Author: James Hogan

A Consideration

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Hello friends! While I hope at some point to do a proper 2025 retrospective and a 2026 looking forward…this is not that. Instead, why not start off the year with a few books? (That I most certainly finished in 2025 but have only gotten around to writing about now!)

1. You Are Not Your Own by Alan Noble. A difficult read at times, but not for any fault of the author’s. Rather, this is a book that shines an unsparing mirror upon society (and yes, ourselves) and asks us to consider if the way we live our lives really properly reflects the truths that sit at the core of our very existence. Of course this is coming from a Christian perspective but if one considers such a perspective is true (which I do), this book is properly bracing in how it lays out the way our modern society has failed us and how our only response can be a reorienting and a considered, intentional way of living that operates with the understanding that we are not our own, but we belong to the God who created us. The first few chapters of this book (really the first half of this book!) are grim indeed, as they lay out the way in which our society and our modern outlook have failed us. It can be a bit of a hard slog and a depressing one as one reads on and on about we are set up for a miserable go of it if we live as if we are our own. I appreciated Noble’s perspective, for as much as I love old books, sometimes it is quite important to have people writing and sharing wisdom on the time in which we now live. This book does that. All the modern Western ailments are dealt with and at times I flinched as I considered how much my own thoughts and actions are coloured by my unthinking adherence to the standards and practices of this age which I call my own. And so, please push through the first few chapters as they are important and necessary for us to understand the problem. Of course, Noble does eventually come to a solution (what I would call the solution) of understanding that only through living as if we belong to God can we properly thrive in our living and being. It is still hard though. We want a practical primer, takeaways and 5-step programs and knowing that if we do the “one thing”, then everything will be better. Well, everything won’t be better immediately, no matter what we do. We live in a broken world, and nothing we can do can entirely redeem it. Thankfully, miraculously, gloriously? We know there is one who came to this world precisely to redeem it, and so in the glorious reality that Christ came to this world to offer salvation and point to a future in which all will be made right, we can also live now in gratitude and joy, beacons of hope to the dark that surrounds.

I am beginning to ramble now, so I won’t say much more, but there are some lovely statements and practical wisdom at the end of this book that helped me to reflect on how I ought now live. Particularly one line I loved was about the importance of “small rearguard advances”, the small things we do that reflect the true and the beautiful.

Actually, I think I will quote that paragraph to end: “I suspect this part of the book would feel much more satisfying if I lied to you, but I’m not going to. You will not save the world; you can’t even save yourself. At best, you may see the corruption in society more clearly, you may be better prepared to deal with the indignities of the modern world, and you may make small, rear-guard advances for truth, goodness, and beauty in your sphere of influence. I hope you do! But if you can get over yourself and stop thinking in terms of efficiency, you can honor God and love your neighbor while having faith that He will set things to right. Don’t let yourself ask, “Is this good deed making any real difference?” If it really is the right thing to do, the efficiency does not matter. Your obligation is faithfulness, not productivity or measurable results.”

2. Voices From the Past, edited by Richard Rushing. A wonderful daily devotional. I read this (almost!) every day this past year and my soul was much delighted in the doing. As someone who appreciates the old Puritan writings, reading a little bit of one every morning was truly balm for the soul. Of course some of the selections are better than others and of course there were times I wondered how the selection reflected the verse chosen. Still yet. It is wonderful to meditate on God and His words and works, and these writings helped me do so. Heartily recommend this if any of you are looking for a new daily devotional!

A Far Country

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She sits at the table and looks down at the scrambled eggs that sit on her plate. What is she waiting for? She slowly moves her fork in the general direction of the eggs. The fork stops. Her head rises. She looks at me. I don’t look at her. My eyes dance sideways. What do you want me to say? This conversation is not something I think I can handle just now. Am I ok with that? Maybe not. Is she ok with that? I don’t know. I don’t ask. My head drops. What of these eggs? Are they too dry? Perhaps. I take a bite. She opens her mouth.

And then it all spirals. I wish I could describe it to you but really this is between me and her. And I am not sorry to say that it goes far better than I ever could have dreamed. We talk of constellations and stars and dreams of the far beyond. Though there is still a degree of separation, I see a path through the thicket. On the other side, a river flows. I hear the water laughing all the way down to the sea. Let’s go, let’s go. I extend my hand to her. She somehow shockingly surprisingly for no reason that I could have foreseen places her hand in mine. These promises are bound with thicker cords than gold and finer threads than silk. A unity of three parts you say? You’re not far off.

