Tag: literary

fifth row baptists

James HoganLeave a comment

Hello friends! A sleepy Sunday post is in order, methinks. And as matter of fact, I think this post shall be mostly just me rambling about books. Because of aforesaid mentioned sleepiness, I don’t think this shall be a long post. But as always, we shall see! Be well, one and all.

53. Thank You, Jeeves by PG Wodehouse. Absolutely fantastic. I have heard of Wodehouse and the Jeeves stories before, of course. I knew they were a part of the British literary canon that I was remiss in reading and that I would need to remedy such at some point. Thankfully, due to a fortuitous encounter in a remarkably well-stocked book section at a Goodwill, I decided it was time to read my first Wodehouse and this was it. I was not disappointed. The humour was top notch. Of course humour is subjective and I’m sure some would bounce off Wodehouse. For me though? Perfection. I wish I had half the wit and verve of Wodehouse – I’d read line after line of writing that simply crackled with absurd hilarity and wonder how on earth he managed it. If you like absurd off-the-wall ridiculousness married with near-perfect prose, I think you’d enjoy this. I know I did.

54. The Holiness of God by R.C. Sproul – A book that grabs you by the collar and simply won’t let go. I’ve read this once, many years before, and I recall how much this one gripped and shook me. Reading it again now, I marveled anew at the holiness, grandeur and glory of God. I am grateful for this book of Sproul’s, one that does not apologize for the God of the Bible, the God who is proclaimed in all its pages and of whom creation shouts in chorus. Sproul is unapologetic in ascribing a place to God that is far separate from the place reserved for the rest of creation. This book feels at times as if it was written in a time so different from our own, a time when the other-ness of God was not as alien a concept as it seems to be in this age in which we now live. Of course this book wasn’t written that long ago – 1985 – still yet it seems as if the God Sproul preaches would be anathema to the majority of so-called Christian teachers in this day and age.

We at times seem to spend all our time crafting a God that fits our idea of goodness, justice and love – a God that we feel comfortable with and whose ideals mirror our own. This is idolatry, pure and simple, and Sproul calls that out. He doesn’t quite wade into all the depths of ontology and epistemology, yet Sproul does ask that we cease from demanding that God can only be God if he fits our pre-conceived notions of what God ought to be. How often have we heard or uttered the phrase – “I could never worship a God who…” Instead of screaming our rights into the void, perhaps we ought ask the question – Is God real? And if so, who is He? And what is my response? This is spadework and not always comfortable. And I’m not saying Sproul is hand-holding us through this journey. Instead, Sproul simply and faithfully discusses the God of the Bible, the God as revealed in both specific and general revelation, and explains who this God is and why he is worthy of our worship.

At the end of the day, the way we live our life is governed by who we see God to be and who we see ourselves to be. And Sproul clearly and concisely draws back the curtain and shows us the tiniest of glimpses of the reality of the God who made all things. Sproul is just a man and all too fallible and so of course this book is not perfect. Yet it is one that drove me to my knees as I consider what it is that I live and breathe in a world made by a God so utterly holy that to gaze upon Him would utterly undo me. Who am I, a jar of clay and oh so foul and depraved? And yet also am I not one crafted in the image of this God I long to know? There’s a mystery there – how can I be made right and gain communion with this God who seems so far from me? Has God spoken to us and given us a way to be right with Him? The name that is above every name is spoken by my heart and I tremble. I raise my hands and drop any claims I have and bow the knee to the One who made all things. This book is one that I need to read again and again. God is God and I am not. Remember this. Remember this.

55. What Does It Mean to Fear the Lord? by Michael Reeves. A wonderful little pamphlet walking us through the concept of the “fear of the Lord”. This can be very confusing, to be sure. I’ve had conversations with people who refuse to believe that Christians should “fear the Lord”. And part of that is likely due to the inability of the English language to properly define this concept, this idea of trembling joy and awe and love that comes face to face with understanding who God is and what our proper response to Him is. This is a very little book, but Reeves does a masterful job of walking through what fear of God is, and what it isn’t. The fear of the Lord is not a cringing fear that drives us from God in our hatred of who he is. Instead, the proper fear of the Lord is a recognition of the nature of God and the proper response of humility and love that draws us closer to our God. I feel this is a ongoing thread in my reading of late but I shall state it again. God is God and I am not. Let us remember that, and as we understand ever more who God truly is, our fear of Him will be that fear which spurs on a delighted awe and love as we humbly bow before our Creator. A great little read, heartily recommended.

