A Single Layer

I've been hearing some odd things bandied about regarding NT Wright lately, mostly by people who haven't read him. I have my own opinions, and they vary, and they're personal. But regardless, I find the best thing to do whenever anyone has an Opinion that is being Bandied regarding a particular writer or thinker is to read the person for yourself, to get to know them and their ideas. Bandy about your own opinions for a change, and be right to do so. There's nothing to opinion regarding NT Wright's Lent for Everyone . The title is right - the book is for everyone, whether you observe Lent or not. It's a perfect way to walk through the season if you do, and a wonderful resource of thoughts on the Gospel of Mark when the season is through. The words for Ash Wednesday are (suitably) a good starting off point. "We sometimes think of 'repentance,'" he writes, "as being about going back: going back, wearily, to the place you went wrong, fi

As promised, my poem to the writer's workshop: A Toast   (variations on “An Appeal” by Czeslaw Milosz) To you, O Church, to you I lift this glass of cheap grape juice. I lift it in irony, because I am deeply flawed. I lift it in sorrow, because so are you. And I lift it in brave, bold hope. To you, bored bride, wherever you are. In the creaking building, by the heartless fountain, sitting in the last bright light above the hazy port. I drink to you with no better question  than the far better poet asked some sixty years ago: “Whether you really think that this world is your home?” That the skin and bones are stretched as they ought around the mortal-heavy embers of your heart?  That the words and the songs are the first and the last and they signify nothing but the certainty of this hour? Probably you know very well the hot objection of injustice. That every tumor and scar, barrenness and hunger, mewling, limping life states otherwi

I promised a while ago to share something of the poem I brought to the writer's workshop last month. Beforehand, I should first share at least part of Czesław Miłosz's poem, "An Appeal." You will see why. You, my friends, wherever you are,  Whether you are grieving just now, or full of joy, To you I lift this cup of pungent wine As they often do in the land of France. From a landscape of cranes and canals,  Of tangled railway tracks and winter fog, In the smoke of black tobacco, I make my way Toward you and I ask you a question. Tell me, for once at least laying  Caution aside, and fear and guarded speech, Tell me, as you would in the middle of the night When we face only night, the ticking of a watch, The whistle of an express train, tell me Whether you really think that this world Is your home? That your internal planet That revolves red-hot, propelled by the current Of your warm blood, is really in harmony  With what surrounds you? Probably yo

Not to overdo it on Pinterposts, but the recent onslaught of friends, acquaintances, and everyone-else on Pinterest has led me to think of some rules. In pirate fashion, these are actually guidelines, and the purpose is to ensure that Pinterest is useful and interesting for you - because, quite honestly, it's not really a social network. It's a network, and a society, but it's mostly a silent one. Pinterest comments are rare, and the best followers and followeds are more often than not complete strangers. It's about meeting one another in the places your aesthetic tastes lie. Who you are behind your tastes is secondary. I will never meet Mary Beth Burrell , but I love her outrageous 433 boards. I will never meet Maia Then , but we swap typography pins on a regular basis, without overt acknowledgement. 1. To begin with, you shouldn't join Pinterest just because "everyone else is doing it." You can browse your friends' boards without making your own,