Irregular Verbs

Literature is art in words, so writers should seize every opportunity to understand words better and use them more effectively. We reveal the characters we create through words--and nothing is more revealing than the words we put in their mouths or minds.

A technique to reveal a complex character is called "irregular verbs." An old but insightful joke shows how people use words to excuse themselves and accuse their enemies. It goes like this:

• 1st person: "I was indignant."
• 2nd person: "You were annoyed."
• 3rd person: "She freaked out."
  

E. Bradley Beevers wrote an article called "Watch your language" in the Journal of Biblical Counseling (Vol. XII, No.3, Spring 1994). Beevers explains how unbiblical our vocabulary can be: we say, "I got frustrated" instead of "I was angry," or say "He had an affair" instead of "He committed adultery." People who are sloppy with their words excuse sin by never naming it. Christians who speak carefully discover that their terminology can bring the Bible directly to bear on their behavior, just by using the right words.

There are two ways to use "irregular verbs" in a story. One reveals a character, the other changes it. "Irregular verbs" are a symptom of hypocrisy, so a little well-chosen dialogue can flesh out that kind of character. Or you can show a character changing over time by taking him through all three stages of speech: first excusing his own behavior, then seeing it more neutrally, and finally calling it what it is--and then turning from it.

While we're crafting how our characters speak, let's take Mr. Beevers' advice and listen to ourselves and the people we love. Good writers should be good listeners. If we want to be better people, let's be better speakers, too.

Art and Entertainment

I have always said that my lone novel, Olympus, was "entertainment" rather than art. Having said that, I think David's new cover deserves to be called "art"!

Coming soon: an interview with Seth Remsnyder!

Seth Remsnyder is an exciting painter, art teacher, and Christian thinker whose work has been featured everywhere from small private shows to large conferences like New Attitude (now called Next).

We managed to land an interview with him, and we'll be posting it here in a day or two. Stay tuned for Seth's thoughts on...

• The role of art in the church.
  
• The line between creative and commercial art.
• Advice for a young artist. ("Try poetry!")

All this and more, coming soon to Art&God&Art!

Just start making art.

Hiya. David here (remember me? Probably not... I haven't posted in a while).

This reminder may be more for me than for you. See, I haven't put anything up here because I wanted it to be amazing, insightful, brilliant, life-changing. But the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that if I take that route, I'll probably never create anything. God can make everything right the first time, but we fallen creatures can't. It's okay to make imperfect work... in fact, if you don't, I can almost guarantee you this: you'll never make anything.

So go ahead and sketch. Put the paint on the canvas. Scribble down that song or short story that's in your head. Publish up less-than-magnificent blog posts. Enjoy the creative process. We're supposed to emulate our Creator's creativity — there's lots of time to learn how to emulate his perfection.

To that end, here's a rough concept sketch for a new painting I'm working on. It's called something like Eden Will Break Through.


Now go ahead. Make something. +David

Blogging as a Spiritual Discipline

John Domingo at Deo Gloria makes a good case for treating blogging as a spiritual discipline. He relies one of my favorite authors (John Piper) to make his point.

He quotes this paragraph from Donald Whitney (author of Spiritual Disciplines of the Christian Life), and suggests we substitute the word "blogging" for "journaling" throughout:

That there is a crying need for the recovery of the devotional life cannot be denied. If anything characterizes modern Protestantism, it is the absence of spiritual disciplines or spiritual exercises. Yet such disciplines form the core of the life of devotion. It is not an exaggeration to state that this is the lost dimension in modern Protestantism. One of the seldom-practiced but very valuable Spiritual Disciplines is journaling . Though not commanded in Scripture, God has blessed its use since Biblical times. Journaling is one way to express the pursuit of Christlikeness commanded in 1 Timothy 4:7: ‘Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness.’

