Category Archives: Uncategorized

Alexander Waugh’s Fathers and Sons

Posted on by
Reply

I do not remember when or where I first heard the name Evelyn Waugh.  I suspect it was through repeated references to his writings in other books that I came to take up Brideshead Revisited some years back.  I have been intrigued ever since.  Mrs. Richardson and I have read most of the novels and a good many of the short stories and we seldom fail to dissolve into unrestrained tears of laughter in the process.

I recently stumbled across Evelyn’s grandson Alexander Waugh’s autobiography of his paternal lineage and decided to check it out.  What I found in Fathers and Sons was a spell-binding, engrossing, frequently hysterical, oftentimes disturbing and troubling book about four generations of male Waugh life and authorship.  Alexander prefers “Wavian” to “Waughvian” to describe in adjectival force the peculiar genius and malady of the family Waugh.  Fair enough.  All I know is there simply must be some kind of adjective to describe this family.

Alexander’s portrayal of his Great-Great Grandfather (The Brute), his Great Grandfather (the British publisher Arthur Waugh), his Grandfather and Uncle (Evelyn and Alec, respectively), and his father (Auberon) is at one and the same time brutally honest, (sometimes) condemnatory, sympathetic, defensive, and bewildering.  The book is an undiluted page-turner that Roni and I had great difficulty putting down, even at those points when we were horrified by what we were reading.

I suppose I would be dishonest if I didn’t say that I frequently thought, while reading the book, of the oft-repeated biblical notion of “the sins of the fathers” being passed down to the generations.  Indeed, for all of their genius and strenghts (and, at points, apparently sincere Christian faith), it must be admitted that, in all, Alexander’s depiction of the male Waughs is of a family of men gripped by peculiar genius, staggering humor and wit, astonishing literary gifts, paternal dysfunction, arrogance, snobbery, astonishing sexual deviancy, biting cruelty, family pride, family indifference, family neglect, family obsession, national identity, patriotism, criticism, generosity, greed, and jaw-dropping anecdotal evidence of the depravity of man.

That is a generalization, and should be taken with all the caveats and nuances befitting such.  But it is, I believe, an accurate generalization.  Nor should that be taken to be read snobbishly in its own right.  In fact, in saying all of that, I’m simply saying that the Waugh family is a family of sinners, like all families.  It just so happens that the Waugh family is a public family with rather public sinners oftentimes committing rather public sins.  Even when sinning in private, there seemed to be an amazing predeliction for recording the details of their sins in diaries and letters that were, at least to some extent, intended for later publication.

A few things I likely will never forget:  The Brute’s cruelty to his children (dipping their fingertips ((or at least one of his children’s fingertips)) in sulphuric acid when he saw them biting their nails!), Arthur’s weird and, at times, blasphemous obsession with his son Alec (evoking the language of the divine Father and Son), Alec’s utter, carnal debauchery, Evelyn’s resentment and unmistakable genius, Evelyn’s occasional (and staggering) cruelty towards his children alongside Evelyn’s compassion, concern for, and generosity towards his children, the enigma of Evelyn’s faith, the lingering question of how the Waugh women endured all of this and the question of how all of this affected Alexander’s atheism.

As for the book itself, it is written very well.  It is very, very difficult to put down.  “Enthralling” is not, in fact, too strong a word.  Some parts of the diaries and letters are shocking and grotesque, but one gathers that Alexander simply wanted to give an accurate picture of a family about which opinions all across the spectrum have been offered for years on end.

Again, it is a troubling book, but likely valuable for those of us who often work with families in counseling.  I would daresay the book might also be of particular interest to fathers and sons.

Some of the more explicit passages keep me from actually recommending the book.  There are aspects of it that are profoundly distasteful.  But that is simply because it is a depiction of the very real lives of a very real family.

I think in many ways I feel conflicted after reading this book.  Maybe that’s the best way to sum it up.

John Stott’s Basic Christianity

Posted on by
Reply

As a boy, I remember seeing certain titles on my dad’s bookshelf:  C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity, a boxed set of Calvin Miller’s Singer trilogy, a hardbound Francis Schaeffer trilogy including Schaeffer’s The God Who is There, and John Stott’s Basic Christianity.  There were more, but these were the ones I remember most, probably because, largely through my father’s influence, each of these books came to have quite an impact on my own life.

