Here’s a hymn I hope all of us know well. “For All the Saints Who from Their Labors Rest” was written by the “poor man’s bishop” William W. How (1823-1897) to an original tune composed by the great Ralph Vaughan Williams.
1 For all the saints who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed, thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest. Alleluia! Alleluia!
2 Thou wast their rock, their fortress, and their might; thou, Lord, their captain in the well-fought fight; thou, in the darkness dread, their one true light. Alleluia! Alleluia!
3 Oh, may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold fight as the saints who nobly fought of old and win with them the victor’s crown of gold. Alleluia! Alleluia!
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan, The proper study of mankind is man. Placed on this isthmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise, and rudely great: With too much knowledge for the sceptic side, With too much weakness for the stoic’s pride, He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a God, or beast; In doubt his mind and body to prefer; Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err;
I may have some entertaining posts for you soon. The links below have a couple bits of entertainment, but the rest are about matters to grave to laugh over.
Maria Stepanova: The Russian novelist, poet, and publisher has written about the war and her country. “Dreams about catastrophe are common in what was once called the ‘post-Soviet world’; other names will surely appear soon. And in these recent days and nights, the dreams have become reality, a reality more fearful than we ever thought possible, made of aggression and violence, an evil that speaks in the Russian language. As someone wrote on a social media site: ‘I dreamt we were occupied by Nazis, and that those Nazis were us.'” (via Books, Inq)
This episode of the Hillsdale Dialogues with Hugh Hewitt and Larry Arnn is provocative in clarity, especially if you’re inclined to believe the ill-considered conclusions Tucker Carlson has drawn lately (see the comments here). How closely will Zelensky follow the footsteps of Churchill?
Photo: Hanks Coffee Shop sign, Benson, Arizona. 1979. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.
Today is Tolkien Day – the day the Ring of Power was destroyed in the Crack of Doom, according to The Return of the King. It became New Year’s Day for the people of Middle Earth, and it’s no coincidence that it’s the Festival of the Annunciation in the western Christian calendar.
Tolkien was recorded reading excerpts from his work by friend George Sayer in 1952. Somebody has mixed his voice with music and images from the Peter Jackson movie to create this video. Works pretty well, I think. I still get the old thrill when I listen.
This is why I decided I wanted to write epic fantasy nearly 60 years ago, my friends.
Tolkien is reported to have had a speech impediment – he bit through his tongue in his youth and is said to have slurred his speech, and his tendency to talk fast did nothing to help it. But when he was lecturing he sounded like this. Clear-voiced like Theoden.
Anthony Sacramone reviews an episode of a recent TV series about a high school history teacher who became president that stars the lawyer-turn-comedian who is the current president of Ukraine.
“In short, no one believes what is in fact the truth: A common man without guile or political experience is now the most powerful person in the country, thanks to a popular assent collated by the internet, the same medium that brings you cats falling off pony walls and Russian disinformation. Can you blame them?”
He says it’s funny, endearing, and probably has more heart than many comedies.
As a man who likes to work (and needs to work) I’m pleased to say that I’m kind of snowed under these days. Which leaves me little time for either reading (for reviews) or composing those pearls of wit and wisdom that make me so beloved by more discriminating spirits on several continents. So of what shall I blog?
I remembered an old British TV series, “Wodehouse Playhouse,” of which I’ve seen a few episodes. I searched YouTube and found only one — this one, which I haven’t seen. However, it starts well, and it’s a Mulliner story. It’s presented in segments, and (if I understand correctly) you can follow them through the suggested links, collecting them all and impressing your friends.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