Christ and Culture

Better minds than mine have considered how Christ relates to earthly cultures. John Frame's introduction to a The Road from Eden outlines the five classic positions:

1. Christ Against Culture (some early church fathers),
   
2. The Christ of Culture (e.g. Clement of Alexandria),
   
3. Christ Above Culture (many medieval thinkers including Aquinas),
   
4. Christ and Culture in Paradox (Luther’s “two kingdoms”), and
   
5. Christ the Transformer of Culture (many Reformed thinkers, such as Abraham Kuyper).

John Barber, the author of The Road from Eden, firmly believes that Christ is the transformer of culture. Here's his thesis:

The Cultural Mandate is the church's directive to affect every area of life for King Jesus. Man's original stewardship of the earth developed beyond his humble agrarian beginnings to use all the earth's resources as a means to advance worldwide civilizations. Consequently, the work of the Cultural Mandate is an all-inclusive concept that extends to every sphere of life where man's mind and hands are employed to control and utilize the processes of nature for the good of all. The Church must see in this command its role in shaping every area of life according to God's will - including politics, the fine arts, science, law, medical ethics, and more.

It's hard to separate one's view of Christ's relationship to culture from one's eschatology, the doctrine of "the last things." If you think the world gets worse and worse until Jesus comes back, you don't tend to imagine the Gospel changing the global culture the way yeast leavens three measures of flour (Matthew 13:33). Premillenialism tends to produce a Christian subculture.

If you think the Church will be persecuted but must ultimately prevail, producing a "Golden Age" of health, peace, justice, prosperity, and beauty, then the Gospel must transform culture. Postmillenialism has fallen out of favor (World War I shook the West's faith in unbroken progress), but it used to be all the rage in Protestant circles. Postmillenialism is making a bit of a comeback in Reformed circles, but the primary focus has been on changing the laws rather than changing the arts.

Work in Progress

Last night, a friend asked me what I was working on these days. I told him, "A piece about Philippians 3:12-21, a piece about questions and answers, and a piece about Proverbs 1-9."

I thought you might be interested to see where I'm at with at least one of these... here's my current 1/3-finished Proverbs piece.


(Click image for the bigger, better view.)
+David

Reading Fiction to Understand Culture

Those who care about culture often mourn its absence in America. The land of big bucks and Big Macs has never been so big on some of the other things that make life richer. Way back in 1836, Alexis de Tocqueville observed how America's democratic impulses steered the young nation away from fine arts and the higher things. His words have proved a key to understanding American culture (or the lack of it) ever since.

There is an exception to every rule, and the South is America's exception. There is a distinctively Southern culture, which has produced distinctively Southern fiction. Christianity Today just published this review of Preachers and Misfits, Prophets and Thieves: The Minister in Southern Fiction, by G. Lee Ramsey, Jr., who explores the South and its fiction by studying the many examples of the preacher in Southern stories.

Ramsey holds up ministers both good and bad from Southern fiction as illustrations of the pastor's calling and responsibilities. He chooses this genre because he considers the South "particularly fertile soil for both religion and fiction." And he is adamant that every minister lives out his or her calling within a particular congregation in a particular place. To be effective, clergy must know their people and the culture in which they serve. As a minister and seminary professor of the South himself, Ramsey calls on Southern fiction to help him explain what churches there look for in a pastor.

Ramsey uses the fictional examples to help real pastors (and seminary students) understand what Southern churches want from their pastor. Authors have the freedom to explore the patterns of pathology, and Southern authors have plenty of opportunity to detail the dysfunctional churches and pathological pastors that make up such a prominent part of the Southern landscape.

But not all pastors are pathological--and Ramsey makes that point. Southern fiction provides rich examples of very human leaders who still intercede for their very human flock. These flesh and blood priests are just as real as the all-too-human scoundrels who use the power of the pulpit for themselves. Father Tim in Jan Karon's Mitford series is as sweet a saint as anyone could ask--who struggles day by day with donuts and diabetes and the thousands small temptations of real life.

Hat tip: Kevin at After Existentialism, Light.