I should clarify:  the writings of John Stott have had an impact on my life for some time, but I have only recently come to experience John Stott’s seminal Basic Christianity.  “Seminal” is not a word that should be used lightly, but it justly applies to this amazing little work from the pen of one of Evangelicalism’s most prolific lives and ministries.  I turned to this book after the recent death of Stott, and I regret now that it has taken me so long to do so.

Part introduction, part summary, part apologetic, Basic Christianity has achieved the unlikely goal of being both an illuminating explanation of the faith suitable for nonbelievers and an inspiring reminder of the faith suitable for long-time believers.  The book is written in a style that is deceptively simple.  I say “deceptively,” because, in truth, Stott has handled a number of profoundly deep truths in this little work in a style that is conversational and easily accessible.  Part of Stott’s genius was his ability to communicate through clear explanation and deft illustration fundamental biblical verities that are, to steal from Luther, “shallow enough to wade through but deep enough to drown in.”

Stott covers aptly the nature of God, man’s sin nature and need for a Savior, the person, work, and ministry of Jesus, how one comes into the Christian life, and the privileges and responsibilities of one who has come into the Christian life.  He writes convincingly, carefully, and with great erudition and learning.  His apologetic for the resurrection is particularly noteworthy.  Furthermore, his handling of the truths of justification and sanctification is tremendous and, for this believer, very helpful and thought-provoking.

If you would like a wonderful primer to give to a person with whom you are sharing the faith, I would highly encourage Basic Christianity.  If you would like a compelling and, frankly, enjoyable refresher on the faith, I would highly encourage this book again.

Basic Christianity is wonderfully lucid, helpful little book that you will not regret reading or giving to a friend or loved one.

Eric Metaxas’ Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy

Posted on by
Reply

Note: I wrote this review nine years ago. Since that time, for a number of reasons, I have changed much of my opinion of Metaxas’ book. I’ve decided to leave this review up but link to my recent (2020) review of Stephen R. Haynes’ The Battle for Bonhoeffer: Debating Discipleship in the Age of Trump that, I think, will explain some of my own shifting views on Metaxas’ book and Metaxas himself. It probably won’t explain it to anybody’s real liking, but I think the general idea comes through. Anyway, here’s my earlier review, unedited, but please follow the link for a more updated opinion. There is much I’d change about this review with almost a decade of reflection between then and now.

 

Eric Metaxas’ Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy has already achieved the status of a modern biography classic.  Having just finished it (technically, having just finished listening to my Kindle read it to me over a few very long drives), I would say that this status is justly deserved.  Metaxas has produced a work that is illuminating, inspiring and informative.  A towering figure like Bonhoeffer is deserving of a worthy chronicler, and Metaxas does not disappoint.

Metaxas handles the nuances and complexities of the early-twentieth century theological landscape with erudition and finesse.  Without lapsing into Evangelical hagiography, he depicts Bonhoeffer as a sincere believer in the Lord Jesus who had a high regard for scripture truth, for the Christian life, and for Christlikeness.  His handling of Bonhoeffer’s activities in the resistance, as well as his demonstration of how Bonhoeffer’s mind and convictions developed, leading him into the resistance, was most interesting and helpful.

Bonhoeffer was a complex figure who has been claimed by various camps over the years.  He does not fit neatly into any camp, however.  This means that various Christian subcultures will have no problem finding things about Bonhoeffer that trouble them as well as things that delight them.  This being said, Metaxas has, in my opinion, driven a stake through the heart of the supposed “liberal Bonhoeffer” by showing him to be a man with a healthy distrust of the siren songs of theological modernity and its erstwhile discontents.  He demonstrates Bonhoeffer’s tenacious hold on the gospel of Christ, his desire for biblical preaching (his frustration at the liberal preaching he encountered in New York and his preference for conservative, Bible-based preaching is most telling), his rejection of empty, cultural, nominal Christianity, and his desire not to remove the scandal of the cross.

Metaxas nimbly, judiciously, and impressively reveals the heart and mind of his subject in ways that will deeply affect the reader.  About the highest compliment one can pay a biography is to say, upon finishing it, “I feel that I know the man.”  I daresay you will most likely say this after finishing this wonderful work.

I was deeply moved by Metaxas’ handling of Bonhoeffer’s relationship with Maria, his fiance.  His treatment of Bonhoeffer’s developing thought leading up to his participation in the resistance was extremely helpful and insightful.  In particular, I was struck by the sheer doggedness of Bonhoeffer’s moral vision as he looked in horror at who Hitler was and what He was about.

