanding more than I did. A week ago I was catching nothing but a few scattered nouns and verbs.

I lay there for a while with a feeling of wellbeing I haven’t experienced in a long time.

There’s a negative side-effect I find interesting. When I think about what I’m doing, there’s a small voice in my mind screaming “NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU AREN’T ABLE TO DO THIS!”

Examining it dispassionately, I think it’s related to my shyness/avoidance. The insane guy in my head is trying to protect me from the dangers of human interaction, terrified I’m going to open another portal by which enemies may enter.

That’s just part of the deal, I guess. I’ll have to handle it.

A more pleasant side effect is that I’ve been sleeping well. As an old man, I’ve gotten used to a state of things where I go to sleep around midnight and wake up around 6:00 a.m. Then I try to get back to sleep. Usually without success. But now I turn on Norwegian radio and listen to it idly while trying to get back to sleep, and so far it’s worked. Which means I’ve gotten three straight nights of relatively normal sleep hours.

I still feel tired, but that’s got to be a good thing.

Authors

A Review of Lewis’s Medieval Mind

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Understanding C.S. Lewis’s worldview, not as merely Christian with a British spin but as devoutly medieval, will help new readers grasp and enjoy his work. Lewis would hate social media and maybe every Internet. He disliked the mechanistic world and preferred organic nature. (I’m seeing this unfold in That Hideous Strength, which I’m reading with friends over several weeks.)

As an educator, Lewis the scholar sought to restore to students a medieval mindset capable of what Baxter calls “the right sentiments of praise and admiration for creation.” As we have lost our appreciation for that “slow, contemplative, symphonic world” that was the medieval cosmos, so we have lost our delight in the kinds of books medieval people loved, books that held up other criteria besides mere originality.

C.S. Lewis Was a Modern Man Who Breathed Medieval Air… | Christianity Today
Music

Sunday Singing: “Be Thou My Vision”

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“Be Thou My Vision” performed by Celtic Worship

This may be my favorite hymn for as long as I can remember. The original Irish words are attributed to the monk Dallan Forgaill in the poem, “Rop tú mo Baile.” They have been used in Christian services in Ireland for several hundred years. The folk tune, “Slane,” may go back to the 4th century. Both the words and tune are said to have been inspired by St. Patrick’s protest of King Logaire of Tara’s order forbidding any fires until after he lit the sacred fire of the spring equinox. Patrick ignited a fire for Easter on Slane Hill as a way of saying Christ is the king of heaven and earth.

I appreciate the group Celtic Worship for including the oft-skipped third verse in this hymn.

Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power

Authors, Blogs, Socials, Coffee, Tea, Drinks, Fiction, Poetry

Heeding the Dark Side, Janus-headed Poetry, and Serpents in the Classroom

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“Nature’s dark side is heeded now–“

Herman Melville wrote a poem in 1860 of his “Misgivings” before The Civil War.

“With shouts of the torrents down the gorges go,
And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:
The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.”

We’ve had storms and rumors of storms for about a month.

This week, the Russian army bombed a large theater in Mariupol, Ukraine, trapping over a thousand people who were sheltering from the siege. Last week, The Guardian ran an article reporting that some believe such destruction is an intentional effort to wipe out Ukrainian heritage and identity, to steamroll their country into Soviet-era sameness with Russia. (via Prufrock)

It’s difficult to take my mind off of the rattling, explosive thunder from the other side of the world. But here are a few other things.

The Complete Review reads The Runes Have Been Cast by Robert Irwin (not a recommendation to our readers, but still of possible interest):

With its colorful characters — notably Raven and Wormsley, but also, for example, Molly (who admits: “I don’t want a happy life. I want an interesting one”) — and a composed-seeming Lancelyn who finds himself coming apart in a world he can not readily categorize and impose an order on, much of The Runes Have Been Cast is tremendous good fun.

Poetry: “De la Mare (1873-1956) was among the first poets I read as a kid. Much of his verse is Janus-headed.” (via Books, Inq)

Coffeehouse Renovation: The Christian Study Center of Gainesville, Florida, is raising funds to renovate Pascal’s, their university community’s coffeehouse.

Education: Thomas Korcok’s Serpents in the Classroom reveals the religious agenda of many who formed how we think of education today. He shows how “these pillars of today’s education rejected Christianity and offered their approach to education as a way to undermine its influence and instill in young people something better.”