Motivated by Bitterness

My overly-simple definition of a novel is "a book with at least one four-dimensional character." In English, that means that at least one of a major character's three primary motivations changes over time. Bitterness is a powerful motivator, and it is one that needs to change unless you're writing a tragedy.

Bitterness is a black hole that sucks in all of life--but it makes for fabulous fiction. It's so easy to set up a story where the deepest and most desperate bitterness is justified. Our innate sense of justice makes us side with the wounded hero--we understand their pain and excuse their scars.

Bitterness sometimes looks like humility, from the outside. The bitter hero wins a great battle and then nobody can find him at the victory celebration--he is alone on the battlements, wrestling with unseen enemies that cannot be conquered.

A good example of how all this works in fiction is The Count of Monte Cristo. Edmond Dantes was a poor but honest sailor who was just about to marry the woman he loved and become captain of his own ship when three men conspired to betray and destroy him. He was falsely accused of treason and flung into the Chateau d'If, the notorious island prison in the harbor of Marseilles, doomed to rot his life away. But then, in the lonely darkness, an ancient priest tunneled his way into Emond's cell in his effort to escape. The priest, realizing he could never dig his way out, spent the rest of his days teaching the poor sailor all he knew--including the location of the fabulous fortune of Monte Cristo. When the priest dies and Edmond escapes, the stage is set for one of the greatest thrillers ever.

Alexender Dumas excelled at using bitterness as a motivator, yet he recognized the ultimate emptiness of revenge. Bitterness burns out the soul--it does not satisfy. The Count of Monte Cristo ends with Edmond's triumph, but his justice is tempered with mercy. He turns from wrath to a new and different life.

In my opinion, the end of the The Count is both right and wrong. Edmond's change at the end is too sudden. It is necessary, but inadequate. Bitterness is an addiction--it doesn't let go so suddenly. The only believable outcomes of addiction are tragedy or redemption. The Count got neither.

Dumas had the disadvantage of his times--his audience was not interested in tragedy or Christ. Those are the two appropriate ends of bitterness. We have the same disadvantage. Twenty-first century Americans aren't ready for reality when it comes to the bitter end of bitterness. That makes a book about a bitter hero easy to start and hard to finish.

Battles Between Gods

The ancient epics show humans acting in the foreground, but the gods loom large behind them. The earthly battles are driven by greater wars--Poseidon fights for the Trojans while grey-eyed Athena aids Odysseus. It's mythology, of course, but audiences love it.

Mythology has fallen on hard times, but earthly conflicts are still driven by the wars between the gods. Everybody worships something. Modern lips may not cry out to Zeus or Yahweh, but modern hearts are not that different from Achilles or King David.

C.S. Lewis said:

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.

God has placed eternity in our hearts. He created us to delight in His beauty forever. But our hearts are quick to worship other gods--and that's where human conflicts come from. The smallest spat between friends is a war between the gods.

That's good news for authors who want to write something real in an age of fantasy. We can sketch out these cosmic conflicts in our notes, then show (not tell) what happens when idols clash--or when the Almighty contends with the powers and principalities of this fallen world.

Fiction as Social Science

I love science--the "hard sciences," like physics and chemistry and biology. The so-called "soft sciences" don't impress me. Those are the disciplines that try to apply the methods of science to human beings, with questionable results. Anthropologists and sociologists and psychologists can gather all the data in the world about human behavior--but do they really know anything about any real human beings when they're done?

For my money, fiction authors are the true "social scientists." Do you really understand humanity? Then create a man from scratch. Lay the foundations of his motives and memories, frame his emotions and beliefs, finish him with all the details of his own life story. It takes artistic skill to sketch a human face on a sheet of paper (my best attempts are mere caricatures), but an author sculpts human souls out of a block of paper.

Readers know when the author has succeeded--or failed. We readers know a "cardboard characters" when we see one. They are "flat" because they are too trite, too predictable. The bad guys are all bad; the good guys are all good. It's bad writing--and it's false. Real humans aren't like that!

