At the Still Point: A Literary Guide to Prayer in Ordinary Time by Sarah Arthur — A Review
June 10, 2011
At the Still Point: A Literary Guide to Prayer in Ordinary Time
by Sarah Arthur
Paraclete Press, 2011
$16.99
++++
According to the infallible internet, Flannery O’Connor once wrote that,
“When a book leaves your hands, it belongs to God. He may use it to save a few souls or to try a few others. I think that for a writer to worry is to take over God’s business.”
She was of course speaking of her own books, but the same could be said about both Sarah Arthur‘s writing, and that of the poets and authors she anthologizes in her new book, At the Still Point: A Literary Guide to Prayer in Ordinary Time, published last month by Paraclete Press (and also available here).
In what might be seen as a devotional for Christian English majors, Arthur has skillfully chosen poems and fragments of fiction that “sneak up” on her readers and cause them to drift (or tumble) into meditation, contemplation and prayer. For each of the 29 weeks of Ordinary Time (the season of the church calendar between Pentecost and Advent), Arthur has provided us with a theme, an opening and closing prayer (usually a snippet of verse), a psalm and Scripture readings, and between 3 and 6 selections of literature, mainly from English and American authors (with a couple of predictable Russians, and a Pole). The Scripture readings seem to show some relation to the Revised Common Lectionary, but Arthur states in her introduction that her 29 weekly sections are not arranged according to any lectionary and can theoretically be read in any order. The lack of concrete connection with the lectionary is one of only two things about this book that annoy me, but I’ve been accused of being a liturgy snob before.
Her goal in selecting the readings is not to assault the reader with over-powering thematic overtures that tie neatly into the cut-and-dry, therapeutic Scripture readings. This is no resource for those looking for poems to go along with their tidy, little 3-point sermons. In her introduction she describes her chosen authors as those:
“…who have known the things of God, but speak in metaphor…In not stating out loud what they know, they have left much to our imaginations–which is a way of saying they have trusted the Holy Spirit.”
Arthur has found authors who were willing to give their books up to God to be used in unexpected, and maybe even frightening ways.
Arthur is up-front with the fact that even attentive and astute readers may not always immediately (or ever) understand the relevance that a particular selection has to the Scripture readings, or to the sometimes vague weekly themes. All of this is refreshing for me. If I wanted straight forward and overt, I’d be reading Oswald Chambers. If I wanted pat answers, and black-and-white interpretations, I’d be reading John MacArthur (and subsequently stabbing myself in the eye). I’d take reading Sarah Arthur’s eclectic band of poets and novelists over 99% of what passes for Christian devotional literature these days.
Which leads me to the selections themselves…which then leads me to air the second of my two complaints: Where in the name of peafowl and horn-rimmed glasses is Flannery O’Connor? Hot tar and molasses! Of all the authors to overlook, why did it have to be that foxy Catholic lady from Georgia?
Other than that lacuna, Arthur does a pretty good job. Having a Wheaton background, she can’t resist a healthy dose of C.S. Lewis, but she doesn’t over do it. Perhaps because of her Presbyterian background, she favors George MacDonald. Overall, she seems to be a raging anglophile (the teapot calling the teacup porcelain, I suppose) and consequently George Hebert, John Donne, John Keble, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Oscar Wilde, Evelyn Waugh, and an entire murmuration of English Romantics dominate.
As I alluded to before, she includes some obligatory Tolstoy and Dostoevsky passages, one of which is that beautiful section of The Brothers Karamozov where Aloyosha has a vision of the recently deceased Zossima. My homeboy, Garrison Keillor, makes a populist/Lutheran offering, and on the Roman Catholic side of things we get G.K. Chesterton, Anne Rice, as well as SS. Francis, Teresa of Avila, and John of the Cross et al.
In a “Further Reading” section she includes some runners-up that I wish had made the cut (but no Ms. O’Connor, even here!) These include Grahame Greene (RCC), Frederick Buechner (Presbyterian), Charles Williams (Anglican), Wendell Berry (Baptist), and Chaim Potok (Jewish). Oh well. I guess it’s always good to keep back some A-listers, just in case there’s a sequel.
Maybe what I have most to thank Arthur for is the introduction to several contemporary poets of whom I had never heard, and who deeply impressed me; Robert Siegel and Elizabeth B. Rooney, especially. Here’s one of the a latter’s:
I saw the world end yesterday!
A flight of angels tore
Its cover off and Heaven lay
Where earth had been before
I walked about the countryside
And saw a cricket pass
Then, bending closer, I espied
An ecstasy of grass.
