Revise Us Again, by Frank Viola

Revise Us Again, by Frank Viola, is a patchwork quilt of sorts, at times poorly sewn. This is an editorial and organizational criticism more than a criticism of the content of Viola's thoughts. The theme of revision, though used throughout in chapter subtitles, seems to be imposed on the book, as if it were applied as an afterthought and whose idea was better than its execution. So for me the writing never gains the necessary momentum to carry me along. The intended thesis is never fully realized and ends up feeling like a compilation of musings about what's bent or broken in Evangelicalism without a clear enough focus or a proper framing. The idea seemed forced to me - or reached for and missed.

I do, however, appreciate several themes that Viola does present in Revise Us Again. First, my Christian life requires as honest an examination as I can give it. I don't think this theme consistently reaches the level intended, that of revision, though perhaps it could have had it been worked at a bit longer. Second, I am happy that Viola gets at the idea of community as an expression of charity. This idea is so terribly important and so awfully missed in so many of our church communities. And third, Viola seems downright charitable in this book - this is not to say that he normally isn't, Revise Us Again is my first encounter with Viola's work, but I appreciate his generosity toward others. He doesn't condemn in this book, he doesn't berate - he points and suggests, nudges the reader as if to ask, "What do you think about ... ?" The book scored highly for me in this respect - Viola desires that his book draw the Body of Christ together rather than divide it. This is a noble goal and one not easily attained when writing about what we do poorly or get wrong as Christians.

Now I did take issue with Viola in Chapter 9, "Stripping Down to Christ Alone: Revising the Holy Spirit's Ministry." I read this chapter wrongly every time, and I believe it's because I don't share Viola's history - I'm not "post-Charismatic" as he labels himself. Perhaps if I had a similar background to Viola's, this chapter would make a great deal of sense to me, or even seem necessary. But as it is it seems, at best, off. So when he includes the following sentence in the chapter, "To my mind, the Holy Spirit has but one job: to reveal, to make known, to magnify, to glorify, and to make central and supreme the Lord Jesus Christ," I cringe. (And what bothers me about the sentence is the phrase, "has but one job.") Most likely, I am quibbling. But it doesn't seem an apt description of "the Lord, the Giver of Life," or comprehend the Orthodox prayer "O Heavenly King ..." If we must talk about the Holy Spirit having "but one job," it is important to understand that this one job is the same one job the Father and the Son are busy about - the restoration of all things, reconciliation, redemption. Of course, speaking about the Most Holy Trinity makes me nervous to begin with because I fear we often err by saying more than we ought to, that we speak of things too great and marvelous for us.

Don't misunderstand, every time someone writes about more than one person of the Most Holy Trinity, I do not expect an orthodox treatise on the proper relationship between the three persons of the Godhead. But Viola sets it up in such a way that it needs to be discussed or qualified in some way because he juxtaposes Son and Spirit, and in such an arrangement there seems to this non-post-Charismatic that the push back Viola gives pushes back too hard and too far. Now his audience may need the heavy push, the shaking that says, "It's Christ." So I must assume the best and pray that it helps many others as they wrestle with their own histories. Nonetheless, the chapter deserves some clarification and needs a positive assertion about the unity of the Divine Persons rather than to do what it does - push off from one in favor of another (this is not Viola's intention, but it is my impression).

All in all, I liked Revise Us Again. I have my differences and my opinions, but the re-evaluation of "What is it we are about?" is relevant when there seems as much upheaval as stability within Evangelicalism. And it is always timely in my own life in respect to the Church, the community, within which I live and worship. There are weaknesses within the work and the project seems, in places, to reach beyond what it attains. But the thinking within the book is sound and the spirit of it leans toward restoration.

Cap'n's Log

I'm currently reading two books. The first is Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man, by Henri de Lubac, and the second is Why Evolution Is True, by Jerry A. Coyne. Both books are quite good. I can't read but a few pages at a time of Lebac, who constantly knocks me on my metaphorical butt with his thoughts on the Church and unity. Unity is what brought me into the Church, but it has been a while since I've actually thought much about it as it relates to life in the Church, unfortunately, and it's been a wonderful reminder. (Thank you, Fred, for the suggestion.)

The second book is about evolution, which you may have deduced from its title. It's actually quite good, if you like learning about evolution, but the author does make the mistake (in my opinion) of sometimes pushing his science into his metaphysics. But maybe he backs off later in the book. We'll see.