I have a simplistic rule for creating "three-dimensional characters." Every major character needs to have at least three primary and independent motivations. "Good characters" should have two good motivators and one bad one. "Bad characters" should have two bad motivators and one good one. (That can be a challenge if your plot requires a villain with no redeeming features--which is why I have reserved my own evil twin for any future plots that demand the ultimate evil. )

That's my rule for creating "three-dimensional characters," but novelists have to go a step further. I define a "novel" as a work of fiction where at least one major motivation of the protagonist changes over time. Since time is the fourth dimension, I call these "four-dimensional characters." They aren't just sculptures of static human beings--they have to move!

Successful authors make the reader want to keep on reading. They create characters that move--and move us. Beauty has that quality--it makes us want more. The beautiful novel presents characters that linger in the mind long after the book is over.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Let us study beauty!

Introducing Scott

I've been talking to the authors of this blog about art and God and art for over twenty years, so I am both flattered and humbled to be invited to join them here. I can't say I'm an aspiring author--I've written one book and spend a lot of time dodging fans who want the sequel.

I can't say I'm an artist, either (read the book and you'll understand). But I am an obsessive-compulsive philosopher who fell in love with the philosophy and theology of beauty after reading On Beauty and Being Just by Elaine Scarry.

Scarry identifies a defining trait of beauty--beauty makes us want to copy it, sustain it, repeat it. We sketch images, hum melodies, hang pictures on our wall. Beauty asks us to look twice--great beauty wants us to look over and over.

Scarry's observation enables us to ask new questions about beauty. With something specific to measure, we can identify beauty's extremes. Scientists do this all the time. For example, physicists define temperature as a measure of molecular motion. "Cold" means slow atoms; "real cold" means real slow; "absolute zero" means the atoms aren't moving at all. If beauty wants to be copied, then greater beauty wants to be copied more. Absolute Beauty would satisfy the viewer forever.

Lovers express this concept all the time. They say, "I could look at you forever!" The divorce rates prove that human beauty isn't really absolute. No earthly beauty is.

Beauty is real but it dazzles us. We look at a flame and think it is the sun. We look at the sun and are blinded. We can't imagine Light in such intensity that the sun is just a minor star lost in an average galaxy. Whenever my heart says, "I want to look at this forever," I make an idol out of something that can't really satisfy.

That is--unless the Beauty that moves my heart is really Absolute. For there is a Beauty that does satisfy forever.

And that's what Art&God&Art is all about...

Sorry for the inactivity

My bad. Here's a free sneak-peek image from my personal project as an apology:

Hoping to be back up and posting soon.

+David

Sequential Art: This is Big.

Sequential art is the single most effective artistic means for communicating a redemptive message to the postmodern world.

How's that for bold? Here's why:

1. Sequential art is...: Sequential art can be visceral, thought-provoking, artistically complex, and powerful in visual and literary symbolism in capable hands. Sequential art has the efficacy of the novel when it first broke on the scene at the outset of modernism - it's a radical new medium with thousands of unexplored techniques. Anyone can be a pioneer in the field of sequential art; and the best pioneers with the best message and the best method have the best chance of making their mark on a new literary terrain.
   