All in all, At the Still Point is outstanding; a veritable cornucopia of literary spirituality. Arthur’s introduction is helpful, light, and intimate, and despite the afore-mentioned Flannerylessness, she is an expert at choosing passages that delight and surprise. As I re-read this book throughout Ordinary Time, I trust and pray that the Holy Spirit will use some of these passages to save my soul, and to try it; or–to paraphrase old Clive Staples–I hope the God uses these passages to baptize my imagination, immersing it in the surprising vision of His Kingdom. Lord knows all of us who call ourselves followers of Christ could use a little more of that sacrament.
Christ and Dionysus
October 9, 2010
I’m really loving my Greek and Roman Mythology class. On the one hand, it’s a 1000 level course, so the ‘difficulty’ is pretty minimal, but being a four credit class instead of a three means that we get a ton of reading in the original sources. Amongst other things, it has been very interesting for me to read these ‘myths’ and ‘see parallels’ in certain Scriptural images. As a friend of mine recently confirmed, it is hard to look at Noah the same after reading the Epic of Gilgamesh.
So I find myself confronted with how to understand these things. Of course I want to affirm the ‘uniqueness’ of Christ (and I do!) but it is intellectually irresponsible to apologetically argue that Christ, as represented in Scripture – that is, on a textual as compared to an ontological level – is a totally unique ‘apocalyptic event’ without precedence in other sacred literature. (I take this to be at least a part of what Hans Frei argues.)
A classic example is a confusion that sometimes happened as Christianity came into contact with its neighbors. Jesus was sometimes understood as a sort of Dionysus figure – Christ as Vine; as transforming life in the Eucharist; and as Harrower of Hell, were taken to be parallels to certain Dionysian myths.
There are two thinkers in particular who have been helping me, though in many ways they take radically different positions. Rowan Williams has a sort of take on this in an essay entitled “The Finality of Christ” in his astounding “On Christian Theology.” Williams wants to see Jesus “not dehistoricized or absolutized as an icon of significance, but neither [as] depicted as the teacher of one among several possible ways of salvation. He is presented as the revelation of God: as God’s question, no more, no less. Being a Christian is being held to that question in such a way that the world of religious discourse in general may hear it.” (105)
+Williams represents here a sort of chastened iconoclasm, trying to worm between the simplistic options of ‘exclusivism,’ ‘inclusivism’ and ‘pluralism’ as commonly conceived. I’m not totally convinced of this essay on all points, but his christological focus I think is indispensable in understanding other faiths and ‘myths’ in light of Christ.
On the other hand I’ve been ruminating on C.S. Lewis’ “Reflections of the Psalms.” Famously Lewis makes a (rather good) case for understanding certain myths as ‘pointing to’ Christ. He is most convincing when talking about Plato’s picture of the ‘Perfectly Just Man’ who is scorned by society as a disruptor of the peace and subsequently crucified. Lewis goes on to say “when I meditate on the Passion while reading Plato’s picture of the Righteous One, or on the Resurrection while reading about Adonis or Balder…there is a real connection between what Plato and the myth-makers most deeply were and mean and what I believe to be the truth. I know that connection and they do not…One can, without any absurdity, imagine Plato or the myth-makers if they learned the truth, saying, “I see…so that was what I was really talking about. Of course. That is what my words really meant, and I never new it.” And with his typical generosity he concludes “(Or may we more charitably speak, not of what Plato and Virgil and the myth-makers ‘would have said’ but of what they said? For we can pray with good hope that they now know and have long since welcomed the truth; ‘many shall come from the east and west and sit down in the kingdom’)”
As it stands I’m not looking for the mythic ‘middle’ or ‘third way’ between these two, but I’m feeding off both and trying to see the truth of what they’re saying; I’m looking for the Christ in Dionysus not because I want to cheapen the truth of Christ, who remains the Way, Truth and Life – but I’m looking for him because I believe that it is in him that all things cohere.
Church History for Dummies: or How I Was Initiated into Tradition
December 11, 2009
Here is (yet) another attempt at “conservative blogging.” And I certainly don’t mean that as a political valuation, rather as a reference to the obnoxiously long and boring research that I typically post.