We had the entire week off, due to the snow and ice. Monday is MLK Jr. Day which gives us a grand total of 10 days. A little ice age, or at least a secondary Christmas break. Which means, likely, that we will get very little of our spring break. C'est la vie. That's what happens, and how it happens, in the South.

Anna turns 10 on Monday. What a beautiful girl. Looking forward to having the day off with the family. Because, you know, we haven't had much time together lately.

Freedom and Discipline

In rejoinder to my depressing post on being tired and fat, here's a clip from Tom Howard's excellent book On Being Catholic:

It is the paradox in which obedience to rules, renunciation of various pleasures, and discipline turn out to be the very tactics by which freedom is gained. And further, it is the paradox in which this hard-won freedom turns out to be synonymous with joy and magnificence and perfection and beauty.

We may see these paradoxes at work at a thousand points. The ballet, for example: How has that ballerina achieved this supple and glorious mastery? Oh, would that my body looked like that and that I had the freedom to execute those breathtaking movements. How do they do it?

By obedience and renunciation and discipline. There is no other way. Thousands of hours, year after year, giving up this pleasure and that food, exercising in utter obscurity, placing oneself wholly under the rigorous direction of the master.

And the fruit of all that? Mastery. Control. Beauty. Perfection. And not only for the dancers themselves. The rest of us are the beneficiaries. Their prowess brings us joy. It hails us with truth in one of its modes, namely, the truth that attaches to man as body. In some sense, the form exhibited by Adam, new-made from clay, is a true form. We feel that the bodies of dancers are reminiscent of that form. The rest of us, full of potato chips and sour cream dips and nachos grande, must make shift to hobble about, wheezing and grunting, hauling our tremulous torsos and abdomens in and out of cars and up and down the stairs. Ah, would that I could move like that dancer, we mourn.

...

The paradox, of course, could be chased all through the fabric of human life. The freedom to do something is not easily won. The greater the perfection sought, the greater must be the remorselessness of our own self-abandon to the discipline that constitutes the steps up to the summit where freedom reigns in great bliss.

... Concupiscence has undone us.

Now Howard is moving into asceticism and love in this chapter titled, "Catholics and Freedom" - being schooled in Charity and the work involved, but his analogy is precise and apt for me today, especially in light of my recent foray into self-pity.

Since I am speaking of the book, I would highly recommend it. It is perhaps the best modern book written by a convert that I have so far read ("modern" so as not to compare it to such great works as St. Augustine's Confessions, or even to Chesterton's Orthodoxy) about what it means to be Catholic. There are issues that I have with parts of it, but overall it is well-written and beautiful and non-confrontational and certainly worth your time.

Reading

Last night I finished reading Graham Greene's The Heart of the Matter. It's a fine novel. (I stopped reading Brighton Rock because it didn't hook me.) Greene's novels are fascinatingly Catholic - and I enjoy them immensely. But I also wonder how others approach them and how the Catholicity of the novels affects their readings. The novels are not about Catholicism, but rather about shattered humanity - people who happen to be Catholic. The Heart of the Matter's Henry Scobie, a policeman, wrestles with relationship and sin and peace in the context of brokenness.

At the same time, I am reading Harold Bloom's How to Read and Why. Bloom avers that stories ought to be stripped of ideology and simply be stories. His greatest respect (generally, but specifically here as well) is given to Shakespeare, with whom no personal ideology can be discovered from the stories he tells - he writes about humanity, seemingly without favoritism (though how richly he paints his characters is often telling). Bloom says that we must not pay attention to the one telling the story, but to the story itself. These are good lessons - for readers and writers. Yet Graham Greene's ideology, his Catholicism, at least by the end of his stories, is prominent (always portraying the struggle of one's faith, however, rather than any certainty of faith - always showing us ourselves as fallen men and women). I would like to read Bloom's take on Greene, who does not make Bloom's book - though this list of Bloom's is hardly an effort at exhaustiveness. Bloom covers Graham Greene elsewhere, from my understanding, (I would like to read his opinion) and also believes that Greene has established his place in the "Western Canon."

Greene is a new favorite of mine, because of his Catholicity and regardless of his Catholicity. He writes well. And he is one of the better Christian writers that I've come across in my lifetime. But it is time for a break from Greene, Dostoevsky's The Idiot is lying on my table. And after that I'm going to take a stab at the apocalyptic Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy.