56. Theo of Golden by Allen Levi. This book frustrated me at times. There are some beautiful little moments and I greatly admired the themes of the author and what he attempted to point towards. It is rare to find a modern book which preaches such themes of Christian love and humility and it made me glad to see such praised in this book. There is also such a wonderful focus on the worth of every person and the idea that all of us have a story that is worth knowing. I was under the impression this was a secular book and was pleasantly surprised discovering the Christian themes that lay at this book’s core, even identifying Theo as a little Christ-figure and one who attempts to point us to that light, that fountain, that Jesus that is the only source of life and truth. Yet. Apart from all that, this book was a hard read at times. I admire the author’s aims, but the book wasn’t always an easy read, at times overly twee, at times overly artificial and manufactured. This felt like a book with too many cardboard cutouts, not enough real people. I often found myself struggling to make myself read a few more chapters. And the major revelation at the end of this book does some major damage to the book’s theme of selfless love for the other and make one wonder if the author truly realize that his attempts to tie up all loose ends into a tidy knot actually undercut some of the strongest themes of his tale. Ah well. I enjoyed parts of this book. Unfortunately the book wasn’t particularly well-written and I think at times the author spends too much time telling, not enough time showing. Maybe some people like the didactic hammering on the head. For me, not so much, even when I tend to agree with the author’s belief system. Main problem at the end of the day? The author’s skill was not quite up to snuff to tell the story he was attempting to tell. Still though, I admire the attempt.

Home By Eleven

James HoganLeave a comment

Hello friends! A rainy Saturday here and it’s nice to be warm and dry inside with nothing on the agenda this evening. Well, maybe some reading and perhaps some Great British Baking Show shenanigans. And I do hope some reading as well! But we shall see. I’m a bit tired but it’s not even 7pm yet so surely I can’t even start to consider bedtime yet. So thought I’d log a few of my latest reads and perhaps I’ll write more later? Nah I don’t want to promise that. But here we go, let’s talk about some books most briefly.

26. Disaster on Windy Hill by Lois Walfrid Johnson. The Northwoods series comes to a close! I do like this book and think it’s a lovely little capstone to the series. Finally they are all back at home again and we get the whole family and Kate continues to grow up and though the plot is pretty basic, the character arc is what matters here. Love to see Kate growing up into a strong woman of God. And some truly memorable scenes here, my favourite being when Kate witnesses Papa go out to the woods to seek the Lord and read the Bible in a time of hardship and fear. Might I remember this. Where do I go when I fear and my heart quakes? May I also cry out to the Lord in my distress, to one who shows lovingkindness to me his child!

27. Lost in a Good Book by Jasper Fforde. Another absurd romp by the literary mastermind Fforde. He really is quite a clever writer and I found myself much amused by this one. I suppose it really helps to have a good grounding in books and literary topics and I doubt I would have appreciated this one half as much if I read it fifteen years ago. Reading it now…well, it was simply superb. I don’t want to spoil overmuch, but the first part of the book is good, though just kind of ridiculous and off the wall. But about halfway through, when Thursday starts to enter other…er…dimensions…the book just becomes superb , tickling my fancy to the extreme. If you are a book lover and appreciate a book that doesn’t take itself too seriously and is wacky and fun and also chockfull of clever wordplay and bookish illusions….well, you’ve come to the right place.

28. Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery. Didn’t quite think I’d read this book again so soon after my last read, but ended up reading it for book club this month and though I probably could have foregone the read and just gone off memory…of course I had to read it again. And oh this one still delights. Some may wonder why this book resonates so much with my soul. I doubt I can fully explain but I just know my heart thrills when reading this one. Such simple sweetness, such profound beauty. I love reading of the good and the beautiful and the human, and this book delights in all the ways. It’s brilliantly written – Montgomery has such a way with words and so many wonderful turns of phrase. The humour is top-notch and I found myself laughing out loud multiple times as I read! Yes Anne is a bit ridiculous and at times overly whimsical and full of drama. Oh so many mishaps and misadventures! Still yet we see her grow into a young woman who loves deeply and begins to think of others before herself. I do so love how the author alternates between scenes of nature that delight the imagination and lengthy passages of dialogue where you can just hear Anne speaking her heart and soul. This book is one that reminds me of the sheer beauty of the world in which we walk and breathe and also speaks of the wonder of what it is to be human. So many times as I read a short descriptive paragraph of the path Anne was walking, I found myself smiling as my heart warmed as I imagined walking there myself.