I Understand

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it’s wonderful sometimes in the land across the sea
do you see the storm blow up from the palm tree
in which you sit
of course you do for you spend your time gazing
and I do for I am in my canoe with her
and as she gazes upwards into the sky
eyes open mouth open
rain drops falling
and though the storm rages
we don’t care for we’re already soaked
and we know the island
is closer now

Bread

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I wonder what it was like to sit on those green hills and listen to those strange words falling from the prophet’s lips. Did those words hit their hearts like thunder? Would a tremble have gone across their limbs as they heard this man say that he had come from heaven and was indeed the bread that would grant them life eternal? I wonder if I too would have been more focused on the fish and bread I was munching on than on the face of the man that stood before me with hands outstretched. I wonder if my thoughts too would have narrowed on the potential of this man being a revolutionary king that would be the pivot point upon which my fortunes would turn. Or would I have had the wisdom to see that perhaps there was more to this man and that I only needed to sit at his feet and listen? I would love to say that I would have been echoing the words of the one brash young man who declaimed his loyalty and been no less shy at admitting my lack of other options as I recognized that eternal life came from the strange words falling from the prophet’s lips. Perhaps? It is hard for me to say for that is not my story.

What can I say now though? I do believe this prophet’s words and I recognize a calling that has been issued that I cannot help but follow. A flame burns upon my brow and my clothes drip water from the sacred fount. I sit and eat this bread and drink this wine and look up to the tree that is stained in my Savior’s blood. Father my Father, I come. Spirit oh Spirit, I come. Jesus, I come.

Accommodations Must Be Made In the End She Says with Not a Bit of Condescension

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There are little moments that make me quite happy. Some of them involve the way my skin warms when the sun hits me through the leafed branches as I lie on my back and look up at the sky on a summer afternoon or perhaps the goosebumps that erupt on my skin as I gaze across the ocean on a blustery grey evening. But other moments are slightly less tangible and involve my racing thoughts as I sit upright at the opera as the waves of music gallop on past my head in unceasing grandeur and more noble beauty. For some reason even in moments of beauty where the light stands still and I tilt my head to consider the momentary state of the union in my inner parts I still somehow find room for the various factions in my mind to toss taunts back and forth across the divide of consciousness. Sometimes I stretch my hand out and try and craft a perfect moment where all parties come together in delightful harmony to dance a reel and fill my heart with the kind of joy that comes but once a blue moon or so. But what am I really saying? Is it foolish of me to rank moments and consider that some are decidedly less memorable? What about a moment like now? There are moments like the present where my fingers flex and groan across the keys of this laptop and I toss back football commentary to my brother and listen to my sister sigh as she reads eternal words and sips her tea. Moments like this are not to be sold for any price.

A Moment of Music

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She sits at the window looking out over the courtyard in all its wintry glory and wonders why the vista before her looks so grey in a way it never quite has before. The cobblestones shine in the remnants of the afternoon rain and though it looks like there could be a rainbow, as hard as she tries she cannot quite make one out. Rainbows are fickle creatures, really. So the view before her dazzles in shades of brown and grey and even some dirty white here and there where some of the whitewash applied last fall still sticks to the fence around the square. Why did they even make an attempt at that, she wonders. A solid black wrought iron fence looks much more dignified after all, a white coat atop simply an unnecessary fanciful gilding, really. But her thoughts wander. She usually liked the dreary days, the days when the fog shimmered in front of her face and her hand disappeared when she held it before her. Those foggy days all seemed hushed and still and her thoughts belonged to her alone. It was glorious. But this day her friend the fog had fled and she sees the wet and dirty square for what it is, a faded dream of a once proud city. Perhaps that was why she feels so sad. Her own dreams dance before her eyes and she is not too proud to deny the tears that swim up to meet them. And so the girl looks out over the square and tries to see the beauty that had once met her there every day. Those were beautiful days really, those when she sat underneath the springtime blossoms and written poetry in her little notebook. Those days would come again they would say. She knows that of course. But right now she doesn’t quite feel it. Feelings are fickle creatures, really. Perhaps someday her heart would ring again in a resounding symphony of colour. Perhaps someday she would write again of summer and waterfalls and green grassy cliffs looking out over a far ocean. But for now she sits at the window and can do naught but pray.