It is a fascinating tale of the collision between Christian conviction and evil.  Like many people, I was generally familiar with Bonhoeffer’s story as I approached this biography.  I have been caught up (again, like so many others) in an interest in and admiration of Bonhoeffer ever since I read The Cost of Discipleship in college, an experience that ranks right up there (almost) with my first reading of Lewis’ Mere Christianity.  Even so, this biography deepened both my understanding of Bonhoeffer and my appreciation for him.

One or two sections of Metaxas’ book may be a bit much for some in terms of the difficulty of the subject matter.  I’m speaking mainly of his discussion of the theological controversies and the overall theological milieu surrounding Bonhoeffer in his school days.  But I would think that most people would find even these sections very interesting.

This truly is a worthwhile, significant book, and I recommend it wholeheartedly.

 

John Piper and D.A. Carson’s The Pastor as Scholar and the Scholar as Pastor: Reflections on Life and Ministry

Posted on by
Reply

I had a few blissful moments in the Southern Seminary bookstore last weekend while traveling to Pennsylvania.  While there, I noted this little volume by John Piper and D.A. Carson.  Upon returning to our hotel, I Kindled it and started working through this wonderful volume.  The Pastor as Scholar and the Scholar as Pastor consists of two talks (one by Piper, the other by Carson).  The talks were originally delivered in 2009 at the request of The Carl F.H. Henry Center for Theological Understanding.  (Media for the original event may be accessed here.)

This book is a wonderful addition to the whole discussion of “the Evangelical mind,” the modern manifestation of which began with Mark Noll’s seminal and recently-sequeled The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind twenty years ago and which has continued, most notably, in the works of Os Guinness, Alister McGrath, and, recently, in Piper’s own monograph, Think.

The central contention of both talks is that the radical distinction between “pastor” and “scholar” (roughly analagous in modern parlance as the distinction between “heart” and “head”) is unnecessary, unhelpful, and injurious to effective ministry.  Piper and Carson effectively argue that knowledge and feeling ought not be pitted against one another.  On the contrary, the rigid, careful study of the truths of God should naturally give rise to the most powerful affections and emotions, for they will instill a sense of intellectual integrity to our hearts and keep the faith from being flooded by mere emotionalism.  On the other hand, we should study passionately, not in some kind of supposed vacuum in which we are untouched by the overwhelming grandeur of that which we are studying.

Piper and Carson convincingly argue that the pastor should strive for scholarly acumen and a robust development of the mind, not for social or vocational advancement, but because the verities of the faith demand nothing less than our best efforts.  In a Protestant tradition which has, at times, tragically pitted knowledge against feeling, this is welcome indeed.

The authors tell their personal stories to great effect.  They follow their own testimonies with practical wisdom concerning how to develope as scholar-pastors or pastor-scholars.  I have benefited from and been challenged by this wonderful little book.  I supposed pastors may benefit most readily, but I daresay that any believer would appreciate and be edified by the discussion herein.

Highly recommended!  If you don’t care to get the book, by all means check out the other media of the event.

Sinclair Ferguson’s The Grace of Repentance

Posted on by
Reply

Sinclair Ferguson’s The Grace of Repentance is a bit of a mixed bag.  It is profoundly insightful when discussing biblical repentance.  It is, in my opinion, less so when he draws an analogy between modern Evangelicalism and medieval Roman Catholicism.  Even here, though, he makes many valid and very important points.

Ferguson rightly bemoans the lack of biblical thinking on the matter of repentance and the nearly invisible role that repentance plays in the understanding of evangelism and conversion in some quarters of Evangelicalism today.  He points to Luther’s language in the first of the ninety-five theses as an accurate description of the New Testament understanding of repentanc:

“When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said ‘Repent’, He called for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

I agree.

Ferguson argues that this is nothing short of the essence of biblical teaching on the matter, and he aptly supports this contention with strong scriptural backing.  He demonstrates the seriousness of sin and the seriousness with which Scripture handles repentance.  Furthermore, Ferguson argues against shallow contemporary notions of repentance that essentially reduce this important truth to a one-time, momentary, surface, emotional regret over sin.  On the contrary, true repentance is a life-long journey and an opening of oneself to radical transformation and change through the indwelling power of the Holy Spirit.  In asserting this, Ferguson helpfully marshalls a number of etymological evidences from scripture that illustrate the seriousness of the biblical call to repentance.