Acedia & Me

I'm currently reading an excellent book by Kathleen Norris titled, Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life. It's, at times, like looking into a mirror. And while I've always thought I'm susceptible to depression - a classic melancholy - I think acedia is the demon that I struggle with in my life: a spiritual deadness or sloth or uncaring rather than a physical malady. (Not that it's necessarily either-or.) A blogger friend, Penni, turned me on to Norris by sending me a little book of hers called The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and "Women's Work," which I highly recommend. It deals at some length with the idea of acedia as well and has been a tremendous help as I daily struggle with my own "women's work." She infuses day-to-day work - laundry, dishes, cleaning, and diapers - with her Benedictine sensibility and discovers the sacred rhythm, the liturgy, of such work.

Something I've discovered, and seems confirmed by Norris, is that discipline is discipline, regardless if it's spiritual or physical or mental. In many disciplines, you begin in a garden, but eventually all find you in the desert. And that is the "noonday demon" of acedia. Perhaps the prayers you say seem less meaningful or the exercise you're doing is showing fewer results, acedia wishes to kill the peace and good in your life and to strip away this discipline that is so necessary for you. You begin to wonder whether it's really worth it or if you're simply wasting your time, or a fool. What was as sweet as honey has become a mouthful of sand. This is the time when it is needful to continue. Salvation lies forward, on the other side, not backward. This is the time to pray and sing through the aridity, even when each word seems empty and every note sounds flat. This is the time for waiting; eventually the desert will bloom.

(My one minor criticism of Acedia & Me is that Norris sometimes indulges in her love of etymology. Of course, I'm a sucker for words and their uses and origins as well, but I wonder if some of these purposeful divergences into the meanings of words and the application thereof could have been done in a manner that is less interruptive.)

The Love Shack

This review is not a happy review. The novel gets a big thumbs down from me. So if you love this book, you're not going to want to read this post. Keep in mind, it's just my opinion. And I'm sure we've disagreed before.

Many people have been moved by this story. And so was I to some degree. While some would say it walks along the cliff's edge of sentimentality, others would say it took a flying leap off that same cliff - akin to listening to Tim McGraw sing "Don't Take the Girl." You're sobbing as you scream, "You bastard!" because of the obvious emotional manipulation. But there's also something very real here, and I don't mean to underplay it: Young, the author, needs a tragedy in order to spin his yarn. Maybe his wife dying (rather than his little girl) could have helped him better avoid his sentimentality. I don't know. He made his choice and stuck with it. That's his prerogative as the author.

The core of The Shack is fairly simple. It runs along these lines: God is especially fond of you. And s/he does not dig forms.

The Shack is at its best when its simply a story that happens to real people in real places every year - even when it skirts sentimentality. When the fantastic is introduced, the curtain is pulled back and Oz is revealed - and it just plays cheesy, as too much Christian fiction does. And The Shack is entirely about the fantastic - a man, Mack, spends a weekend with the Trinity (Della Reese plays Papa - The Almighty, the Tetragrammaton, He Who Is, etc. - a John Eldredge-y kind of dude wearing a tool belt and leather gloves plays Jesus, and Lucy Liu knocks the Holy Spirit out of the park). And here's where it gets wormy for me, if you noticed. The Shack becomes a kind of love shack - a place for Jesus et al. to be Mack's girlfriend. You can yell at God and be pissed off and, sheesh, if only God would explain himself. Jobian? Maybe, except in Job, if we remember, God doesn't explain himself. He just is and Job gets it - or is satisfied with not getting it. In the book of Proverbs we are told, "Where words are many, sin is not wanting; but he who restrains his lips does well" (Pr 10.19). This is ordinarily true. But when you write a work where half of your novel is about the actions and words of the Blessed Trinity, this becomes extraordinarily true. It's like giving a five year old an Uzi. It's an author using the Blessed Trinity as his mouthpiece, making a god that fits.

