In case you were worried, I wasn’t anywhere near the 35W bridge when it collapsed tonight. It’s a terrible thing, and aside from the suffering (one confirmed dead at this time) it will cripple local commerce and transportation for a long time. This was the major artery of our community.
They say there’s no reason to suspect terrorism. I’ll go out on a limb and say that, personally, I do suspect it.
“Thus Beowulf showed himself brave, a man known in battles, of good deeds, bore himself according to discretion. Drunk, he slew no hearth-companions.”
I re-read Beowulf over the weekend, in response to our discussion about the movie trailer for the upcoming film.
My conclusion is that I enjoyed it, and I’m reasonably certain that no movie based on the poem (I believe yet another is in the works after this one) will get to the heart of the thing.
Beowulf is often described as a heathen tale overlaid with a thin veneer of Christianity (it’s a Dark Age story, probably based on events that happened [if they happened] in Denmark and Sweden sometime around 500 AD. But the poem as we have it was clearly re-worked by Christian scribes, based on an oral original). And that’s essentially true.
Nevertheless, I think I may understand why monks would have considered it worth preserving. Because they understood the poem in a way that moviemakers today never will. They understood that Beowulf’s actions are not based only on personal pride, on showing off, on “macho.” They are based, at bottom, on sacrifice.
It has often been noted how boastful Beowulf is, and how there is no hint of humility or reserve in his account of his great deeds at Hrothgar’s feast.
But the editor of the edition I read (an adaptation of F. Klaeber’s translation, in Vol. 1 of The Norton Anthology of English Literature) notes, “…his boast becomes a vow; the hero has put himself in a position from which he cannot withdraw.”
When you’re living in terror, when you’re afraid that not only your prosperity but your very life and the lives of your children will soon be lost, there’s nothing you want more than somebody big and strong and competent who’ll swagger in and say, “Trolls? I eat trolls for breakfast! I’ll moider da bum.”
You can sense Hrothgar’s blood pressure dropping as he listens to Beowulf’s self-promotion.
For all his braggadocio, there really isn’t much in the whole business for Beowulf personally. He risks his life with Grendel, then has to repeat the performance with Grendel’s mother. He receives honor and gifts, which are nice, but he almost always fights alone. His is essentially a lonely fate.
There’s an elegiac quality to the poem, too. If Beowulf ever married or had children, we aren’t told of it. After he becomes the king of his own people, the Geats, he rules successfully, but essentially leaves nothing behind, not even an heir. It’s hinted plainly that his people will be conquered and driven from their homes after his death. This, I suspect, is why the poem ended up in England. It probably crossed the sea with the refugees.
So Beowulf is essentially the story of a warrior who gives up his own life for his people, and for his allies. His is the story of every soldier, even in our own time, to a lesser or greater degree. In return for the sense of duty fulfilled, and fleeting glory, they give up their very lives. They become servants, and their pay is never enough.
Rev. Henry Luke Orombi, archbishop of Uganda, is scheduled to speak to a Tennessee Valley Presbytery worship service at my home church, Covenant Presbyterian (PCA), in Chattanooga, Tennessee on September 23. If you’re in the area, you may–may–want to drop in around 6:00 that Sunday. It should be glorious. I’m starting to wonder if there will be room to breathe within the sound of Rev. Orombi’s voice. I hope they pipe audio into the hallways.
The archbishop writes about Anglicanism in the current issue of First Things, in which you can see his heart for the word of God and advance of His Kingdom. You can read excerpts, as well as my pastor’s enthusiasm for this service, on Covenant’s website.
Today is my birthday. I’m ** years old.
Thanks to Uncle Orv and Aunt Rachel, along with our reader Omie, who sent cards (Omie also sent a gift. I approve of this. Gifts to bloggers are always in order. Especially on their birthdays. Especially when they’re crotchety old bachelors).
I took myself out to Baker’s Square for supper tonight, to celebrate. I don’t go there often, not because I don’t like the food (I think it’s been getting better over the years) but because at my age, and following the reflux surgery I had, I have a hard time consuming a meal and a having a piece of French Silk pie on top of it. And skipping the French Silk is not to be thought of. Better to skip the meal.
I ordered from the Light Menu, but I’m still pretty stuffed. Nevertheless, I will not have it said that I did nothing to celebrate. Almost nothing, yes, but not nothing.
I’m still pretty beat from a weekend of almost constant social interaction (oh, the humanity!). We gathered at Brother Moloch’s home in Iowa for a double celebration (or observation. Or something). There was the baptism of their former exchange student, a young woman from Germany who is back temporarily for some medical training. “What?” you ask. “An adult baptism in a Lutheran church?” Yes, we do do them, in certain circumstances. This young woman was born in East Germany under Communism and has never been baptized. She’s been making up her mind on the matter for several years, under the influence of Moloch and his family. Now she’s decided that she wants to enter the church. Her parents and maternal grandparents came over for the event too. Her parents speak English but the grandparents don’t, but we all got along excellently. We spent most of our time sitting outdoors, which the Germans seemed to prefer. Fortunately the weather was mild, and it’s been a dry year so there weren’t many mosquitoes. We made conversation (or sat pretty much silent in my case) and watched the fireflies and listened to the cicadas.