In likening modern Evangelicalism to medieval Catholicism, Ferguson makes some valid points but also missteps as well.  He offers the customary Reformed objection to the altar call as a kind of neo-sacramentalism, but this is needlessly overplayed.  To be sure, the altar call can be, and often is, abused by well-meaning Christians.  But it’s all in the way it’s handled and presented, no?  There is nothinginherently misleading about giving people a place to respond to the working of the Holy Spirit in worship and, when handled rightly, there is much that is commendable about the practice.  I would want to take Ferguson’s cautions into account when considering how we handle the altar call, but I find what appears to be his dismissal of the invitation act (in worship) to be strained and unnecessary.  This isn’t the place for a defense of the altar call, but I believe a robust case for response-in-worship can, indeed, be made.

Furthermore, his critique of the sensuality (for lack of a better word) of much modern worship is strained as well.  Ferguson complains that:

“Worship is increasingly becoming a spectator event of visual and sensory power, rather than a verbal event in which we engage in a deep soul dialogue with the Triune God.” (45)

Yes, a lot of worship services have been reduced to spectacle, to a kind of theater for the senses.  And, yes, there can be no doubt that the proclamation of the Word has been reduced and neglected in many American Christian churches.  In this regard, he is right to voice his concern.  I am not merely saying this to try to placate.  On the contrary, the reduction of the verbal proclamation of the Word of God in many churches is a deep, church-weakening tragedy that must be addressed.

But when Ferguson calls worship “a verbal event in which we engage in a deep soul dialogue with the Triune God,” does he mean merely verbal?  How, for instance, does he explain God’s call for rich sensory experiental worship in the Old Testament?  Granted, worship in the New Testament church is substantially different as we proclaim Christ’s fulfillment of the sensory acts practiced in Old Testament worship, but the strong presence of such elements in Old Testament worship at least establishes that the senses can play a part in helping the people of God grasp divine truth.

What is more, In the New Testament, does not the Lord Jesus appeal to the senses when preaching outside and asking His audience to consider the birds?  I rather suspect He might even have pointed to the birds when preaching this.  This was no merely verbal event.  And what of Christ’s initiation of baptism and the Lord’s Supper and His prescription of these sense-stimulating physical symbols for the Church?  The ordinances appeal to the senses to further communicate gospel truth.  What of the biblically prescribed singing of hymns, a verbal and melodic sensory act?  What of the New Testament “holy kiss,” a non-verbal sensory act prescribed in the New Testament (a practice that has not – thankfully ((in my opinion)) – translated into our culture, but was, nontheless, a part of Christian life in the first century)?

The reality is that biblical worship has never been a merely “verbal event.”  In right measure and proportion, the senses can assist verbal proclamation to the glory of God.  I understand the tradition from which Ferguson comes.  I share it in part and admire it to a large extent.  But worship is more than a “verbal event” and I fear that such denunciations may poison the well for what might be valid, church-edifying, gospel-promoting practices that do not deserve censure.

Finally, Ferguson’s effort to support the modern-Evangelicalism-equals-medieval-Catholicism analogy by comparing mega-churches with the construction of St. Peter’s is the weakest of his efforts.  Yes, certain analogies might be made, I suppose:  the unnecessary fleecing of a people for the construction of an opulent cathedral, the satiation of an ecclesiastical despot’s ego with the erection of a gargantuan edifice for his own glory, etc.  Ok.  I guess.  The mega-church phenomenon certainly has its own dangers.  But there are important differences as well.  Most mega-church buildings, for instance, are built with the offerings of freely-associating members who choose to give.  They are usually built when crowd size deems it necessary.  In most cases, these structures are not built to house the cathedra of an Evangelical pope, but rather to provide space for a large congregation, etc.  Of course, tragic exceptions are not difficult to find, but I suppose the question of whether or not these exceptions are the norm is a matter of debate.  I doubt they are the norm.

Ferguson knows this, of course, and he offers a caveat in the book to that effect.  He is not trying to slam mega-churches per se.  But one does wonder if there is enough meat here to even justify the assertion?  Furthermore, what of Spurgeon’s church in its day?  It was the mega-church of the time and I daresay Ferguson would stop short of likening it to St. Peter’s basilica.