Camus: Albert Camus’s The Stranger “was first published in an underground edition in 1942, during the Nazi occupation of France, a time of widespread killing without emotion or remorse. It excited controversy from the start; Jean-Paul Sartre admired the novel but called it ‘unjustified and unjustifiable’ …”

Pilgrim’s Progress: “Bunyan gives us four ways to engage in the mental and spiritual fight. We have to fight thoughts with thoughts, words with words, untruths with truths.”

Photo: Belmont County Courthouse, Saint Clairsville, Ohio. 1995. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

Uncategorized

‘Homeland of the Viking Kings’

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I have a lot to do. I can’t find any music that pleases me. So tonight you get a little promo video, telling you about Avaldsnes in Norway. This is where my great-grandfather was born, and it’s one of the places I’m going this summer (God willing) to play Viking — likely with some of the people shown in the video.

Have a good weekend.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Murder Must Advertise,’ by Dorothy L. Sayers

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…the most convincing copy  was always written with the tongue in the cheek, a genuine conviction of the commodity’s worth producing—for some reason—poverty and flatness of style….

All in all, among the delights of Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey mystery series, Murder Must Advertise may be the most perfect specimen. Which is rather odd, to my mind, as it takes Lord Peter generally out of his natural environment (his priceless valet, Bunter, only makes a brief appearance). In Murder Must Advertise, Lord Peter goes undercover as an advertising copywriter, and finds to his surprise that he’s rather good at it. (Author Sayers herself spent some time in that very career – she is credited with coining the phrase, “It pays to advertise!”)

Victor Dean, a young copywriter at Pym’s Publicity, fell down an iron spiral staircase in the offices one day, breaking his neck. A letter to his employer was found among his effects, and that letter said that something illicit was going on among the staff. For that reason, Mr. Pym engages Lord Peter Wimsey to investigate. Lord Peter substitutes horn-rimmed glasses for his usual monocle and shows up for work, easily sliding into the circle of copywriters. He calls himself Death Bredon (these being his two actual middle names). Meanwhile, at night, Death Bredon becomes a habitue of wild parties hosted by a notorious young heiress. Drugs are being distributed at these parties, and somehow the drug network is connected to Pym’s Publicity. Death Bredon charms some people, insults others, and generally stirs things up to see what will happen. What happens is murder.

Murder Must Advertise is about as close as Miss Sayers ever came to full-blown hard-boiled fiction. Lord Peter is very different from Philip Marlowe, but there’s some of the same atmosphere here of mean streets and ruthless criminals. I like it quite a lot, it goes without saying.

Cautions, American readers, for a lengthy chapter involving a cricket game. Most of you will be as at sea in that environment as I am.

Non-fiction

Mariupol, a Ukrainian Black Sea Port, is Battered and Despairing

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Yesterday, three AP reporters published this account of the war horrors suffered in Mariupol, Ukraine. On March 4, the city lost power. The only stations the radios could receive played Russian news People took everything they could from the grocery stores.

On March 6, in the way of desperate people everywhere, they turned on each other. On one street lined with darkened stores, people smashed windows, pried open metal shutters, grabbed what they could.

…

Nearby, a soldier emerged from another looted store, on the verge of tears.

“People, please be united. … This is your home. Why are you smashing windows, why are you stealing from your shops?” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

There are so many bodies and as yet no way out.

Religion, Uncategorized

Ancient wisdom

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Cactus Watching the Sunset. Photo credit: Tom Gainor @its_tgain. Unsplash license.

Finished my paying translation for today. Working on the volunteer stuff now. I came across an expression that the author himself says is something “the old folks said” (and he’s writing in the 1890s). I have a vague idea what it must mean, but I thought I’d check with a couple Norwegian resources on Facebook. One was a former seminarian, the other a historian. Neither had ever heard of it. So I figure I’ll make my best guess, and footnote it, and chances are nobody will ever figure my mistake out if I’m wrong.

Here’s a story I came up with.

There was a young man who longed for ancient wisdom. He traveled the world, speaking to the wisest people he could find in Africa, the Middle East, and the Far East. He sat at their feet and listened to their wisdom, but his heart was not satisfied.

Eventually he made his way to the American Southwest. He heard of a Navajo wise man who lived in a hut on a mountaintop. He climbed the mountain, with much labor, and spoke to him. “I am seeking ancient wisdom,” he said. “What do you have to tell me?”

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life,” said the old Navajo.

“You don’t understand,” said the young man. “I was seeking ancient wisdom.”

“It’s 2,000 year old; what do you want?” replied the old man.