2. ...the most effective...: Sequential art is cost-effective, marketable, and unrestricted. Whereas big cinema movies might reach a wider audience and have more cultural impact as a whole, few Christian artists have the means at their disposal to create a culture-impacting film (although this is not impossible, as Fireproof demonstrated this fall, causing CNN.com to call it "the surprise hit of the fall"). Much more available to the disposal of anyone with a scanner or Wacom tablet and an internet connection is the creation of sequential art, in the form of webcomics or a personally displayed sequential art longform story (aka a "graphic novel," typically released in serial format on the web, often page by page).
3. ...artistic means...: This is my big caveat - there is no replacement in communicating the salvific message for personal evangelism. What we're talking about here is Christian Art, which has a key cultural role, but is completely distinct from the call of the Great Commission, in which Christ clearly directed his followers to go into the world and make disciples of all men. Our art should support our witness, but it cannot neccessarily be our witness.
4. ...for communicating a message...: People are listening to what sequential artists have to say these days. Our culture is getting more and more visually sophisticated. There has been a skyrocketing demand for Graphic Designers in the corporate field, as more and more companies realize that logos and template websites have the potential to instantly kill their appeal to the Apple Market. In this visually sophisticated culture, a visually sophisticated, easily-absorbed message is the message that will get through the noise (nota bene: this does not mean a simple message; graphic novels have dealt with issues as complex as the Holocaust with surprising depth and subtlety).
5. ...a redemptive message...: A quick scan of bookshelves will reveal a strong dychotomy - sequential artist weild a powerful medium, but the message is generally either escapist or pessimistic. Redemptive artists hold the most powerful message of all time, but the medium is frequently stale or easily lost among all of the noise. To break through the market that's saying things powerfully, but not saying powerfully things, with the most life-changing message of all would be something indeed.
6. ...to the postmodern world.: Postmodernism is not a topic that I have any hope of covering in a bullet point, a blog post, or even a single blog. Suffice it to say that postmodernism has to do with (1) a fusion of old and new, familiar and unfamiliar - thus laying the path wide open to an old message using a new medium, (2) narratives as opposed to constructed arguments - creating broad vistas for the stories of the faith to come alive, (3) celebration and light-heartedness - making the joyful Christian message of hope more intruiging than it has been for the past century, and (4) a renewed interest in both spirituality and nonfiction - so the presentation of a spiritual, nonfiction message has that one-two punch effect.

Obviously, this statement is debatable. Feel free to debate! I'm a visual artist, and therefore quite biased. But while you're commenting, I'm gonna start seeing about setting up a webcomic. +David

Sequential Art: Huh?

Hi. David here. There are a few things I think about a LOT. Ranking about fifth on the list (just under Casey and the eternal question of whether my desire for coffee has actually become an addiction at this point) is sequential art. If you know what that is, you probably know where I'm going with this already. But I figure most of you are trying to piece together what I'm talking about.

Here's Scott McCloud's definition:

Juxtaposed pictorial and other images in deliberate sequence, intended to convey information and/or to produce an aesthetic response in the viewer.

Scott McCloud, Understanding Comics

It's really completely unfair of me to introduce you to Scott McCloud through a chunky definition like that. McCloud's Understanding Comics was one of two comic books that were required reading for me in art school. On the right is an example of how McCloud really reads, and I would encourage everyone, their grandmother, and her dog to check out his book.

But I digress. What I wanted to talk about was sequential art - or, if you will - comics.

The word comics is loaded up with connotations like cheesy, fanboy, spandex, WHAM!, POW!, juvenile, and what-are-you-even-talking-about-comics-for-anyway? But artists with their ear to the ground are aware that Comics are a lot bigger than Action Man and the Monster of Doom.

Over the next few days, I want to introduce you to the world of sequential art, and ask/answer a few important questions, like "What?" "Why?" "Who?" and the very important "Who cares?" ... but most of all, I want to talk to you about the relationship between Christianity and sequential art; a relationship that has been chilly on both sides. I want to break the ice.

More on this very soon (tomorrow, unless things blow up). For now, let me link you to the World Magazine cover story about Christians and graphic novels (long form sequential art).

We'll talk soon. See you in the funny papers. +David

Peder Mørk Mønsted & Anneka Tran

Okay, so here's the thing about me and landscape painters. We don't always get along. I'm not sure what it is... I know plenty of people who love landscapes. I have yet to delve into the depths of my inner being and find out why I just find so many landscapes ... er ... boring.

However. Today, I have discovered a notable exception. Peder Mørk Mønsted.

Again, I just met Peder (Danish, 1859-1941) this morning, so I haven't had a chance to analyze his work yet beyond the fact that I really really like it. I'll let you know if I come up with anything more profound.