Please note that these weaknesses do not constitute the sum total of Ferguson’s argument in this book.  They are, in fact, rather peripheral to the central argument of the book.  On the main, this book is a fantastic primer on biblical repentance and the need to approach it with a robust, scripturally-informed understanding.  Even those few points I question personally are not totally without merit.  They just need to be thought through carefully.

In all, a helpful little book.  I remain deeply appreciative for the writings and ministry of Sinclair Ferguson, and what he has said here concerning repentance has challenged me in substantial ways.

I recommend it.

 

Alister and Joanna Collicut McGrath’s The Dawkins Delusion?

Posted on by
2

Subtitled, Atheist Fundamentalism and the Denial of the Divine, Alister McGrath and his wife Joanna Collicut have written a real gem of a book in The Dawkins Delusion? Written primarily by Alister McGrath, one of Evanglicalism’s shining intellectual lights, this small book is a significant contribution to the Christian response to the work of famed British atheist Richard Dawkins.

It is intriguing for many reasons.  I found McGrath’s revelation of the frustration that many atheist academics feel toward Dawkins and his work to be insightful and intriguing.  In short, many of Dawkins’ own colleagues find the frankly unfettered hatred that Dawkins shows religion to be unnecessary and injurious to their cause.  Many also seem to feel that Dawkins’ own form of atheist fundamentalism is not very thoughtful.  Along these same lines, I was struck by Dawkin’s dismissal of significant scientific voices who dare to say that science, by its very nature, cannot dismiss with the possibility of God.

McGrath’s handling of the charge that religion leads men to do evil things was even-handed and thoughtful.  He persuasively demonstrates the fundamental fallacies of such a notion and rightly calls Dawkins to task for such a sweeping and naive assertion.

In all, though, McGrath is strongest in his discussion of the nature of science and its limits.  He did work in chemistry and molecular biophysics at Oxford and speaks with helpful insight to these questions.

If you would like a relatively brief but thought-provoking assesment of Dawkins’ main arguments and the problems inherent therein, check out McGrath’s book.  It is very helpful and very well done.

Michael Coren’s Gilbert: The Man Who Was G.K. Chesterton

Posted on by
Reply

My first encounter with G.K. Chesterton created quite a problem for me.  I first read him in the midst of what I can only call a myopic fascination with and nearly obsessive reading of the works of C.S. Lewis in high school and college.  In fact, my initial reading of Chesterton was due to Lewis’ own frequent reference to him and, in that sense, was a kind of corollary extension of the Lewis mania of which I was a willing and joyful victim.  So it was that I picked up Chesterton’s Orthodoxy, though Lewis himself seemed more fond of his The Everlasting Man.

The problem I encountered when reading Orthodoxy was that it deeply challenged my own relatively recent (at the time) conviction of the seminal supremacy of Lewis’ Mere Christianity.  Clearly, I am using “problem” here with no small measure of tongue-in-cheek, but I do remember experiencing an acute kind of spiritual sensory overload upon reading Chesterton for the first time.  I found myself thinking thoughts that were utterly unthinkable to me at that time.  Scandalous thoughts like, “I think Orthodoxy may actually be more poignant than Mere Christianity.”  Or, “I think, if I am honest with myself, that I frankly enjoy reading Chesterton more than Lewis.”

I suspect the significance of this (and, of course, it is only significant to my own journey, but it is insignificant in every other conceivable way) can only be understood if I stress how blatantly life-changing, worldview-changing, spiritually-challenging, and path-altering Mere Christianity and the Lewis canon were and are to me.  I know that my experience with Lewis and his work was no greater than the myriad similar testimonies of those whose paths and thinking were altered by Lewis’ writings, but I daresay that it wasn’t less.  This is, of course, another post for another day, but I will say that Lewis’ work fell on the heart and mind and eyes and ears of a young fundamentalist Baptist with as much intensity, heat, and, if you will allow it, damage as any literary bomb that ever fell on any unsuspecting soul.

When I say, then, that the thought of Chesterton being superior to Lewis was scandalous to my own mind, you must believe that I mean precisely that.  It felt almost like a betrayal, except for my being assuaged by the realization that Lewis would have wholeheartedly agreed with the assessment.  I should also say that though I would likely claim (I still struggle here) that Chesterton is, overall, more edifying and enjoyable to read than Lewis, I rather suspect that Lewis’ genius was more thoroughly consistent and, in a sense, more spiritually sober in terms of its overall impact.  But even here I waver.

