What Christian Art Is All About

A Christian professor of fiction published a piece “To the Christian Writer” in which he recommends good art as a thing separate from Christian faith.

He begins by saying, “there’s no such thing as Christian art.” If someone wants to be a Christian, he should pursue it wholeheartedly, but “bad art comes out when you compromise art-making with some other intent.” Some other intent like Christian morals.

“If your fiction feels like it’s veering toward a moral conclusion, stop.”

I want to understand this professor’s argument and view it charitably, and I agree moralistic fiction is often shallow and ugly. I’m sure if I ever gain the courage to pick up Sheldon’s In His Steps, the novel that gave us the question “What Would Jesus Do?” I’ll regret it. I couldn’t make it past chapter one of The Shack. But separating Christian devotion from art sounds post-modern to me in all the wrong ways. What is art if it cannot be pursued as an expression of Christian truth?

I’m not sure he’s actually saying that, because he also says, “As a Christian person, would you not say it’s a joy to follow God? So follow him through your work. Quit telling him where to stand and how to speak.” That’s good. It calls back to moralistic work which may sound Christian while being far from it. That’s not good art.

“Preconceived moralizing jacketed in fiction aims for the head and the heart. If you want to be a good writer, aim elsewhere.” What does that mean? Aim for the spleen? What is good art if it doesn’t move the heart or elevate the affections (thinking of Jonathan Edwards’s language)? What makes the work of Margaret Atwood, Jack Kerouac, Barbara Kingsolver, Haruki Murakami, Annie Proulx, or Salman Rushdie objectively good that he recommends them over Lewis, Chesterton, and O’Connor?

Could it be we’re actually wrestling over cultural respectability — that our work would find approval in the New York Times Review of Books or Harper’s Magazine?

I think art is its own virtue, like planting and tending a tree, and artistic choices are also moral choices. Some choices are going to be more accessible to the public than others. Some will require greater levels of skill to succeed. In all of these choices, the best ones (though maybe not the most popular) will be true, real, and good. Isn’t that what Christian art is all about?

Photo by Peter Ivey-Hansen on Unsplash

‘Murder in the Round,’ by Bruce Beckham

Always reliable. That’s the great thing about Bruce Beckham’s Inspector Skelgill novels, set in England’s lake district, not far from the Scottish border. The setting is as is expected – the fell country where Skelgill loves to fish and run. Dan Skelgill is a police detective, assisted by his (also reliable) sergeants – transplanted Londoner Sgt. Leyton, and attractive local Sgt. Emma Jones.

One of the great traditions in their neighborhood is the Bob Graham Round, a grueling fell running race. Skelgill has come up with an idea for a new variation, one that takes the same route but incorporates lake fishing. He’s taking some vacation time to test the concept out when he learns of the death of a local runner, killed by a hit and run driver, with no witnesses. Although he can’t take an active part in the investigation because he’s on holiday, he keeps in touch with Leyton and Jones as they investigate. That’s the premise of Murder in the Round.

Skelgill is (I think I’ve said this before) almost the opposite of Sherlock Holmes. Logical deduction is not his forte. He’s more like a hominid from the hunter-gatherer period, operating mostly by his senses, getting messages from the scents in the air and the tracks on the ground.

I used to wonder how long his low-key flirtation with Sgt. Jones would go on, but I’ve come to accept that Dan Skelgill lives in one of those fictional universes where no one ever grows older. They’ll both be young and smoldering as long as author Beckham goes on writing.

Good entertainment. Recommended.

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.

Writing update and a Norwegian Christmas song

Writing/publishing update: I’ve worked my way through The Year of the Warrior to prepare a paper version for Kindle Direct Publishing. (Note: This is a very long book. If sheer mass of paper is gauge of literary greatness, I’m on a level with Sigrid Undset and Tolkien and Tolstoy.) I’ve tried to clean it up, fix automatically generated punctuation problems, add a comma here and there where I thought it would aid reader comprehension.

So tomorrow I figure I’ll try to upload it. I anticipate that this will not work. This book is different from the others, because Baen Books still publishes the e-book (at my request). Will the Amazon system accept a paper version from somebody else? I expect there will be problems with that.

Amazon’s customer service has actually worked well for me in the past. I just figure there’ll be hoops to jump through. I’ll keep you posted.

Above, a sweet little video from NRK, the Norwegian state broadcasting service, with one of Norway’s favorite Christmas songs, Å Jul Med Din Glede.