There was also a commissioning for my Youngest Niece, whom we put on a plane for China about 6:30 a.m. Monday. She’ll be teaching English there for two years, under the same program her sister attempted a couple years back, but had to abandon due to ill health. There was much weeping and gnashing of teeth, but we’re all proud of her.
We also spent some time fooling around with an ultralight plane Brother Moloch bought and hopes to re-sell. He never got it off the ground, and didn’t really try to. He just wanted to figure out how the controls responded. My personal impression is that the thing was designed by Terry Gilliam and Dr. Kevorkian, but those who tooled it around like a go-cart had a good time, and they only tore up a small portion of the cornfields that surround the air strip.
For my birthday, my brothers took me out for a hamburger. The symbolism suffered, however, in that the local diner did not have Heinz ketchup for my Heinz birthday. But I choose to believe that they’re boycotting Heinz in disgust at Teresa Heinz Kerry, and I can get behind that.
It’s my birthday. Humor me.
They’re talking about Sven Birkerts’ article over on World Magazine’s blog. For the viewpoint of readers with no stake in lit-blogging or print reviewing, read this thread.
I see that Jane Austen is now writing for Bethany House. Nice acquisition, Dave.
Crucial in the identity of a writer, especially for those who “write for God,” is the hope that something in the work will resonate in the audience, affecting the reader long after the book has been shelved. I believe that individuals, especially those who hope for a close connection with Christ, are constantly working to discover how to view themselves and others, and that the work is not likely to be finished this side of heaven. May this issue challenge you if you have become comfortable, may it soothe you if you are lost, and may you enjoy every page.
That’s how Kimberly Culbertson, editor-in-chief of Relief Journal, closes her introduction to the spring 2007 issue. She’s dead right.
Relief is an excellent literary journal. The spring issue has the winner of their Daily Sacrament contest, coordinated with the blog faith*in*fiction, which is Don Hoesel’s “Goodbye Sophie.” It’s a beautiful, challenging story of a musician conversing with a fan. Relief stories, non-fiction, and poetry have a wonderful flavor, like a soup with the best ingredients. No wow-factor, just a lingering satisfaction. Do yourself or a friend a favor by subscribing to this journal.
Let me pass on this recommendation for The Best $4.03 You’ll Ever Spend
Tim Challies echoes a question by R.C. Sproul. How would a worker at your local bookstore respond to the question, “Where can I find a book that will teach me about the depths and the riches of the atonement of Christ?” You may have to define what you mean by “deep” and “rich.” A commenter, Brenda of the blog Coffee, Tea, Books, and Me, said that of the three Christian bookstores in her area, the one selling the good books with strong theology closed.
Sven Birkerts, editor of Agni, complains about unintelligent bloggers, declining book sections in print newspapers, and the need “to keep alive the possibility of shared discourse” in this article from yesterday’s Boston Globe. Apparently, “shared discourse” means you and I should stop blogging and suck from whatever bottle the critics will hold up for us.
Brikerts is right that blogs can be sloppy. I aspire to better writing than I achieve. He’s also right that blogs can be thoughtless and of-the-moment, much the same way 24-hour news can be. Too bad bloggers were not better educated at their modern grade schools and universities. And it’s too bad there isn’t some intellect barrier to blogging. It’s so darn democratic any fool can start a handful of blogs and waste his life posting to the world (a reminder that the best content filter is the disciplined mind).
That’s the opposite of what Brikerts wants. His quotation of Cynthia Ozick describes his desire:
“What is needed,” Ozick writes, “is a broad infrastructure, through a critical mass of critics, of the kind of criticism that can define, or prompt, or inspire, or at least intuit, what is happening in a culture in a given time frame. . . . In this there is something almost ceremonial, or ceremoniously slow: unhurried thinking, the ripened long (or sidewise) view, the gradualism of nuance.”
That’s what we can get from our metropolitan book review sections if we would only subscribe–unhurried thinking, gradual nuance. (Lately I wonder if the word nuance has come to mean either “stop disagreeing with me so fast” or “don’t be so sure of yourself.”) So, we need the right mess of critics to define or even inspire what culture does, and blogs work against this important societal goal. I think critics will do this very thing just because they are critics, whether they should or not, whether blogs complain or praise, whether paper newspapers stop production or find new life.
Are newspaper book sections defining culture for us now? Where? Ron Hogan mentions this in his post on Birkerts’ article.
Why this should be the case with as ephemeral a medium as the American newspaper rather than the massively archived blogosphere is an issue Birkerts doesn’t address. And by failing to return to the idea of “coexistence” mentioned earlier, Birkerts only widens the gap between the print and online camps—a gap that has no rational reason to exist, since both sides, when viewed in good faith, want exactly the same thing: a viable platform for the wide distribution of serious discussion of contemporary literature.
You could call it shared discourse. (via the Literary Saloon)