Saturday, April 25, 2015

Choosing the Greater of Two Evils


You make a mistake. You get yourself in over your head. You want the problem to just go away. But it doesn’t. It festers. And then one day the problem erupts. Instead of doing the right thing and coming clean, you make it worse. Far worse.
John the Baptist was no shy wallflower. He preached repentance from sin. He baptized. He lived what he preached. He called people out. He called leaders out for bad behavior. And that was a problem for Herod Antipas, tetrarch of Galilee and Perea. John was rather outspoken and didn’t mince words when he condemned Herod’s divorce from his first wife and then marriage to his brother Philip’s wife, Herodias. Divorce was not popular among the people Herod ruled.
To continue reading, please see my Daily Reflection today at The High Calling.

Painting: The Executioner Presents the Head of St. John the Baptist to King Herod; Giambattista Langetti (1625/35 – 1676), private collection / The Bridgeman Art Library.

Saturday Good Reads


My friend and The High Calling colleague David Rupert went to Jordan for 10 days, and sent back a steady stream of photos and blog posts, including an interesting story about tour guides. Seth Haines explored writing as a spiritual discipline. Mark Movsevian at First Things explored how Thomas More is portrayed in the PBS series Wolf Hall. And my wife found on the internet some of the oldest video footage of London, displayed in a “then and now” format.

And more good stuff, too.

Faith

When You Are Weary in Battle – Deidra Riggs at Jumping Tandem.

My Mother, My Daughter, Myself – Caroline Langston at Image Journal.

Tour Guides for Faith – David Rupert at Red-Letter Believers.

Setting Sail and …Not forgotten – Doug Spurling at Spurling Silver.

The Pain is Not the End of the Story – Chris Peek at Trail Reflections.

Faith in the system, or faith in Jesus? – Chaplain Mike at Internet Monk.

Culture

The Accidental Benedict Option – Rod Dreher at American Conservative.

Thou Mayest – and Why It Matters – Dr. Steven Garber at Reintegrate.

Thomas More, Villain – Mark Movsevian at First Things.

Poetry

At some point along the way – John Blase at The Beautiful Due.

Halfling Paean to Summer – Brendan MacOdrum at Oran’s Well.

Anne Porter – D.S. Martin at Kingdom Poets.

Until the End of Heaven – Maureen Doallas at Writing Without Paper.

Read, write, breathe poetry – Mary Harwell Sayler at The Poetry Editor (great list of links).

Iconography - poem by Samuel Dickison at @curatormagazine

Writing



The Soul of the Law – A.G. Harmon at Image Journal.

Photography And Video

Spring Ephemerals – Timothy Good at Photography by Tiwago.

The Deep Green Silence of Love – Diane Walker at Contemplative Photography.

Video: Oldest Footage of London Ever – Londontopia (Hat Tip: Janet Young).


Painting: Chinois by Georges Rouault, oil on paper mounted on canvas (1939); St. Louis Art Museum. The painting is part of the museum’s European Provenance Disclosure Project, which “identifies and provides up-to-date information on all European paintings in the Museum's collection that may have been purchased, sold, or created during the Nazi era.

Friday, April 24, 2015

Fred Chappell’s “River”


It was in the 1980s that a colleague at work who loved Southern writing introduced me to writer and poet Fred Chappell (born in 1936). She recommended, and I read, one of his novels, I Am One of You Forever. I went on to read two of his other novels, Brighten the Corner Where You Are and Look Back All the Green Valley, and one of his collections of short stories, Farewell I’m Bound to Leave You. 

What I had not read was his poetry, and Chappell first established his literary reputation as a poet. He was an English professor at the University of North Carolina – Greensboro for 40 years, retiring in 2004. In 1997, he was appointed North Carolina’s first poet laureate. 

I love Chappell’s stories. They are Southern, yes, but they are about family and history and all the things that used to define Southern culture. When I read his stories, I read my own family history – the characters and places seem real because they are real. 

I stumbled over a copy of one of his poetry collections, River: A Poem, first published in 1975. My copy is a reprint by LSU Press in 2000; I bought it used and it’s certainly been read many times.  

It’s subtitled “A Poem,” and it should be – River is actually one poem with 11 divisions. It is about family, and specifically his grandparents. It was first published when Chappell was 39, so it is something of a middle-aged memory from the 1940s and early 1950s. 

To write these memories down is important; it helps your own children and grandchildren understand where you and they came from, and how those who came before were as much a part of that river as you and they are now. 