I did find one passage that I marked in a past read and I wondered why it was the only passage I had marked off. Read it and then nodded to myself. Yup, I agree with past James. This passage thrums a chord deep in my heart and I shall close with this now. “It’s nice to be eating ice cream at brilliant restaurants at eleven o’clock at night once in awhile; but as a regular thing I’d rather be in the east gable at eleven, sound asleep, but kind of knowing even in my sleep that the stars were shining outside and that the wind was blowing in the firs across the brook.”

Yearning

James HoganLeave a comment

A few book thoughts as this evening slowly darkens.

17. Exhalation by Ted Chiang. A collection of short stories that I enjoyed for the most part, yet left me a bit cold in the end. The stories here are mostly sci-fi or futuristic in concept and while I usually appreciated the author’s exploration of some interesting concepts, the writing and characters left something to be desired. Perhaps I just wasn’t in the right mood for some gritty and slightly unsettling looks into our future, I don’t know! This author attempted to extrapolate our current technology into the future and the effects such would have on humanity. The technological advances that we see even today – are they beneficial? Well. It depends. Anyway, these stories weren’t terrible. Also not great.

18. The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene. Wow, what a bracingly powerful piece of fiction. This book is atmospheric and vivid, poignantly human and oh so beautifully written. And yes, it is a bit claustrophobic at times, dark and depressing and not entirely an easy read. Yet I found myself enthralled with the tale Greene spins, the story of a priest on the run, a priest persecuted and cast out and still yet struggling to do the duty that he feels is his. There are layers to this book and I do not feel I’ve fully peeled them back. At first glance, this is a glimpse into an area of Mexico one hundred some years back when anti-Christian forces have risen to power and driven out the church by law and force of arms. I know little of this history and feel shamed that I have not heard of this chapter before.

But this is more than a dry history lesson. This is a story about people, people in all their glory and all their shame. There are some truly lovely passages in this one, especially the night the priest spends in prison. So many sentences from Greene’s pen made me pause in my reading and consider more carefully what I was reading. What is the nature of humanity? What is the nature of God? What does it mean to be a saint? What does it take to be right with God? Greene doesn’t exactly answer all these questions, but this book is not intended to be holy writ. Instead, we are simply asked to look and see and behold the faces of those humans around us who groan as verily as we do and who bear the very image of the divine. Who can save us from our sins? Will one stand in the gap and suffer that we might live? The priest attempts yet falls short in the end as of course he must. Greene doesn’t beautify the priest yet he does allow for a moment of hope, a glimpse of glory even despite the afflictions that surround. There are shades of heaven in this one. Faint, but there nonetheless. I would now meditate on Jesus, the one whose righteousness alone can bring us home to God.

Breathing Deep of the last Aching Notes of Summer’s Song

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A quiet Friday night is upon us. A lovely little end of the week walk was enjoyed and even though it was rather hot – as is typical for September! – I did enjoy just walking along the trail and enjoying all the blessings my Father has bestowed upon me. And now! A couple of quick book reviews. Yes. They shall be quick. I promise.

55. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Could not finish this one. There are some lovely parts to be sure and some rather fine writing and I’m sure there is value to be found in this book. But in the end, I could not stomach another second of Florentino Ariza.

56. Anne of the Island by L.M. Montgomery. A jewel of a book and one of my favourites of the Anne series. I always approach this one by with joy in the anticipation and I have never been disappointed as I turn that final page. This book is one that is just a perfect delight of a read. There is a tinge of melancholy in this book and perhaps that is what gives the whole book such a well-rounded air of the true, I’m unsure. But apart from that, I simply adore the descriptions in this book and the way Montgomery shows so poignantly some of the feelings that come with growing up. Also? Montgomery always needs a character that pulls her away from that dangerous saccharinely sweet ditch and here she comes up with a brilliant one in Philippa Gordon. Phil is one of my all time favourite Montgomery creations and I smile every time I read one of her lines. We all need a Phil in our lives.