Pope Leo XIII wrote, "The Mystery of the Blessed Trinity is called by the doctors of the Church 'the substance of the New Testament,' that is to say, the greatest of all mysteries, since it is the fountain and origin of them all. In order to know and contemplate this mystery, the angels were created in heaven and men upon earth. In order to teach more fully this mystery, which was but foreshadowed in the Old Testament, God Himself came down from the angels unto men ..." This is no mean doctrine. This is the doctrine. And yet Young gets it wrong. Then he builds his theological shack from there, board by rickety board. All authority and religion and institutions and hierarchy are man-made and are sneered at by God in this book. I understand the milieu this kind of thinking rises up out of, but it is sadly mistaken. Apparently Christ did not appoint some as apostles. Apparently all that bit in the New Testament about the episcopacy is just man's garbage/baggage - or perhaps due to the hardness of man's heart. Apparently sheep do not need a shepherd, leastwise none but God.

Wisdom is personified in the novel and is far more awe-inspiring then the Godhead. But then that isn't hard here, because God is not awe-inspiring in The Shack. Lewis's genius in writing about God - Aslan as a type of Christ - is that Aslan is always other and rarely around. His words are few and far between. He growls sometimes. He is wholly wild and wholly good. Reverence. Young's God is rather teddy bearish. Barney-as-God, if you will, singing his theology.

And the book goes on to offend any faith tradition remotely liturgical by rejecting all ritual and hierarchy and ecclesiology. "Nothing is ritual," Papa (bear) repeats. But as I finished reading the book before Mass and walked into my parish and dipped my fingers in holy water and crossed myself, I thought, "No, everything is ritual." (Damn near everything.) Unfortunately some have made ritual to be a godless thing, definitionally - without God, without merit, without hope. Yet ritual is how we as humans live - from how we rise and go to bed to how we celebrate, from how we eat our food to how we make love (or, better, that we make love). It is birthdays and weddings - I Love You's and kisses. Baptisms and bedtime prayers. Ritual can become empty and lifeless. But the answer to that problem is not to toss the ritual, but to renew the heart.

For me, Young reaches his theological low point on the Sunday of Mack's tryst with God. Mack and the three persons of the Godhead sit down together and celebrate Communion: "Without any ritual, without ceremony, they savored the warm bread and shared the wine and laughed about the stranger moments of the weekend." That's what makes it for me, along with the inane chumminess, a bitter read.

Much more could be said, but I've already said too much. There are good things that I haven't talked about. But the longer I think about the book, the less I like it. I did not like it, Sam I am.

P.S.: My wife doesn't much care for The Shack either, finding the depictions of the Godhead ridiculous, interruptive and distracting. She wanted me to tell you.

Books

I just finished Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory. Tremendous book. I don't know what to say beyond that, however. This is one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century, even though the Modern Library doesn't list it as such. That's OK, of course, "Opinions are like assholes: everyone has one" (so says my dad).

Currently I'm reading Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light. This book has to be a slow read for me, because of its intensity and subject matter. It makes me stand back and question how much I really love God. And wonder at how much I love myself. It also makes me chuckle at the controversy I heard concerning the book and this great woman. So let me just say it now: If Blessed Mother Teresa tweren't a Christian, then you and I got no hope. Fortunately for you and I, we got hope. And our hope is in the great mercy of God that is poured out on us, even in the darkest holes of India. As Fr. Cantalamessa recently said of St. Francis, I would also say of Blessed Mother Teresa (paraphrased): We do not cultivate St. Francis's or Blessed Mother Teresa's charism by looking at them, but by looking at Christ through their eyes. Who did he see when he looked upon our Lord? Who did she see? What would happen to our world if we began to see Jesus in the same way?

Maybe more on these books later.

Graham Greene

I finished The End of the Affair and find it terribly fascinating in a variety of ways, not the least of which is the wild freedom that Graham Greene, who was Catholic, enjoys. There is sex here. Adultery. Hate. Prostitution. (Woo-hoo?) It's the stuff of life that has always seemed too hush-hush, and yet Greene, out of such despair and joy and love and lust and spent humanity creates something beautiful that is difficult to describe other than with the book itself. This book is a triumph of God's mercy - a very un-Victorian look at the Victorian Thompson's "The Hound of Heaven." Of the Catholic authors I've read, this book is perhaps the most evangelical, if I can use the word, the most stripped-down, bared-bones call to God and Catholicism without completely crossing the line into a novelized tract (as some miserable Christian fictions cannot seem to rise above, who perhaps lack the freedom to rise above) - and while the narrator resists God's call entirely, you sense that even he knows that he is resisting Something rather than nothing. It's terribly, terribly fascinating to me.