I do, however, know what I like about the sophisticated, childlike work of Anneka Tran (UK, contemporary). With an easy line and a sweet simplicity, she creates instantly identifiable and yet still original images that make you think and/or smile.

There's an innocence and originality to her work that avoids being schmaltzy and comes across instead as very playful and fresh. I'm a new fan.

Here at Art&God&Art, we're all about redeemed art ... the art of the Christian. I think one way a Christian can create great art is by looking at beautiful art in the rest of the world. (Generalization, not categorical statement.) So, enjoy these two artists. I know I am! +David

Links in this post (via linesandcolors and drawn!):
Peder Mørk Mønsted - Gallery on The Athenaeum
Anneka Tran - Personal website

The Peasant Princess

Mark Driscoll of Mars Hill Baptist Church is a controversial figure, to say the least. People tend to have very strong opinions about him and his ministry, one way or another. But whatever your stance is, this video announcing his church's new study of the Song of Solomon is some very attractive Christian art.


I'll probably have the music in my head all day. +David

(Link via Challies.)

Christians Skew Redemption

Christian artists skew towards themes of redemption. I've become convinced of this as a basic principle (with its own assortment of exceptions) over the last few months of more frequent interactions with young Christian poets, storytellers, and visual artists. It began about six months ago when I sat down with a seventeen-year-old mentoree to work on the plot of her epic fantasy.

"What are you most passionate about?" I asked. "What's most real to you?"
"Well, God is, really."
"Then let's build your story around that reality and see how it goes."

How it went was something radically different than the plan she had started with, because her original plan featured children who save the world. That's common enough, but not nearly God-centered enough for what she really wanted. As we worked on the story together over the course of three months, new events and themes began to emerge, ones which were exciting and fresh, and best of all captured her heart. It became a story about children who try to save the world and fail, because they put their faith in a magical object rather than the story's equivalent of Christ. This is definitely not Harry Potter. But it turns out all right, because eventually the character who stands for Christ bursts on to the scene and then things really start to happen.

Too allegorical, you say? Well, it is perhaps more allegorical than formerly, but formerly it was also anti-biblical and anti-reality. In reality and in the Bible, human beings (especially children) don't defeat the forces of evil and save the world. Did the shepherd boy David defeat Goliath? No, silly. God did that. Who rescues Narnia (in the books, I mean, not the movies)? Aslan. Or, more to the point, who saved my soul when I knew I was already dead? He, the Christ. And do any of those seem "too allegorical"? For myself, I say "Why, no! Not at all!"

Still in defense of allegory, have you ever noticed that a huge percent of the great literature we have from the most intensely Christian era of history that we know about (c. 500-1700 A.D.) was allegorical? Fact. One might argue, and I intend to argue at some point, that allegory is a form naturally suited to the expression of Christian themes. We live our lives on two planes of reality, engaged at all times in joys, sufferings, and struggles which are often called "invisible" or "abstract," but are actually as real and present and as much a part of life as butter on the breakfast table. Allegory reflects all of this: the two planes, the depiction of the "invisible" inward life, and so on.

But to return. After that meeting with my mentoree, the same idea kept recurring. I was on the phone with an aspiring Christian moviemaker. It resurfaced. I was talking to a young but extraordinarily gifted Christian poetess. It resurfaced. For work, I had to write up a brief survey of the Most Common Themes of Christian literature down through the ages. Oh. My. You can't get away from the theme of redemption!

What struck me most was the repetition of these words (or as near as makes no difference) in the conversations that I was having with my contemporaries: "I just can't see doing something that ends badly" or "I'm just not satisfied with it if things don't turn around for the best" or "What I really want to write/compose/film/draw is a story where things are bad, but then they become wonderful."

Why?