My reasons for enjoying the Episcopal Church, especially as they compare over and against the denominational experiences of my youth, have become clearer to date. I have been involved in a wonderful dialogue with a Roman Catholic layman (one of those rare members of the laity that pursues their faith in all aspects, including the intellectual), and we have been swapping reading lists. He directed me to this link as a matter of course in conversation. However, the quote from G.K. Chesterton that it contains brought a flood of realization to the front of my mind. Here’s the quote:
“Real development is not leaving things behind, as on a road, but drawing life from them, as from a root.”
- G.K. Chesterton
This will come as no new information on this blog or even to most readers, but it finally dawned on me in that important way – the one where we differentiate between holding a fact in that grey matter between our ears and having enlightenment. Part of the reason I love the Episcopal Church so much is because it is not trying to run away from the rest of history. It is using the rest of its history, and what a history it is, to energize the ministry of the Church. It embraces history as a way to refresh the present. The common worship of saints that has transcended centuries of tradition moves behind the liturgy I participate in every Sunday.
Moving from a denomination that could not see farther back than 1904 to a denomination that embraces all of Church history was like jumping out of a plastic “kiddy pool” on the beach and into the ocean.
Some Authors That Were There for Me
June 23, 2009
Up until the time I was 19 I was a resolved anti-intellectual. I thought that those who “thought too hard” about things just muddied the clear waters of the Christian life. But then a kind professor at North Central University recommended that I give C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity a stab. Well, everything went downhill from there. Here are a couple that sealed the deal.
I - C. S. Lewis – Mere Christianity was the first book of his that I read, and it sent me into a Lewis frenzy. I ravenously read up anything of his that I could get my hands on. Perhaps this was the seed that eventually precipitated my drifting into Anglican arms. Whatever it was I had never felt more terrified. I really thought that I was losing my faith, and getting it back again in an alien form. Perhaps this seems extreme to some, but that is how it was. From there I especially was influenced by The Great Divorce . . . how terrifying that we should find gracious and open arms on the other side of grace and be so blind as to turn it down. And how splendid to think of not being obsessed with hellish pictures of real fire and worms. The Problem of Pain was the final in a trifecta of Lewis books that cemented my love of this “simple layman of the Church of England.”
II – William Barclay – Some might be surprised to find out that I have never taken an introductory class to the New Testament. What happened is that not too long after I read my first Lewis book, as a sort of “graduation (from Master’s Commision) present” from my father gave me a complete, blue leather, hardcover set of William Barclay’s “Daily Bible Study Series” commentaries. I started with Vol. I of St. John’s Gospel and I very quickly read through every one. Barclay is often scorned at Bible Colleges and Seminaries, and I understand why; but Barclay is no wuss. He defininitely knew his Greek and was abreast of all major scholarly winds then available. And if not for his pastoral touch and his manly encouragement to holiness, I’m not sure I would have survived the encounter with the academic community. As with Lewis, I began to read any available book I could get my hands on.
But probably the greater gift was that William Barclay blew open all my quaint assumptions as to who could “be a Christian” and who couldn’t. Here was a man who so enlivened the Scriptures to me, whose love of Jesus was so powerfuly greater than my own, but he generally dismisses the miracles of the NT, who has problems with certain aspects of traditional belief, and who is a self professed Universalist! It made me very uncomfortable; and I still don’t know why so many Evangelicals love this guy; or rather I do, but it is strange. Barclay opened up the Church for me to include so many that I thought were certainly out, and for that if nothing else is something that I am eternally greatful for.
III – N. T. Wright – He hardly needs to be talked up these days. Everybody has an opinion on him, but his Christian Origins Series has absolutely transformed my reading of the New Testament. His open Evangelicalism is inspiring, his scholarship is exacting, and more so than any other NT scholar I have ever met, is fully informed in the latest philosophy – when you hear more “liberal” scholars call his work apologetic, it is just them feeling ashamed that they cannot match his potent critiques – Wright interacts with ALL the liberal works, whereas Crossan barely even touches anybody that doesn’t agree with him, both in his Historical Jesus work, and his work on Paul. I am practically wetting myself with anticipation for the rest of his Series.
IV – Walter Brueggemann – If Wright is the NT scholar informed by modern philosophy, Brueggemann is the OT one, there is not a “post-modern” work that he hasn’t conversed with. After having interacted with the scholarly work in NT, I needed someone brave for the OT. Obviously there are a plethora more critical problems for understanding the OT, and overcoming them and getting the OT to speak for the Church is a daunting task. His Old Testament Theology is powerful and unsettled my tepid reflection on the relavence of the OT; his Introduction is also very helpful in this regard. Add to that his award winning Prophetic Imagination, his books on preaching, and many others as well; and we’ve got one of our great treasures in the Church.