This novel is my first introduction to Graham Greene and he's now on my list of authors with whom I must better familiarize myself with - and the thought of the Waughs and Greenes out there, undiscovered and unread, excite me. When I was younger, I remember hearing of Greene's being a Christian and then hearing that his novels weren't very Christian at all, and so, in my shining purity, I never neared one of his books - what a shame. Although, to be entirely frank, at the time I surely would not have been ready for such a story as this.

What is exciting for me, as well, I suppose, as a man who wants at some point in his life to write a novel, who contemplates such a feat more than works toward it, is the beauty that Waugh and Greene find in life, and the mercy imbedded within it. And how God redeems, woos us, is faithful - best of lovers.

Btw, the novel also corresponded in some odd ways to this past Monday's episode of House, which I'd recommend heartily. "So very many coincidences," indeed.

Brideshead

I watched Brideshead Revisited last weekend and then checked out the book from the library. I rarely do this - watch the movie first, read the novel second. Laura had seen the previews, however, and was interested, so I put it in our Netflix queue. I had heard vague charges of anti-Catholicism about the movie, but knew little of Waugh and less of his faith. I knew the book was supposed to have been borne out of his Catholicism, his being a convert, and after watching the movie, I knew that the film could not be a fair representation of his book. The movie is quite anti-Catholic, which is fine, if you don't mind the story saying the opposite thing the author meant for the story. One thing is sure, the book is profoundly Catholic, with an agnostic narrator, without feeling at all pushy or tract-like. It simply is the story of a family. It's not a story about being Catholic so much as it is a story of grace (which for some of us are the same thing). The movie, just as the book, is gorgeous, and received four stars from me for its luxuriousness. And what the movie could not do, and what a movie cannot do unless written to do so, is strip the mercy and grace intrinsic within characters simply because they are played by actors, by persons. There is sympathy or compassion there yet - an angel stirring the waters even though the angel was not welcome.

The novel is more glorious than the movie. I still found the film quite moving, however, though in a tragic sense rather than in the hope and grace that is impressed upon one while reading the novel. I would love to hear from those of you who have both read the book and seen the movie. What are your impressions? If you're not Catholic, what are your impressions of the novel? If you're unsympathetic to Catholicism, the movie will undoubtedly confirm your worser suspicions of our faith, as there are plenty of cliched Catholics present. Similar characters are also present in the book, but the difference in the book is that the book also has the real thing, and not just the cliche. But I need to re-read it to draw any better conclusions.

I also picked up The End of the Affair by Graham Greene from the library and am enjoying it now. I may say a word or two about it when I finish.

Long Time Coming

What a busy month it has been. Of course, our sixth child, this side of paradise, was born on January 1. You can see pictures in the sidebar. Her name is Catherine Claire and she's a beautiful addition to our family. She's very precious, though I think she would like me better if I had mammaries. She's a month old today. And I need to begin writing again.

We're shooting for a Valentine's Day baptism, but I'll keep you posted.

We also, rather impulsively and foolishly, have added a dog to our family. Clearly our lives needed more activity in them. The puppy is a husky mix named Charlie. He's quite calm and sociable, while remaining all puppy. We're busy house training and he's busy convincing us that things are better not left on the floor. "There will be consequences," he says, one eye ice blue, the other brown. Our cat hasn't a good thing to say about him yet, though he ignores her. I'm hoping she will one day come downstairs again. Sorry, Tula.

Physically it has been a terrible month for me: Ear problems. Constant headaches. I need to begin exercising again and do a better job eating better foods. I'm writing in the wee hours because my ear hurts too badly to sleep. But I've been able to catch up on my fellow writers and update my own blog - so, there at least, it's a good.

Couple of movies I've enjoyed this month: (1) Kung Fu Panda - my kids wouldn't let me send this movie back for 2 1/2 weeks and we laughed all the way through it even on the twentieth viewing. I suppose we'll need to buy it someday when the price comes down. (2) Henry Poole Is Here - a quiet, but good movie for a man (me) who needs to be occasionally reminded of life's hope.