Scribblings

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The scent of jasmine wafted through the open window.  He breathed deep.  Truly, this was a different place.  As he continued to climb the stairs, he looked out the window to his right and gasped.  The grey sky from down below was gone.  Now there was only blue sky as far as his eye could see, even to the horizon.  Below him green foliage waved cheerfully.  The tops of trees, he realized.  From above it was difficult to identify the types of trees, but they were large, that he knew.  Yet it seemed as if he looked out upon a carpet of living green tendrils, welcoming and inviting.

The sky glowed an even deeper blue.  The sun was nowhere to be seen and if he had to guess, it was surely not far past noon.  Yet the breeze floating through the window was cool and crisp and he breathed in the scent of jasmine once more.  He came to himself and found that he was standing still at the window, captured by the glories of the day, enraptured by the true found stories.  He had heard tell of this, but even now, he didn’t know how it was possible.  This was a dead world.  Or so he had been told.  Where did this life come from?  Was it a dimensional pocket extrusion or a fancy holographic illusion?  He doubted it.  Even the finest light tech couldn’t replicate such beauty as lay before him.  Maybe it was a different universe.  Indeed, he thought his own incapable of this.  Maybe in Old Earth.  Not here.  Not now.

And now he understood why some would come to pilgrimage here.  Now he knew why some would come to live a half-remembered dream.  Even if he didn’t truly understand where or how or why he was, he did not doubt that he was.  He breathed in deep.  Again the jasmine.  Again the light of the heavens startled him with its brilliance.  Surely it was not possible for something to be so blue.

He supposed he should keep climbing.  He had been standing at the window for what could have been either hours or days.  He knew not.  With a sigh, he turned and stepped upwards.  He knew he dare not linger, even though he felt as if he may never see such a glorious sight with his own eyes again.

As he continued up the stairs, it seemed that the staircase started to spiral in a tighter circle, that possibly the stairs began to narrow.  He wasn’t sure, so gradual was the change.  The deep mahogany of the handrail felt warm beneath the skin of his hand as he ascended.  His legs now seemed incapable of stopping.  Upward and onward.

Every few steps he would pass another window of blue radiance and he would smell jasmine and honeysuckle and he would feel the wind caress his cheek.  Yet he did not stop for he knew that what he sought was nigh.  What he sought!  But he sought for nothing, that’s what he had told the old man down below, so long ago now.  The old man in his violently violet robes, welcoming him in a voice that had seemed overly pretentious and full of joy at the time.  Now the man wondered.  Was everything coming true?

He wasn’t a pilgrim, he had told the old man.  Pilgrims are fools, blinded by the whispered glories of a dead past.  Why was he here?  Well, it was simple – he had superiors who had superiors who in a most superior fashion had declaimed desires of revealing what lay beneath the pernicious rumours.  And he was the least threatening of his kind, so of course he would be the one sent.  To discover and learn and seek the truth.  To expose, as he thought of it.  To rip the curtain back from the hallowed temple of the weak-minded.

And so he had entered the squat building earlier this morning (week?  Month?  Year?) and despite the cheap ceramic-overlaid interior décor, he had smiled as he heard strains of Rachmaninoff’s 2nd faintly echoing, as if from a far-off room.  And then the old man had ruined everything with his ridiculous grand entrance and pretentious posturing and vain attempts to justify the existence of the Tower.

Despite the old man’s pleas, he had ignored all the scribblings and carvings.  He had seen the same such artifacts countless times before.  Forward to the main attraction, forward to the staircase.  At least he knew of the staircase now, after his…encounter of the night before.  Gooseflesh rose.  He would not recall those memories.

But now he climbed.  And at the bottom he was a man who believed nothing and ventured everything because what was there to lose?  Now as his hand gripped the rail tightly, he shuddered.  Did he believe?  Could he believe?

 A doorway loomed ahead.  There were no more stairs.  The door was small, barely taller than his own height.  It was of oaken appearance, inlaid with finely wrought metallic elements.  Light glowed and pulsed amongst the metal engravings.  Warming, welcoming light.  His hand left the railing and he grasped at the doorknob.  It was cool and smooth under his touch, and it seemed to melt into his hand as if his hand was the only key that could unlock the door.

He shuddered again.  In fear?  In bliss?  He did not know.  What had they done to him?

What were they doing to him?

He could not resist any longer.

He ever so slightly turned the doorknob.

And the door swung open.