Theology and Pipe Smoking: Meditations on the Queen of Sciences and the Noble Weed, in Three Parts.
January 13, 2009
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C. S. Lewis
Back before fundamentalism caused much of American Christianity to go off the moral deep end and get caught in up in a fevered attempt to demonize a whole series of behaviors that are morally neutral, pipe smoking was seen as a very decent and proper thing for a theologian (& anyone else) to do. In many Christian communities which successfully fought off the tendency to condemn everything, pipe smoking has always and continues to be appreciated for the benefits it brings to moments of relaxation, conversation, and mental clarity.
In this post I will not attempt to systematize the benefits of pipe smoking. That has been done elsewhere (see below), nor will I systematically attempt to justify or defend the moderate use of tobacco against any who may criticize it either with (and wouldn’t this be cute) a biblical argument, or a health argument. I will say at this juncture that most of the research done on the negative side affects of tobacco concern cigarettes and chewing tobacco. The handful of studies which have been done on pipes and cigars suggest that moderate use (defined in one study as 10 bowls a day) increases your chance of lung cancer less than 3% (mouth cancer may be a different story, however).
Nonetheless, the primary purposes of these posts are: a) to examine the intersection between that nearly mystical ritual of lighting a bowl of good tobacco, and practicing (in my case practicing amateurly) the discipline of Christian theology; and, b) to provide the gentle reader with a few resources which may help to integrate theology and pipe smoking.
The present post will include, besides this introduction, a brief, inconclusive, and hardly researched historical sketch of Christianity’s relationship with pipe smoking (and smoking in general to some degree), and also modest list of (relatively) famous Christian pipe smokers. My second post will attempt to “pair” pipes and especially tobacco blends to the contemplation of certain theological ideas, and the reading of certain theological books, together with some other tobacco infused theological shenanigans. And my final post will list resources, both on-line and off, for the pipe smoking follower of Jesus.
It needs to be said that these posts owe much to the seminal work on the subject: Toward a Theology of Pipe Smoking by Arthur D. Yunker (see my upcoming third post [or just google it]), and I personally owe much to the man who introduced me to the quaint, curious and comforting world of pipes—a man who has travelled and is travelling that familiar path from idealistic young fundamentalist, to disgruntled bible college student, to rebellious pipe-smoker, to well-adjusted and moderate pipe-smoker, to well-adjusted and sincere Christian that many of us recognize as our own spiritual journey.
A Brief Historical Sketch
J. R. R. Tolkien
Pipe smoking and Christianity (if not Christian theology) go way back. A little over a century after Europe was introduced to that glorious weed, tobacco, one of the church’s most brilliant liturgists, and one of the world’s most brilliant musicians began to smoke enthusiastically. I am of course talking about Johann Sebastian Bach. Besides such masterpieces as “Chaconne,” and “The ‘Little’ Fugue,” Bach is responsible for what is probably the first written artifact describing the intersection of Christian faith and practice with pipe smoking—a poem in which Bach meditates on how certain aspects of smoking a pipe remind him of the transitory nature of human life, and of the sorrow of an eternity spent in hell. From a literary standpoint the poem or at least the English translation of the poem is no Paradise Lost (I’m sure the original German was better), but, like meerschaum which hasn’t been smoked too fast or too slow, it ends well because the last two lines of the poem are easily the best quote concerning Christianity and pipe smoking I’ve ever come across: On sea, on land, at home, abroad/ I smoke my pipe and worship God. What a classic (and rhythmically pleasing) statement of a truth today’s church needs badly: Our entire lives should be lived as worship to God, and anything we do, whether it be attending the Cathedral, riding our bike, drinking a beer, or smoking our pipe—if done with a heart full of thanksgiving and humility—can be an act of worship.
After Bach, the history of pipe smoking and Christianity gets hazy (much like a room when too many people are smoking without proper ventilation). Since the Church thought nothing strange about smoking a pipe for most of its history, there was very little controversy, and thus very little record of the history in question.
Then in the late 19th and early 20th century we come to the rise of fundamentalism in response to developments in biblical criticism, the so-called social gospel, and other changes in Christendom. Fundamentalists felt that what was needed to combat the forces of liberalism was a “return” to holiness and piety. As a result, campaigns against popular entertainment (movies, cards, dominoes), drinking, and smoking were launched by many early fundamentalists, and of course, the banner has been picked up by several subsequent generations on into the present day. Though, not directly about pipe smoking, a story involving Billy Sunday one of the fathers of fundamentalism will do much to illustrate, the fact however, that even within the early evangelical/fundamentalist movement there was not total consensus.