I've actually finished a couple of books this past month as well. The first, Finding Darwin's God by Ken Miller, is an interesting book on evolution and faith and the celebration of freedom. I really am at a loss for words on this one, though I recommend it highly. Some people will be greatly offended by it, due to Dr. Miller's unapologetic belief in evolution. I found it instructive and inspiring. The second book I finished was The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky, which I've been reading for a year now. What a terrific novel! I can't say enough about this book. This is one I will re-read again and again. It is not only a fascinating story but is also a beautiful picture of our life in Christ. It isn't didactic, by any means, buy simply springs up out of its nineteenth-century Russian milieu and the beauty of Russian Orthodoxy.

Anyway, just a few items to get me re-accustomed to the water. Thank you for your prayers concerning the new baby and her mother. We ask that you continue praying for and with us.

Some Stuff

Life is funny. Just when I start getting interesting in pipe smoking, it possibly turns to dirt. The last couple of mornings after smoking, I've woken up with a monster migraine. I'm not certain the two are causally related, but it's likely. For me, it simply doesn't take much of a change in environment to trigger a headache. And that reaction from my body just makes me sad. I like the ritual of the pipe - the quiet of it, its spirituality. I'm going to give it a few more shots, but if the headaches, such severe headaches, continue on subsequent mornings, then this sordid affair, though passionate, will be short-lived.

On Fresh Air today (NPR), Terry Gross interviewed Ron Hansen, author of The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and who has just released a new historical fiction book on the life of Gerard Manley Hopkins (one of my most favorite of poets). Mr. Hansen is a deacon in the Catholic Church and Hopkins was a convert to the Catholic Church, who became a Jesuit priest and whose poetry was all published posthumously. This is my kind of book. It's titled Exiles and I think it's going to my Father's Day gift to myself. (Happy Father's Day to me! Happy Father's Day to me!)

Speaking of books, today the UPS man brought a gargantuan box of the complete works of Shakespeare, hardcovers all, 38 books total. The offer was through Amazon and published by the Penguin Group. All for $60 (that's $1.58 per play). A splurge on my part, but I couldn't resist. ("Happy Father's Day to you!" sings my wife. "Happy Father's Day to you!")

I lost my Rosary and am quite frustrated about it (truth be told, I'm cussing mad). I had it sitting on the night stand next to my bed and two days ago it came up missing. I checked with the local pack rat (yellow-haired), but she doesn't seem to have it. No one has seen it. I've checked under and in the bed and in all the pockets of shorts and jeans I've worn and I can't find it. It really bothers me. My dad gave me this Rosary, one that he had from ages past and I've enjoyed praying with it. Say a quick prayer for me that I'll find it, if you would, since I obviously can't pray without it.

A Terrible Question, on the John or Anywhere Else

My current On-the-John read is C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity. These kinds of books are excellent for reading on the commode: They're broken up into fairly equal chapters because they were originally on the air - 10-minute radio broadcasts. Here's something I ran across today.

How is it that people who are quite obviously eaten up with Pride can say they believe in God and appear to themselves very religious? I am afraid it means they are worshipping an imaginary God. They theoretically admit themselves to be nothing in the presence of this phantom God, but are really all the time imagining how He approves of them and thinks them far better than ordinary people: that is, they pay a pennyworth of imaginary humility to Him and get out of it a pound's worth of Pride towards their fellow-men. I suppose it was of those people Christ was thinking when He said that some would preach about Him and cast out devils in His name, only to be told at the end of the world that he had never known them. And any of us may at any moment be in this death-trap. Luckily, we have a test. Whenever we find that our religious life is making us feel that we are good - above all, that we are better than someone else - I think we may be sure that we are being acted on, not by God, but by the devil. The real test of being in the presence of God is that you either forget about yourself altogether or see yourself as a small, dirty object. It is better to forget about yourself altogether.

...

If anyone would like to acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step. The first step is to realise [sic] that one is proud. And a biggish step, too. At least, nothing whatever can be done before it. If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very conceited indeed.

Earlier, in the same chapter (Chapter 8, "The Great Sin"), he says, "As long as you are proud you cannot know God." And as I read the excerpt above, thinking of others who fit the bill before thinking of myself, I see that I am in terrible need of mercy.

In a Fix

I didn't expect to get the movie so soon. And I expected to read the book much earlier. But what do you do when Netflix sends you the movie and the book is on the end table next to your bed, and you're only two chapters in?

Should I just send the movie back? I know the answer. I just don't like it.