I realize that may not make sense, but I truly do not care.  If George Bernard Shaw could name the tandem of G.K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc “The Chester-Belloc,” surely I can be allowed to express my appreciation for “The Chester-Lewis.”  Certainly, in my own experience, no two writers have so affected me as these two.

Why the attraction to Chesterton?  I’m always trying to flesh this out, but I think, for me, above all else, I am most deeply touched by Chesterton’s celebration of paradox, his uncanny demonstration of common sense, and his almost casual but always penetrating evaluations (and often dismissal) of philosophies and ideologies that take themselves too seriously indeed.  Of course, there is also Chesterton’s deeply contagious sense of joy and wonder, his childlike perception of the sheer miracle of existence.  Chesterton’s writings (and Chesterton himself) are a wonderful tonic to the malady of societal insanity to which we have all been exposed and with which, to some extent, we have all been affected.

In 2003, Roni and I traveled with one of my Doctor of Ministry seminars to England where we spent two weeks completing our course on sight at Cambridge, Oxford, and other locales.  (Please note:  I do not claim that I “studied at Oxford” and find that way of describing the experience misleading.  I say this for personal reasons.  I would just assume that my peers refrain from saying the same.  We did study, and it was at the locale of Oxford and Cambridge, and it occasionally involved meetings with some of their faculty ((like Bruce Winter)), but that is all.  Forgive this idiosyncratic digression, but I have my reasons.)

While on this trip, in a bookstore in Stratford, England, I picked up Michael Coren’s 1989 Gilbert: The Man Who Was G.K. Chesterton.  I have only just read it on our recent trip to the 2011 gathering of the Southern Baptist Convention meeting in Phoenix, Arizona.  I do suspect that Chesterton would have found that fact amusing.

The biography is a solid, often very enjoyable, occasionally mildly frustrating, and seldom uninteresting look at a man who was larger than life in many ways.  Coren tells the story with aplomb, and I had difficulty putting it down.

Coren offers personal insights and evaluations that stop short of tabloid peering.  He is honest about Chesterton’s weaknesses without lapsing into vitriol and charitable with Chesterton as a man without lapsing into hero-worship.  In this very helpful biography, Coren situates Chesterton squarely in his own day while acknowledging his continuing impact on the many who still turn to his work.

Coren provides some fascinating insights into the story of Chesterton’s marriage to Frances, his finances, his often surreal but usually charming personal quirks, his literary output, his many significant relationships, his political views, and his spiritual journey. I was struck by the interesting dynamics between Chesterton’s friends and the influence of his wife (which, in some ways, mirrored the reaction of C.S. Lewis’ friends to his wife, Joy.)

I do wish he would have spent a bit more time exploring the reactions and receptions of some of Chesterton’s major works, particularly Orthodoxy and The Everlasting Man, but it is likely difficult to keep a biography at a managable length if one comments to any significant degree on such a prodigious literary output.

In all, Coren’s biography is helpful, substantive, balanced, and informative.  I certainly do feel that I have an overall better grasp of GKC the man than I did before reading the biography.

I do think everybody should have some acquaintance with Chesterton.  He is, regrettably, not to everybody’s taste.  (One of my dearest friends found Orthodoxy virtually unreadable!  Though I can’t conceive of how such a thing is possible, it apparently is.)  Others, particularly Baptist readers, may find Chesterton’s Catholicism difficult to handle.  I, for one, never fail to learn from Chesterton, even when I disagree with this or that position he might hold.

This is a really good biography of a really great man.

Fred Craddock’s Reflections on My Call to Preach

Posted on by
Reply

Reflections on My Call to Preach: Connecting the Dots is Fred Craddock’s autobiographical consideration of his calling to be a preacher.  The book bears all the marks of a classic Craddock sermon:  accessibility, winsomness, insightfulness, honesty, and encouragement. I have come to love Christian biography and autobiography more and more, and Craddock’s ranks up there with the best of them.

Craddock is a preacher’s preacher, a masterful homiletician and teacher whose insights never fail to challenge and edify the reader. He is also an amazing story-teller. So when I saw that he had published this memoir (in 2009) I knew that, eventually, I’d spend some profitable time with it.