William “Billy” Sunday was a famous baseball player in the 1880s until he was converted to Christianity. He heard the call to ministry and became an evangelist. He was a charismatic preacher, a fund raising genius, and reportedly told more individuals his version of what the gospel was than any other person up to that time. By the 1910s and 20s he was America’s most famous evangelical Christian. He was outspoken about social issues of the day, and was an especially voracious supporter of prohibition.
At some point just before the turn of the 20th century, Billy Sunday was invited to visit Charles Spurgeon’s church in London. During the course of his sermon, Billy began to preach against the “evils” of drinking and smoking, and how Christians could not do it, and expect admission into heaven. It is reported that though he was polite all the way through the sermon, Spurgeon went to the pulpit at the end, looked at Billy and said, “Be that as it may, sir. I will go home to tonight and smoke a cigar to the greater glory of God!”
An Annotated List of Christian Pipe Smokers (or
A Fundamentalist’s Field Guide to Pipe Smoking Heretics, And Why They’re Going to Hell)
And Charles Spurgeon was only one of the many evangelical “traitors.” What proceeds is an annotated list of some theologians, pastors, evangelists, Christian authors, and other personalities in some way connected to Christendom who smoke or have smoked (both Pipe and Cigar smokers are included). One caveat is that inclusion on this list does not constitute an endorsement of an individual’s theology or teachings, as some of these guys are total whack jobs, while others are modern day Fathers (if you’ll indulge me to throw that term around). And, what an edifying and uplifting theophiliac endeavour it would be to expand this list for the benefit of posterity!
Bach, Johann Sebastian- the aforementioned genius.
Barth, Karl- Do you really think he couldn’t have written all 98 volumes (I approximate, of course) of Church Dogmatics without the help of Lady Tobacco?
Chesterton, G.K.- One of my favorite Christian authors. Not only did he smoke pipes and cigars, but could also allegedly write one thing with his pen sitting at a desk, while simultaneously dictating an entirely different piece of writing to his secretary. I know Tony has mentioned his Orthodoxy in one of his posts.
Colson, Chuck- owns one of C.S. Lewis’ pipes.
Erskine, Ralph- Scottish Presbyterian, what else is there to say?Frassati,The Blessed Pier Giorgio- Italian Catholic social justice advocate and anti-fascist. Called the Man of the Eight Beatitudes by JP II (who beatified him in 1990); don’t think he was a pipe smoker? Commenter Peter gives us definitive proof: proof
Hewitt, Hugh- conservative political commentator, claims to be Christian, I suppose we’ll take him on his word; wouldn’t want to be judgmental or anything, but can a Republican be a Christian?
Lewis, C. S.- probably the guy on the list with the most evangelical clout (despite being Anglican); another great piece of ammunition to use against stuffy fundies is that Lewis’ Narnia books took shape in a pub o’er many a pint. More on C.S. Lewis’ pipe smoking later.
Moltmann, Jurgen- Don’t have too much evidence for this just some off hand comment I think he made one time, and a general sense gotten by looking at the man that a pipe seems natural and fitting on him.
Ogden, Schubert- Methodist minister. Author of “May a Christian smoke?” {The Log 9, no.14 (1959): 2}, and I believe his answer (and mine) was “yes.”
Scott, Gene- (www.genescott.com) – this dude is (was?) crazy. He charged admission into his church. He had a Bible study TV show, on which he was fond of smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of wine. Favorite Bible study passage: you guessed it, the Wedding Feast of Cana.
Spurgeon, Charles- the aforementioned Cigar aficionado—speaking of which, I once saw Chuck Norris (conspicuously missing from this list of Christians, most of whom are Christians and thinkers) on the cover of the magazine Cigar Aficionado, why not have Charles Spurgeon on there?
Tolkien, J.R.R.- Catholic, as we all know.
Williams, Charles- probably the least known, and arguably the most talented (Lewis certainly thought so) of the “Inklings,” writer of speculative theological fiction; wonderful stuff, really. He was Anglican, and in fact wrote a fascinating church history called the Descent of the Dove. I did a research paper on it one time for Amos Yong’s theology class; totally B.S.ed it, but…if only I had been allowed to smoke my pipe (not that I didn’t anyway)…how much smarter I would have been!
Continue to Part II
Tony Hunt
jstambaugh
Shawn Wamsley