Less Than Human

I just finished reading The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis. It's not the first time I've read it, and, this time, I read it twice in as many weeks. Sometimes a second or third reading is warranted in order for the murkiness to be plumbed, in a manner of speaking.

I picked up the little book again after many years at the recommendation of Fr Thomas Hopko, an Orthodox priest, in one of his many lectures I'm working through on my iPod. This book is phenomenal. If you haven't read it recently, read it. Please. Because I want to talk about it. And while it speaks of the necessity of the objectivity of Values and Reason it also addresses issues more ecclesial. I suppose that is no surprise.

If you've read the 80-page book recently, I'd love to hear your thoughts. This book needs reading. I'm not even sure what kind of questions to ask for discussion, but I'm sure it will find itself relevant as the days pass. Perhaps I'll post as it does.

The Diane Rehm Show

I heard something funny on The Diane Rehm Show today. Diane and her guest, Jeffrey Sachs (author of the book Common Wealth: Economics for a Crowded Planet), were discussing ways in which we can deal with issues that currently trouble and will be troubling our planet in the future. Overpopulation was of course a topic. One lady called in and said something hilarious (to me) about the poor quality of life of so many old people (nursing homes, etc.) - saying that their quality of life was pathetic at best and that they were a drain on the system. She said, "I'm not saying we should kill them. I just wonder why we keep them alive." He he he. Why, indeed? Sachs, by the way, did not think old people were a big enough drain on the system to even consider the possibility - that it was certainly not a choice between our old and our young and that there were a legion of larger problems (like our military spending) that rather needed to be addressed.

It was an interesting interview over all, as usual, though I disagree with Mr Sachs's view on large families, as, perhaps, you might imagine. A one-would-assume-Mormon caller from Utah said he grew up in a family of nine and was concerned about Mr Sachs's views. Sachs replied, "Well, what if every family in the world had nine children? The world could not support that kind of population growth."

Of course, I think the point that Sachs may be missing is that every family doesn't have that many children. Nor do they want to. Most run screaming from the very idea. So perhaps we should not be talking about a "cap" on how many children couples are allowed to have until we see the whole world crazy for kids as if they were Cabbage Patch. (Or until shari'a law is imposed upon us, which might include more pressing problems.) I would also point out to Mr Sachs, if he were listening, that America is one of the few prosperous nations who are even replacing their current populations - and that only barely. Many countries are desperate for their people to have children.

Other than that disagreement (which may be a large disagreement, given the title of his book), it seems as if it might be an interesting read. I would especially like to hear more of his views on widespread water shortages in the future, which I've heard talk of before, and the Church's role: he continued to bring forward that she had one.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

A late addition to my favorites list:

Best Book of 2007: A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini, or at least the best I've read. I finished it last night with little ado, other than filling up my trash can with tissues. I also yelled at my wife to leave the room when she came in to see where I was in the book, because I don't like others seeing me cry; or staring at me and asking that terrible question: "Are you crying?" - Yes! Yes! I'm crying. Now leave me alone, woman! - And I was blubbering like a baby. This morning my eyes feel odd and heavy from the tears; it's uncomfortable. Anyway, enough of my womanish ways.

This book is profound and beautiful, recounting the lives of two women. For me, it was also deeply theological in ways that I would be cautious to express at this moment other than to say that God is all good and the Lover of mankind.

And while it is, of course, fictional, it is true - as all good fiction is. I highly recommend this book.

Barnes & Noble

So, OK, maybe it's a giant operation that implacably devours all that's good in small-town America. I get it. But, on the other hand, because of its prevalence and the ubiquity of gift cards, it can also be an oasis for a child-beleaguered bibliophile. I, thank goodness, usually get at least one gift card from BN when people are giving gifts. I request them. That way a parent living in Michigan or an in-law in Virginia can buy this poor man, who would buy books before he bought clothes or food (at least for a couple of hours), at their BN and I can spend it at mine.

In the past we used cash. That works as well. But the nice thing about the gift card is that I can't use it to pay for groceries or put it in the general budget for whatever we might currently be in need of.

And the nice thing about the gift card is that my wife is gracious enough to let me go to the bookstore alone with my gift card. (Ah, so many books and so little money.) And this is the real gift, this free browsing time. No child in a stroller pulling books off shelves or proudly screaming louder than anyone else in the store. No children running to the Thomas the Tank Engine play table or needing supervision as they browse through the children's section. The real gift in a BN gift card is this moment: Just me and a store-load of books. That's priceless.