The story is precisely what it purports to be: a preacher’s reflections on the various peoples, places, scenes, and occurrences used by God to call him into the ministry. It is dominated largely by Craddock’s life as a boy. Having been called myself at the age of fifteen, I am always intrigued to hear others’ stories of their own callings.

A call is as unique as the person being called. This is vividly portrayed in ways moving and touching by Craddock. I was particularly touched by the dynamic of his parents: the tragedy of his father’s struggle with both fatherhood and alcoholism and the solid, persistent anchor of his mother’s nurturing faith. Unlike some sons’ takes on their less-than-perfect fathers (see Frank Schaeffer), Craddock’s depiction is charitable but honest without spilling into thinly-veiled vitriol. In fact, the story of his father pulling one of his own molars with pliers in order to pry out the gold filling to sell for Christmas presents for his children will remain in my mind as a powerful example of fatherly love (even as the stories of his alcoholism has reminded me again that the decisions we fathers make will affect our children all their lives.) I was also struck by Craddock’s revelation of his own perilous infancy and his mother’s offer of him to God should he survive (not least of all because I haved a similar story in my own calling).

Craddock tells his story with sympathy, introspection, humility, and a sense of reserve, but also transparency. I can tell it was difficult for him to write. I was moved by his account of the awkwardness of sitting with his elderly brothers trying to approach issues that haunted them into later life. I also appreciated his self-awareness in admitting that memories are tricky things and notoriously difficult to offer with exact certainty.

This book offers a moving account of one young man’s growth in a world of racial strife, social complexity, and poverty. The stories of the Craddock’s relationships with black friends and some of the tragic dynamics that living in a racially divided South introduced into their lives were painful reminders of our own scandalous, recent past as a nation.

Above all else, it is a story of divine calling. It is told without pretension or romantic mysticism. It is, instead, the cautious but sincere retelling of one man’s self-understanding of his own pilgrimage.

This is really a fantastic book.

Highly recommended.

Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter and Marlin Marynick’s Charles Manson Now: A Double Book Review

Posted on by
Reply

I’m certainly not claiming it has been an uplifting experience, but I’ve just finished reading a couple of fascinating books on Charles Manson and the Manson Family and wanted to comment a bit on each.

I read Marynick’s book first, simply because I happened to come across it and wanted to read something different.  It certainly met that qualification!  Marynick’s account of how he came to meet and know Charles Manson is very interesting.  Marynick is a nurse in the mental health profession and, as such, has worked with a number of very disturbed and, in many cases, very violent people.  His experiences no doubt led him to have a real interest in the nation’s most notorious disturbed criminal, Charles Manson.

Marynick struck up a kind of pen-pal relationship with Manson and some of his fellow prisoners which soon became a telephone-pal relationship.  In truth, how on earth Marynick managed to pay for the countless collect phone calls from various prisoners in the California penal system is beyond me.

In his effort finally to meet Manson face-to-face, Marynick traverses the strange world of Manson “followers,” Manson art collectors, and Manson enthusiasts that comprise the Manson subculture in America today.  It is a strange and often troubling ride.  Marynick encounters criminals, ex-criminals, radical environmentalists, collectors, other Manson pen-pals, and Satanists along the way.  Most of them seem to have one common conviction:  that Manson has been unfairly persecuted and is, in fact, innocent of the Tate and Labianca murders (and presumably the other charges as well).  Furthermore, the common consensus seems to be that Manson’s main concern is simply environmental, as summarized by the Manson’s acrostic ATWA: air, water, trees, and animals.

To be fair, Marynick simply passes on the words of those he meets, and he himself even expresses misgivings about the brutal nature of the crimes for which Manson and his Family were found guilty as well as for Manson’s own alleged participation in these crimes.  Even so, I grew increasingly uncomfortable reading this book and could not shake the feeling that Marynick was largely sympathetic to Manson.

Manson, like every human being, deserves the respect of understanding, but understanding does not excuse culpability.  Furthermore, while Manson is in many ways a very complex person, in many other ways he is not.  Which is simply to say this:  Manson is human, a fact that Manson and some of his followers have occasionally forgotten, with disasterous consequences.