The individual poems that form River are too long to cite in full here, but here is an excerpt of one, entitled “My Grandmother Washes Her Feet,” recounting a conversation between Chappell and his grandmother as she was doing exactly that: 

I see her still, unsteadily riding the edge
Of the clawfoot tub, mumbling to her feet,
Musing bloodrust water about her ankles.
Cotton skirt pulled up, displaying bony
Bruised patchy calves that would make you weep. 

Rinds of her soles had darkened, crust-colored—
Not yellow now—like the tough outer belly
Of an adder/ In fourteen hours the most refreshment
She’d given herself was dabbling her feet in the water. 

“You mightn’t’ve liked John-Giles. Everybody knew
He was a mean one, galloping whiskey and bad women
All night. Tried to testify dead drunk
In church one time. That was a ruckus. Later
Came back a War Hero, and all the young men
Took to doing the things he did. And failed.
Finally one of his women’s men shot him.”

“What for?” 

        “Stealing milk through fences…That part
Of Family nobody wants to speak of.
They’d rather talk about fine men, brick houses,
Money. Maybe you ought to know, teach you
Something.” 

       “What do they talk about?” 

                                                 “Generals,
And the damn Civil War, and marriages.
Things you brag about in the front of Bibles…” 

Fred Chapell
Should I say that I have the family Bible from the 19th century. And there’s this family stuff in the font of it, the “kind of stuff you like to brag about,” and I have a photograph of my great-grandparents, which has a Civil War story behind it? 

The other scenes from River include the poet as a child being lowered down the well by his grandfather, to give it its periodic scrubbing; what it’s like for that young boy to discover one day he’s a grandfather himself; and his grandfather’s river baptism (a Methodist getting baptized like a Baptist, for goodness sakes), among others. 

Reading River is wading and then swimming in that river of family and memory that each of us flows from, becoming and being that river ourselves. 

Photograph of the French Broad River in western North Carolina courtesy of the Visit North Carolina.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Anthony Horowitz’s “Moriarity”


In 1893, the British public was outraged. Arthur Conan Doyle had just done the unspeakable – in a titanic struggle at the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, Sherlock Holmes and his arch-enemy Professor Moriarty had struggled and fallen to the rocks below, presumably to their deaths. Sherlock Holmes would no longer grace his way in the minds of the reading public.

It would take eight years, and considerable sullen outrage, but Holmes would finally return, in Doyle’s 1901 novel The Hound of the Baskervilles.

We know what happened to Holmes, but what happened to Moriarty?

Numerous authors have tried answering that question in novel form since Doyle’s death in 1930. Now Anthony Horowitz has now taken a shot at it, with Moriarty.

In short, the novel is enthralling, convincing – and devilish.

Frederick Chase is a detective with the Pinkerton Detective Agency in America. He’s sent to Europe, and specifically to Switzerland, to find clues to the whereabouts of an arch-criminal in America, one Clarence Devereux. He is reportedly in Europe, to step into the place of Moriarity.

In Switzerland, Chase meets Scotland yard detective Athelney Jones, sent by the Yard to verify Moriarty’s death. There is a body; together Jones and Chase examine it. And they find a note, in code, addressed to Moriarty and likely from Devereux. Then it’s on to London; the game is indeed afoot.

With each page, the story becomes more than a mystery. It quickly centers on the growing friendship of the two detectives, one American and one British, one a private agent and the other representing the greatest investigating authority of the time. The developments begin to come one after another, quickening the pace toward what looks to be a horrific conclusion. (In fact, the story is almost as fast-paced as the television series Sherlock, starring Benedict Cumberbatch.)

Anthony Horowitz
Slowly the reader begins to be ask – was that Moriarty’s body they saw in Switzerland, or was it someone else? And if someone else, then where is Moriarty?

Horowitz has written numerous novels and one previous Sherlock Holmes story, The House of Silk in 2011. He is perhaps best known as the creator of two television programs popular in both Great Britain and the United States, Midsomer Murders and Foyle’s War.

What a story Moriarty is, full of twists and turns, keeping the reader on edge and guessing in every chapter. It is mystery writing at its historical best.



Illustration: Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes in their struggle at Reichenbach Falls.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Sting of Silence


Some years back, actually a lot of years back, I got caught up in a community controversy. Some surprising things were going on, some officials turned deaf ears to community concerns, and then two people I truly respected asked me to become spokesperson for a group to challenge the officials.

I did, and it was a wild time for a few months. It was also tense, and difficult, and we experienced the inevitable blowback. The attacks became bitter, and personal. At one point, the spokesperson was essentially abandoned. I felt deserted and left to dangle in the wind. It was a dark time, lightened only by a single voice of unexpected support – an elderly lady whom I had never met wrote a letter to our local newspaper.