My hour was spent yesterday and I left the juggernaut of a bookstore with The Divine Comedy (Everyman's Library edition, hardcover, with all three cantos [Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso], translated by Allen Mandelbaum) and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford by Ron Hansen (which is, unfortunately, only available at the bookstore with the movie jacket - something I loathe on all books and am therefore proposing a two-year cap [which is too generous] on stocking and selling such books with such loathsome jackets regardless of how nice said jackets look).

Anyway, I've cracked open The Divine Comedy and am currently enjoying the second circle of hell. C'est la vie. Or maybe, c'est la mort? Anyway, it's beautiful in spite of itself.

Tonight We Drive

We're heading out to Michigan tonight. We'll be driving through the night and so we covet your prayers. In the meantime, I have much to do around the house. I figure schooling today will be light as we prepare for the trip, pack, clean, nap, etc.

Last night I received a special dispensation from my wife to travel up the road to the library by myself. I found three audio books for the trip: (1) The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini, (2) Whiteout by Ken Follett, and (3) Lewis & Clark: The Journey of the Corps of Discovery by Dayton Duncan and Ken Burns. All told it is nearly 28 hours of listening pleasure (I hope). Although, I will only need to fill up 24 of those hours. If you know anything of any of the stories, please let me know. I have good recommendations on Kite Runner and Lewis & Clark so the only one I'm nervous about is the Follett book. (Though if you've read Kite Runner and there's plenty of "new vocabulary" for the kids, let me know. They should be sleeping during the trip, but I don't want anything explicit on the speakers. Well, not too explicit.) Also, if you have any recommendations for driving music, I'd appreciate it. I just thought about the soundtrack to Rain Man this morning, which has some great driving music on it. But if you have anything else, or if you want to set up a nice driving mix for me on iTunes, just let me know before dark tonight.

Blessings to you and yours on this most excellent feast day approaching. Merry Christmas to all and to all a prayer-vigil-for-weary-travelers kind of night! Pray for us, St Christopher.

Christ is born!

Miscellany

Yesterday I headed out to Wal-Mart to buy some Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Back and there again is a 40-minute jaunt. For ice cream. Why? Well, they have a better selection and are about a dollar cheaper there (child labor, I suspect). But mostly, taking into account the price of gas, because they have a better variety. The favorite flavor, currently, is Pistachio Pistachio. What else needs to be said? It's pistachios.

I saw Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream and picked it up. It has bits of waffle cone covered in fudge with caramel swirl. And it has a picture of the man himself on it. Very good.

So on the way out to Wal-Mart, to get back to my story, Anna and I are listening to the *secular radio station* and "Bohemian Rhapsody" begins playing. I turn it up for Anna's sake, to educate her in the world of Rock-and-Roll music. As the song gets to the middle, bouncy, operatic section, Anna starts dying laughing. I swanny, if she hadn't been buckled up she would have rolled onto the floor. It was high-larious.

Her two questions about the song were (1) Why [do Queen] sound like girls? and (2) Why do they write silly songs like that?

I figured any thorough answer would involve a conversation about drugs, among other things, so I just said people liked to write silly music sometimes. A six year old, after all, is only a six year old.

And, finally, to wrap up my miscellany, I am expecting to receive the Harry Potter book today. I suppose it will be read by Monday, if not earlier. Mock away, mocking world. I'm a Potter-head - not an in-line-at-the-book-store-at-12:01-dressed-up-like-Hagrid whacko like some of you out there, but I have thoroughly enjoyed the series. I'm becoming quite excited to see what becomes of the Boy Who Lived.

Jesus of Nazareth

I'm still planning on adding my inanities to the myriad of voices reviewing Papa Benedict's new book. But until then, this quote by an Orthodox Christian, Kevin P. Edgecomb, perfectly states the feelings I've had while reading it:

"One thing I think is clear. This book Jesus of Nazareth by Pope Benedict (Ratzinger) will come to be recognized as a watershed in a way that none of the other Jesus books ever has been or ever could be, a flaming sword between the Paradise of a faithful reading and application of all the Biblical texts fully informed by Patristic writings and Church Tradition yielding an image of the Living Jesus Christ, and the desert of academic historical-critical and other fads seeking a new and different contemporary Jesus to pad curricula vitae."