When I concluded Marynick’s work, I decided I had best read the definitive work on the man and the tragic events of 1969, so I turned to Manson Family prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi and his exhaustive work,Helter Skelter.  This #1 crime story in American history rightly deserves its fame.  Bugliosi’s work is fair, judicious, convincing, and, again, exhaustive.  The same evidence that Bugliosi brought to the trial with such effectiveness that it led to guilty verdicts and death penalty sentences (the death penalty was abandoned in California shortly after these verdicts dropping the sentences down to life-in-prison instead) for all accused Family members he brings to this work as well.

Helter Skelter is a powerful and often-terrifying exploration of one man’s ability to hijack the minds of his followers.  Even so, the story is also one of personal responsibility and the willingness of human beings to do utterly monstrous things to other human beings.  It is a tale of depravity and jarring brutality that is no less shocking today than it was when the Tate-Labianca murders took place.

Bugliosi obviously wrote from a privileged perspective, but he does so with an air of fairness and objectivity that is very helpful.

If you had to choose one of these two books to read, Bugliosi’s would be the one.  But to get an overall view of the Manson story as well as the current state of the Manson subculture, these two combine to create a fascinating picture of a dark period in American history (and, to some extent, in the American present).

Some Reflections on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

Posted on by
Reply

Last week I had to go out of town and found myself with an eighteen-hour road trip (round-trip).  So, to kill the time, I routed my Kindle through my car stereo speakers and downloaded a free copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein to listen to on the way.  Why?  I have no idea, really, other than that I wanted to listen to something fictional, something that I had never read before, and something that would not require much thought.  For some reason, I thought of Frankenstein, downloaded it, hit text-to-speech on the Kindle (which worked well with this book, with the speech setting on “Slower”), and headed on down the road.

In summary, it was amazing and, frankly, very thought-provoking.

I am used, of course, to the pop culture Frankenstein, he of the bolts-in-the-neck.  I suppose I’ve seen two or three versions of the story on film.  None of them match the book.

The book has stayed with me a bit, so I thought I’d share a few thoughts about this amazing story in no particular order.

  • I KNOW that the monster is not named “Frankenstein.”  Frankenstein is the doctor: Dr. Victor Frankenstein.  But man, oh man, it’s hard to break that habit, isn’t it?  The monster has no name, other than “monster” or “demon” or somesuch.  But I suspect that battle is lost, as far as popular culture is concerned:  witness the name on the bobble-head picture fronting this post.
  • I was surprised at how little the book actually says about the actual means of creating the monster.  The actual act of creation is passed over very quickly.  There are hints earlier, of course, of harnessing electricity for reanimation, but the act is never shown.  In fact, when the captain of the Arctic-bound ship asks Frankenstein how he did it, Frankenstein grows utterly incensed at the question and refuses to say (since he never wants it done again).
  • That story really is a brilliant example of how to elicit conflicting emotions: you simultaneously sympathize with the monster, even as you loathe his cold blooded-ness.
  • Ditto for Dr. Frankenstein.
  • I was surprised at the eloquence of the monster, even to the point where Dr. Frankenstein has to warn the captain not to be swayed by his eloquence.
  • Mary Shelley’s writing really is beautiful.
  • The interplay between the story and the Genesis account of creation really is fascinating, if you think about it.
  • I was really hooked when the monster describes to Dr. Frankenstein his sensations on reading Milton’s Paradise Lost (what a fascinating picture), and his perceptions of how he is like and unlike Adam and Lucifer.
  • In doing some follow-up reading on Shelley, I was amazed to find how much the book really is an interaction with Paradise Lost.  (i.e., God is referred to as “the Victor” in Paradise Lost, etc.)
  • The book is a powerful and damning indictment on the cruelty of man.
  • The book is a probing exploration of the limits of man’s knowledge and the limitations of the natural sciences.
  • I kept wandering if Shelley was making some commentary on the Christian story in this book:  i.e., man is created, abandoned and cursed by his creator, who he is simultaneously drawn to and hates (I’m not saying that is the Christian story, of course.  I’m just wondering if Shelley was trying to summarize her own take on Christianity through the character of Frankenstein.)  Maybe not, but I think it likely.
  • I hate to say it, but I’ll probably be hunting down a biography of Shelley now to figure this out.
  • Shelley’s description of the physical features of the monster are more terrifying than anything I’ve seen in the movie renditions (i.e., yellow skin, watery eyes, etc.)
  • Oddly enough, it was wonderful hearing the story read.  There’s just something about hearing scary stories, no?
  • The book is amazing.  Read it (or, as I did, listen to it).