I submit to you, reader, that it is because you write/compose/film/draw what you know, what you yourself have most deeply experienced, and what you are most passionate about. All artists do. And, for Christians, the person and redemptive work of Jesus Christ is the central fact of our lives. The word "Christian" means "little Christ." There's just no getting away from it; given the choice of anything in the world to portray artistically, Christian artists in my experience keep coming back to this one story, because nothing else satisfies our souls. And friend, I've just been talking about my contemporaries. If you start to dig back through the records of what Christians actually have portrayed artistically over the years, it will very quickly become apparent to you that the answer is "Jesus Christ, Redeemer" in big crimson letters.

Let me share with you what I learned from this realization.

First, I learned that I might as well stop kicking and go with it. I'm never going to want to write anything else, and I'll never be satisfied until I've done my personal best to display this story of redemption to the uttermost of my powers, to make everybody else as enthralled with it as I am.

Second, I learned that I'm not really feeling limited by this subject matter at all. It's a story as wide as the heavens and as varied as the individual hearthfires of the nations. I could spend my whole life telling and retelling it from various angles and in various ways, and never get past the millionth part of all there is to say.

Third, because the redemption story includes exactly the sort of things that human beings know are true but hate to say, it is a startlingly, cold-as-an-alpine-lake original story (that is, once you begin to really get wet with it instead of just contemplating the surface in a picture-postcard). Working with my mentoree showed me a little of how fresh and yet how penetrating a story can become when you adjust your sense of reality to center on God. What novelty there was in a fantasy not centered on a magical artifact, but on a supernatural hero!

Finally, I learned that this theme of redemption does not embarrass me. I don't feel like I have to whisper it or disguise it or somehow make it less obvious. No; rather I want to plunge into it and put it forward quivering with life. I think Gibson's The Passion proved that there is no such thing as one too many portrayals of this story, or that another one would be a cliche. Your artistic setting can be botched and make the gem seem less valuable than it is, but the answer to that problem is not "Throw away the gem." The answer is, "Become a better jeweler."

I'm captivated. Completely. And I won't rest until I've show the whole world why this is the most tragic, the most comic, the funniest, the saddest, the most ironic, and in sum the most beautiful story that any human knows of or could tell about. I skew towards redemption. I can't be really deeply passionate about anything else, and if I could, I wouldn't.

Now for the scary part: to become a better jeweler.

Christy

The things for which the words stand

I've been going through James Montgomery Boice's excellent commentary on Ephesians, and today came across a quote which could not be more relevant to our discussion.

In the early part of [the 20th century] B. B. Warfield, the distinguished professor of didactic and polemic theology at Princeton Theological Seminary, delivered an address to incoming students in which he argued that "there is no one of the titles of Christ which is more precious to Christian hearts than 'Redeemer.'" ...

In his address Warfield proved his thesis not, as we might suppose, by impressive theological arguments but by references to the church's hymns in which, he maintained, the true devotional heart of God's people is most evident... Warfield listed twenty-seven such selections...

...but to be faithful to his essay, I must acknowledge that toward the end of the message he bemoaned the fact that (even in his day) this was ceasing to be the case. On the one hand, the concepts had been under attack by liberal scholars who scorned the simple gospel of redemption and were trying to divest the great theological terms of Scripture of their meaning. On the other hand (although Warfield did not spell this out specifically), they were being neglected by Christian people. Maybe they were regarded as too theological, too abstract, or too impractical.

Warfield said, "It is a sad thing to see words like these die,... and I hope you will determine that, God helping you, you will not let them die thus, if any care on your part can preserve them in life and vigor. But the dying of the words is not the saddest thing which we see here. The saddest thing is the dying out of the hearts of men of the things for which the words stand. ...The real thing for you to settle in your minds, therefore, is whether Christ is truly a Redeemer to you..."

I don't think I could sum it up any better. +David

&Share: Pre-Game Coin Toss Makes Jaguars Realize Randomness of Life

When philosophy meets sports (it ain't pretty, folks).



RATING: One use of a mildly objectionable word.

In case anyone's confused: yes, this is a joke. Shared here because in 2 minutes and 41 seconds, this one video gives a better explanation of the heart of existentialism than voluminous articles. +David

(Link via Challies Dot Com)