Margaret Feinberg knows the sting of silence in far more personal terms than I do. She is standing in front of a mirror, staring at the scars left by a double mastectomy, and virtually no friend has called, written, left a note, said anything, provided support, held her. The group that had surrounded her and her husband seemed to have vanished.

She tells the story in Fight Back With Joy: Celebrate More. Regret Less. Stare Down Your Greatest Fears. The heart scars, she says, those scars of abandonment, hurt worse than the physical scars she was staring at.

She writes down names. And then she makes another list – the names of the people she had abandoned in an hour of need. She understands that the failing of her friends is her failing, too. And she understands that the most common reason for this abandonment is that people don’t know what to say, and so they hold back.

Jesus knew what this all-too-human failing of abandonment was like. Feinberg notes that of the 12 disciples who followed Jesus through good times and bad, those steadfast 12, one would betray him and 10 would hide in fear. Only one would be at the foot of the cross, the one who stood with the two Marys. Only one was there when Jesus drew his last breath and said “It is finished.” The rest hid.

We have all failed.

We have all been failed.

We know what abandonment is because it’s happened to us.

And we know what it is because we’ve done it. 


Led by Jason Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we’ve been reading Fight Back with Joy. To see more posts on this chapter, “Life is Too Short Not to Do This,” please visit Jason at Connecting to Impact.


Photograph by Julie Gentry via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Poetic Voices: Jessica Goodfellow and Michalle Gould



















For the next few weeks, we’re taking a look at recent (and some republished) works by poets perhaps not as well known as some but with unique and interesting voices and deserving of a wider audience. Today we’re considering Jessica Goodfellow and


Goodfellow’s The Insomniac’s Weather Report was first published in 2011 but reissued in 2014 by Isobar Press (in Japan). It’s her middle volume of poetry; A Pilgrim’s Guide to Chaos in the Heartland was published in 2006 and Mendeleev’s Mandela in 2015.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Monday, April 20, 2015

The Contradiction of Absolutes


They are allowed to wander through the city, the largest city in the world. They’re struck by the opulence; the wealth; the buildings devoted to religion, government and commerce. The display of so much of everything makes their own beginnings and roots exceedingly humble in comparison. It’s all designed to impress, and it does. It’s designed to remind the viewer of power and might, and it does.

And as if to punch the message home, they see treasured items from their own temple hundreds of miles away displayed with all of the other treasure taken from conquered nations. They see the wealth of many religions, and many nations, on view to press home the point of superiority.

Given that they were taken from their home and families to be trained to serve Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, it would have been easy to assume that their God was dead, conquered, and tossed aside like all the others. Everything in their own experience argued for it, that everything they had believed was a lie.

But that’s not what Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego did. In spite of triumph and power of Babylon displayed before their very own eyes, they choose to remain faithful.

Think of contemporary Western culture as a 21st century Babylon, except more so.

The wealth, the power, the achievements, the great buildings, the advances in science all sing the same song together and separately. “It’s all relative. It’s all about us. If you want to believe in your little God, fine; just don’t do it in public. Look what we’ve achieved and accomplished without your Christian God. He’s only one of many gods, and who are you to say He’s supreme? There are no absolutes.”

If Daniel and his friends were alive today, you could almost hear the “Been there, done that” response.

I didn’t realize until I read Against the Flow: The Inspiration of Daniel in an Age of Relativism by John Lennox that postmodernism has been around in one form or another for a long time. It was in Babylon; it was in ancient Greece; it was what thinking and cultured Romans embraced even if they had to bow the knee to Caesar (remember Pontius Pilate’s famous question of Jesus: “What is truth?”).

The various philosophies that today we call postmodernism don’t last; they’re largely self-defeating.

“At the heart of postmodernism lies a patent self-contradiction,” Lennox writes. “It expects us to accept, as absolute truth, that there are no absolute truths. We should note this common, fatally flawed characteristic of relativistic thinking: it tries to exclude itself from its own pronouncements. The fact is that no one can live without a concept of absolute truth.”

No one can live without a concept of absolute truth. No one.

Not even postmodernssts.


I’ve been discussing Against the Flow by John Lennox and will continue to do so for the next several weeks on Mondays. It’s a deeply insightful, highly readable book. Lennox is a professor of mathematics at the University of Oxford and a speaker on the interface of science, philosophy and religion. 

Illustration: The Ishtar Gate was one of eight entrances to the city of Babylon during Nebuchadnezzar’s time.