Unveiled

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the noise deafens and the ground shakes
the eighteen-wheelers rumble past
and the smoke billows upwards without ceasing
where is the fire she says do you see the smoke?
i just want a moment to myself a moment please
nothing more
but a silent night is not to be had or
so it seems for the chaos swirls
and the darkness of the void looms
and the babble rises yet i can’t hear
a single word
or at least none that i can understand
so she puts her hand over her ears and looks
pleadingly waiting for the wave to crest
then a voice sounds out piercingly
be still and rest
calm and glory
and in the story live
and be filled
come to me and know thy salvation
wonder of wonders
i understand
the word has come
the bells sound and the incense rises
o holy night

Light in the Darkness

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How good it is to be still and rest and sit and meditate the beauties of my God this merry day. What a joy it is to be with the family and hear all their voices chatting about this and that and the other, my stomach very pleasantly stuffed, a pot of stock bubbling on the stove and a book at my side about to be opened. Oh my heart is full to bursting as I consider how much my God has blessed me this day, all the days in my past and all the days in my future still to come! I sometimes tilt my head in awe and wonder that I should be given so much, I whom deserve so little.

So though I could write lines and lines and books and books and I feel the words simply must be written so that all might know what is in my heart, I shall cease now in fear that any words I could write would be insufficient to convey the beauties of the glory of the Lord. But hark – just a few more. Have you ever thought how marvelous it is that the God that created the universe and even now holds it all together, this very same God was born a baby on this earth in order to bring us close to him in full and forever communion with Him? I do not serve a cold and distant being who looks upon me in scorn. No, I serve a God who has saved me from my sins and has brought me into perfect fellowship with him. I deserved nothing but wrath and I have been given nothing but love. Jesus Christ came to this earth and was born in one of the most shockingly beautiful moments in history. My soul trembles as I think that God knows my name and smiles upon my frame. My heart breaks as I consider that I will be with my God forever through the blood of my Jesus who was born and died for me. Shocking, this.

Merry Christmas, my dear friends.

Manifesto

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quiet reigns over the city this morning
and i think i’m ok with that
sometimes it is better to be still
and with palms upward call to the one
who redeems
that one day we might have rest
and now in faithful abiding
let us be diligent
let us hold fast
let us draw near
so that we might with open hands
receive mercy and grace
through the blood of the one
who redeems
and in awe and wonder i sit in silence
underneath the shadow of the ancient tree

Sometimes Yes

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Sometimes I wonder why it is that fiction should so easily slip in the cracks whereas a well-written and solidly supported work of nonfiction can not find even the smallest purchase in my mind. I know everyone’s mind is different – at least I’m assured of such – which comforts me because I know then that the plethora of nonfiction educative works out in the world are of use to many many souls. Even for me, I can say with confidence I have been helped and encouraged and perhaps even edified by some of the nonfiction works floating out and about in the world. Yet there is something about a good story that will do things to me that no other form of writing can do, no matter how skillfully penned. This is not an original topic of course. I’m aware that much has been written about the human craving for pattern and is not story just another word for pattern? We seek to make sense of the chaos about us and if we can just make it all fit in a story that has a beginning and a middle and possibly even an end, would not that make life meaningful in a way that our souls long for? We cry for meaning and desperately grab on to whatever may give us such, if only that we can avoid slipping back into the existential void that we are all too afraid is the source from which we sprang. So is this desire for story simply a reaction of a mind half blind with fear and anxiety? Or do we desire to hear a great tale because that mirrors something in us that may perhaps have been put there a purpose, a reflection of the reality which is greater than we can now fully grasp? Hence to dart back to my original point (which perhaps has fled from me at this juncture), a true story simply told is something that will disarm all my defenses and leave me quivering on the floorboards, aware that I am both less than and greater than all at the same time. And if the story is true, well…at what point does this truth leave the pages in which I find it and enter my soul to provide an answer for that which my soul longs? I love to ask questions for too often I feel I do not know the answers. Yet, are there answers? Is there an answer? I dare not think otherwise. It stares me in the face and I tremble.