That Shining Barrier

James HoganLeave a comment

G’evening, friends! I write to you now as Monday afternoon slowly bleeds into Monday evening…it has been a long day and I am wearied, yet now I am at home and it is time to rest. What a wonderful concept, rest! And I have been meaning to write this entry(or something like) for the past day or so now, but this is the first time I’ve had both the opportunity and the energy to do so. Of course, now that I start writing, my interest begins flagging(or perhaps that is my appetite speaking?). Nevertheless, I shall write.

Firstly, a small digression on commuting. I have a reasonable length commute compared to some(30 minutes in the morning, about 40 in the afternoon), but for Houston that’s not bad at all! But one of the most common complaints I hear from people here in Houston is the abysmal traffic(which is true) and the shockingly long time it takes to travel anywhere(which is also true). For some reason though, I really do not mind my commute that much and I started thinking on it recently…and it really is purely the fact that I quite love listening to my music(with the sporadic sermon!) as I drive. I make (far too many if you ask most people) mix CDs with my most favourite music…and I tend to buy CDs off Amazon now and again too…so I have a plethora of music from which to choose and freshen my rotation as desired. Am I odd? Most certainly – but I find the relaxing – and at times exhilarating – nature of the music I listen to is a boon to my soul. And of course – a gift from God. It’s odd, because I even find myself not wanting to talk to people while I drive anymore, because then I have to pause my music. This is probably a good thing, as distracting myself with my phone on the Houston roads is not entirely wise. Still – I wonder at myself. Why do I prefer music to talking to a dear friend or sister or parent at times? Possibly because my drive home tends to be my decompression time…as I slowly let the stresses of work bleed away as I drive on. The open road and a good tune. Quality combination, yes? Anyways, this digression is utterly silly, I acknowledge. I just wished to do a little self-reflection in a public forum, which is occasionally acceptable. Key word being occasionally.

Now secondly? The bittersweet ache that comes with nearing the end of a beautiful book. I am currently reading a book that is most remarkable in many ways and if I dare to try and name the numerous recommending qualities of it, I risk marring its beauty with my poor words. Maybe later I shall try. But this book…I started reading it approximately a week ago. Last Wednesday I believe? And now, I near its end(literally, all I have left is the epilogue!!) It is very short, less than 250 pages, and I have made my usual mistake of rushing ahead through a book as a bull rushes through the undergrowth of the meadow. But there comes that moment that I have faced many times before – when I am reading a book for the first time and realise that I am nearing its end. As often as I may reread a book, I can only read it for the first time the once. And that feeling…nearing the end…it is as if you were at the symphony, watching Tchaikovsky’s 6th being played to the height of its pathos and knowing you would never again experience such sublime beauty again. That piercing feeling of mingled grief and anticipation. Yet, while reading a great book – its promises are not yet fulfilled until the end is reached. So the end must be reached and so its finish comes. The end may linger, but it will come. Even with this book I am reading, I have been lingering these past few nights, trying not to let myself finish it, trying to stretch out the staggeringly beautiful read. But – do I not want the culmination? Do I not want that final promise fulfilled? Do I not want the boat to surge up the shoreline and touch that white sand? We linger, yes. But the joy will be greater when the book is closed. And now I have severely mixed the themes of this paragraph and I shall cease. To sum up though, I do have actual grief at nearing the end of this book. No more to read. No more to love. But without reading this book, its beauty would not be observed.

Thirdly? Because I did have a third random topic to talk about, but I for the life of me cannot remember what it was. Well, I will make up a new topic then. I recently have been much enjoying my communion with God…and I wish so much that all of you could be as enamored of Christ as I feel I am. Even this morning was remarkable. I usually set my alarm for 4, but almost never get up right away. I struggle and sleep for a while…before finally showering and grabbing a few quick minutes in the Word. Today though – I was wide awake by 3:55…you may think “horror of horrors!” but it was indeed a great gift that God gave me – it meant by the time I had showered and made my lunch and warmed my coffee, I had 38 minutes to read! (yes, I checked – so in awe was I). So 38 minutes to dive into the Word and enjoy a quiet few moments with my God. How shall I complain of the mundane worries and wearisome burdens that I bear…? This morning, I received that special gift of extra time with my God and it was beautiful. So unworthy am I. So loved am I.

Now…with such a shockingly random assortment of reflections…I shall take my leave and make my dinner. (Or rather…heat up my leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes!!). My heart burns for the love of my Lord. Go under the mercy of God, dear friends.