The first verse means something like this (literal; no attempt at versification):

O Christmas with your happiness, oh childlike desire,
We all bid you welcome.
We all greet you with jubilant voices,
Ten-thousand times welcome!
We clap our hands, we sing and we laugh,
So glad we are, so glad we are.
We swing around in a circle and curtsey – and bow.

Fall down. Go, Boomer.

Photo credit: Arnaud Steckle. Unsplash license.

I don’t talk about politics much anymore on this blog – times have changed. Blogs are no longer a big thing for political discussion (nor for discussing books, come to think of it, but I think they’re better suited to books). The more immediate, shorter-form media like X are bigger today – though I can’t honestly say the level of discourse has improved.

But that’s beside my point. My point is that I want to touch on politics today – but not, I hope, in an inflammatory manner.

Though what I’m saying might work out more offensive (for some) than the kind of plain insult you see on X or Facebook.

Here’s what I have in mind. It’s no surprise, I imagine, that I’m pleased by the results of the recent presidential election.

But it’s not so much because I’m over the moon about the man we elected.

It’s about the fact that – it seems to me – we may be seeing at last the beginning of the end of Boomer ascendency.

I’ll grant that Donald J. Trump is a Boomer himself. (I’ll even grant, for the sake of argument, that I’m a Boomer too.)

But the leadership team he’s bringing in seems to be mostly younger people. Millennials and Gen X and… I forget what they call them all. They’re all whippersnappers to me.

I put much hope in whippersnappers these days.

The new leadership team that’s coming in never put flowers in their hair and went to San Francisco. They never dreamed of Woodstock. They never tuned in, turned on and dropped out.

In my opinion, we’ve had plenty of that.

The Greatest Generation raised us. They’d been through the Great Depression and World War II. They’d been deprived. They’d suffered. They’d tightened belts and watered down the soup through many long years.

After the War, they came home and vowed to give their kids everything they never had.

We got spoiled.

As we Boomers grew up, we were told over and over (I was there, I remember) that we were the smartest, best-educated generation the world had ever seen. We would change the world.

And boy, did we change the world.

We turned it into a hellscape. We started one war after another. We fostered radicalism and terrorism. We did our best to eradicate classical wisdom and undermine liberal democracy.

I think we’ve changed the world enough.

Maybe the kids can salvage something from the wreck.

Good luck, kids. I’m praying for you.

‘Kristin Lavransdatter: The Cross,’ by Sigrid Undset

Surely she had never asked God for anything except that He should let her have her will. And every time she had been granted what she asked for—for the most part. Now here she sat with a contrite heart—not because she had sinned against God but because she was unhappy that she had been allowed to follow her will to the road’s end.

So it is done at last. I have completed yet another reading of Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter – volume 3, The Cross. Tiina Nunnaly’s translation this time.

It’s a little like completing a long mountain hike, I guess. There’s more than one point where you pause along the path and think about how far you have to go, and sometimes you do get tired. Yet that’s just part of the experience, what you go through to enjoy the clear air and the spectacular views.

In case you’re not familiar with the story, the Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy begins with our young heroine, the beautiful daughter of doting parents in 14th Century Norway, rejecting the dull young man they betrothed her to, and running off with a handsome, dashing knight.

In the following two books, she has to live with the consequences. Erlend, her husband, is not a prudent man. He leaves the management of their farm to others (often to Kristin herself) to involve himself in political intrigues, which in the end lose him his ancestral estate. In this book, they have retired to Kristin’s home farm, where Erlend is resented by the neighbors. Sigrid’s chief concern is transferred to their seven sons, and she learns the torments that accompany parenthood. Meanwhile, the Hound of Heaven is always pursuing her.

There’s exquisite irony in watching Sigrid, as she passes through the stages of life, first inspired by romantic ballads, then compared to a ballad, and finally seeing her son inspire a ballad of his own through his misguided actions.

Read Kristin Lavransdatter, and you’ll come to know Kristin better than you know a lot of your friends and family. In a sense, the trilogy is a soap opera – but it’s what soap operas aspire to be; a deep, unwavering examination of the human soul in its glory and its weakness. The scenery descriptions are vivid and immersive. It’s also a paeon to the grace of God.

Not light reading, but highly recommended.

Advent Singing: Break Forth, O Beauteous Heav’nly Light

Advent starts today, and I think my hymn selections this month will lean into Christmas Day songs more than proper Advent songs. I may need to study the subject. The Trinity Hymnal has six hymns under Advent versus thirty-four under Christ’s birth. So, today’s hymn is a gorgeous carol the angel’s announcement and the awesome reality of what happens on Christmas, which is Christ’s first advent.

“Break Forth, O Beauteous Heav’nly Light” was written by Johann von Rist (1607-1667), a Lutheran pastor and prolific hymnist in the Hamburg area, in 1641. This translation comes from Englishman John Troutbeck (1832-1899).

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say we have fellowship with him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth (1 John 1:5–6 ESV).

1 Break forth, O beauteous heav’nly light,
and usher in the morning.
O shepherds, shrink not with affright,
but hear the angel’s warning:
this child, now weak in infancy,
our confidence and joy shall be,
the pow’r of Satan breaking,
our peace eternal making.

2 Break forth, O beauteous heav’nly light,
to herald our salvation.
He stoops to earth, the God of might,
our hope and expectation.
He comes in human flesh to dwell,
our God with us, Immanuel,
the night of darkness ending,
our fallen race befriending.

Gazing into the creative abyss

Should I share negative thoughts about my own books on this blog? Is it acceptable to indulge in self-criticism, or should the tone be relentlessly rah-rah and self-promotional?

Oh heck, that ship sailed long ago.

I’m working on formatting The Ghost of the God-Tree, the second part of The Year of the Warrior, for paperback. I’m not saying it’s bad. It’s got some strong stuff in it.

But I think it’s among my weakest books. There are lots of things I’d change, if I didn’t feel obligated to keep the editions relatively uniform.

And I’m pretty sure why.

I am very grateful to Baen Books, and to Jim Baen the maverick publisher, who gave me what little legitimacy in the industry I possess.

But Jim had a system. A program for his authors. And into that program I did not fit well.

Jim felt that nothing contributed more to an author’s success than having a bunch of books with his name on them all together on the shelves in the bookstores. This worked for him again and again. He knew his business. In order to achieve that shelf-space goal, he wanted several books from his new authors, quick. That’s why I got a three-book deal.

The problem is, I’m not a fast writer. I’ll admit that some of my languid output is due to laziness and inattention. Fair enough, mea culpa. But regardless of that, it just takes me a while, and many drafts, to produce decent prose. It took me years to produce Erling’s Word, the first part of the book. The Ghost of the God-Tree was written in haste, and suffers from my parental neglect.

On the other hand, judging by history, I’m probably being a little over-critical here.

And there are parts I like. I enjoyed the section where Ailill (Aillil) and Asta go to Thor’s country and meet the god himself. I thought that was kind of fun.

“Let me not waste the days You’ve given me.”

Bethel McGrew offers a poem for Thanksgiving that begins this way:

Let me not waste the days You’ve given me.
The mornings I might sleep away, the nights
When all my fears are all that I can see,
Trapped in the glow of flickering blue lights.

She notes our Internet-driven fears and her personal ones, asking the Lord to revive her with His goodness.

Let me believe that this, my grateful prayer
Is not in vain. Lord, let me not despair.

Pump up your pumpkin pie

Every few years, I like to perform the public service of providing my mother’s pumpkin pie recipe, which is now known in the family as “my” pumpkin pie recipe. But I don’t mind taking false credit, since I’m pretty sure Mom got it from somebody else in the first place.

I took time from my busy work schedule and madcap whirl of social obligations this morning to make pies for our family gathering tomorrow, at an undisclosed location. The picture above is not those pies; it’s a picture I took of a long-departed pie pair from a bygone year. But they are enough, they will suffice; I did not make any notable innovations.

The thing about this recipe – WHICH IS REALLY SIMPLE – is that it produces a more nuanced pie. There are people out there, I understand, who like the traditional pies with their in-your-face, extreme, street-level pumpkin spice flavor. If you’re one of those, God bless you. Enjoy your gustatory shock.

But if you like things a little more gentle, here’s what you do:

  1. Follow all the instructions on the can of pumpkin pie filling. All brands work equally well, in my experience.
  2. Instead of the two eggs called for in the recipe, make it seven (7). YES! SEVEN EGGS! DEFY CONVENTION!
  3. Pour the resulting mixture into two (2) deep dish pie crusts.
  4. Bake as instructed.

What you get is two (2) delicately flavored, custardy pies.

Enjoy.

And if you think of it, pray for whatever long-dead lady in Kenyon, Minnesota Mom lifted this recipe from.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture