Anchor ofMy Soul, compiled by the editors at Paraclete Press. Paraclete Press (ISBN: 9781640609815) 2025.
Summary: A compilation of readings, quotes, poetry and works of art on the theme of trust and hope.
The year 2025 is a Jubilee Year in the Catholic Church. Pope Francis has chosen as a motto for this Jubilee Year, “Pilgrims of Hope.” With so many countries, and even the creation itself, in tumult, this theme speaks to a deep need in human hearts. Always, to be sure, and especially in this moment. Appropriate to this year and moment, the editors at Paraclete Press have compiled a collection of readings including short fiction, poetry, letters, speeches, and quotes. Works of art, rendered in full color complement the readings
The work consists of three parts. The first is organized under the theme “Hope is the Thing with Feathers/A Patient Waiting.” It opens with the Emily Dickinson poem of the same name and includes O’Henry’s fine short story, “The Last Leaf.” Other works include a passage from Les Miserables, set off by Van Gogh’s Thatched Cottages at Cordeville, one of Bonhoeffer’s prison letters, an excerpt from Nelson Mandela, and another short story, this by Tolstoy.
Part Two is titled “And with No Language But a Cry/Taut Expectancy.” We read of growing hope amid a German prison camp in an excerpt from Corrie Ten Boom. Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address” reveals his hope for “a new birth of freedom.’ In a short selection from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard explores “the secret of seeing.” Opposite this reading, we are treated to Claude Monet’s Section of the Seine, near Giverny. Other selections include poetry from John Keats (“To Hope”), an excerpt from Anne Frank, Sullivan Ballou’s last letter to his wife during the Civil War, and Chekov’s “The Student.”
The readings in Part Three appear under the theme “Lift Every Voice and Sing/Anticipate with Trust.” Of course this includes James Weldon Johnson’s poem by this name. It has become an unofficial anthem of the Black community. Read this and you may find verses you have not heard before. There’s another story by Leo Tolstoy and Emma Lazarus’ “The New Colossus,” engraved in bronze at the base of the Statue of Liberty. A selection from the ending of The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis and a quote from Tolkien appear opposite Odilon Redon’s Evocation of Butterflies.
I’ve not named all the writers or artists represented here. This book, printed on quality stock is a feast for both the eyes and the heart. It is easy to lose heart in our doomscrolls of despair. The work reminds us that there is another, deeper story that we need to hear. Instead of being mired in the “Slough of Despond,” the writers invite us to join the saints through history and the many who, this year, have embarked on a “Pilgrimage of Hope.”
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.
If you are on social media, you will notice what a partisan space it has become. I’ve chosen not to go that way with my blog. Let me share with you a bit of why that is. First of all, the name of this blog is “Bob on Books.” My focus is on the good, the true, and the beautiful about books, reading, and life. My primary focus is reviewing books–a lot on theological subjects and a wide smattering of other genres and subjects. And while some have tried to turn books into a matter for partisan politics, I refuse to go there.
It is not that I don’t have political opinions. If you read me closely, you can probably figure that out. You will see there are subjects I care about, values I hold, and this is probably reflected at least to some extent in the books I review. Some are part of our partisan squabbling. But I tend to think that much of what I write about concern things that transcend party–or national boundaries.
And that’s another thing. While I live in the United States, I am amazed by the global character of my audience. The world of books is an international world. My pandemic experience was immeasurably richer because of Canadian Louise Penny. I’ve loved the mysteries of the “Queens of Crime” (Sayers, Christie, Allingham, and Marsh), three of whom are from the UK and one from New Zealand. Theology written by Latino, African, and Asian scholars have broadened my understanding of my faith beyond its Euro-American base. Focusing on American political squabbles just seems like bad manners.
Finally, there are so many already clamoring for this lane. I don’t think I have much to add. And the contentiousness of this lane would distract me from reading and writing about what I’ve read. Rather, I like Emily Dickinson’s aphorism: “Tell all the truth but tell it slant.” I hope the books I review, the things I write about, the ways I curate my own social media spaces do that. I write not so much to confront or argue as to explore the goods of life for which we were made and the better world for which we long. Thanks for joining me in that journey.
Five Articles Worth Reading
On a related note, Alan Jacobs would like us to hit “pause” on what he calls “relevance mongering.” In “All the Distant Mirrors” he suggests our instinct to find contemporary relevance in past works is bad manners. We fail to listen to what people are saying about their own time.
If you’ve ever talked to an indie bookseller, you know both how much they love that work and how they live on a financial precipice. “Can a Nonprofit Model Work for Bookstores?” explores ways to help booksellers with their mission while alleviating some of the financial pressures.
“Are you conscious? A conversation between Dawkins and ChatGPT” reproduces a conversation between Richard Dawkins and Chat GPT about whether it is conscious and has real feelings. The dialogue may make you think so even while Chat GPT denies this is the case.
Then there is something new for Jane Austen fans! ‘The Forgotten Writers Who Influenced Jane Austen” is a review of a new book, Jane Austen’s Bookshelf by Rebecca Romney. Romney, a rare book collector, tracked down and read all she could of the writers Jane Austen read.
Finally, James Parker, in a review of a new book on Robert Frost, writes about “When Robert Frost Was Bad.” It’s a fascinating article on Frost’s development as a poet and his character as a human being.
Quote of the Week
British-American poet W. H. Auden was born February 21, 1907. This statement by him has me pondering:
“Good can imagine Evil; but Evil cannot imagine Good.“
I think this recognizes that we can all understand the draw of evil, but when one is given over to evil, that person only expects evil of others and can’t comprehend goodness. What do you think?
Miscellaneous Musings
Plagiarism is the blackest of sins for writers and scholars. Yet it happens. I’ve just begun reading R.F. Kuang’s Yellowface. In what I’ve read so far, the narrator takes the unpublished work of a college friend and represents it as her own, justifying it by her editing and revisions of the work. I suspect she is going to come to great grief over this (don’t tell me, you who’ve read it) but I’m intrigued by the process of rationalization behind her plagiarism.
Crowned with Glory and Honor: A Chalcedonian Anthropology by Michael A. Wilkinson is a theological monograph most will never pick up. I’ve been reveling in it for the careful and clear way he develops his argument. This may seem a stretch to some, but I find the same delight in this I did years ago reading John Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion. Both take complex ideas and unpack them step by step, but not in a dry, dusty fashion, but rather in a spirit infused with love for the God of whom they write.
I’ve occasionally purchased used vinyl recordings from online sellers. I’ve found that they provide good and accurate information about the recording I’m considering. After I wrote an online review on my initial experience with Thriftbooks, several people reported problems they’ve had. One even thought I was Thriftbooks! I generally have been happy with purchases but occasionally have had problems with wrong items, different editions than I expected, condition of books, and one item that never shipped. They’ve been good when I’ve contacted them. But I would like to see them up their game where you know specifically what book, what edition, and what condition you are buying–and then you get what you thought you were ordering.
Next Week’s Reviews
Monday: Various authors, Anchor of My Soul
Tuesday: Margery Allingham, Cargo of Eagles
Wednesday: Miranda Zapor Cruz, Faithful Politics
Thursday, Jacques Lusseyran, And There Was Light
Friday: David Greenberg, John Lewis: A Life
So, that’s The Weekly Wrap for February 16-22, 2025!
Find past editions of The Weekly Wrap under The Weekly Wrap heading on this page
Summary: Fourteen scholars on vivid, ekphrastic language in early Christian literature, used to engage and persuade.
I learned a new word as I read this book: ekphrasis. It literally means “tell out” and carries the idea of vivid description. Ekphrastic rhetoric is designed to move a passive audience to a kind of immersed engagement in a story, in which they literally “see it before their eyes,” and sometimes engage other senses as well. Furthermore, these rhetorical devices are often used not only to engage but to persuade the engaged reader toward (or away) from some action. Ekphrastic rhetoric is hardly unique to biblical and early Christian literature. Indeed, one of the strengths of this volume is that a number scholars compare the use of these devices by early Christian writers with their cultural contemporaries.
Vivid Rhetoric and Visual Persuasion brings together fourteen scholars who contribute chapters on the use of vivid rhetoric in the New Testament and other early Christian literature. After an introductory essay that surveys the use of rhetorical analysis in biblical interpretation:
Nils Neumann analyzes Matt. 14-22-33. This is the story of Jesus walking on water and Neumann compares the story with rhetorical handbooks of the day.
Meghan Henning considers the eschatological judgment and hell in Matthew 25, including “the sheep and the goats.”
Gudrun Nassauer contends that the writer of Luke-Acts presents women in a way that portrays discipleship in relationship with Jesus.
A comparison of vivid and non-vivid language in John’s Prologue is the focus for Vernon Robbins study. He sees this as a way to create “cognitive space.”
Sunny Wang studies vivid description in John’s account of the raising of Lazarus, contending John engages four senses and three “body zones.”
Dramatic reversals may be portrayed through ekphrasis, as Bart Bruehler contends in his study of Luke-Acts.
Annette Weissenreider and Martina Kepper draw upon both archaeological and textual evidence as the consider the “dividing wall” rhetoric in Acts and Ephesians.
Gary Selby also studies visual imagery in Ephesians, focusing on the phrase “enlighten the eyes of your heart.”
Revelation 19 includes vivid imagery of hell. Robyn Whitaker analyzes the persuasion of Christians to resist Rome and remain faithful to Christ.
Susanne Luther also looks at Revelation and the imagery of the heavenly city in narrative, spatial, and aesthetic aspects and their ethical import.
The latter chapters focus on early Christian content. Both Harry Maier and Aldo Tagliabue look at martyrdom literature. Diana Feuchtman looks at the cinematic features of the miraculous on Paulinus of Nola’s Natalicium.
One of the beneficial elements of this book for students of the scriptures is the identification of different rhetorical devices. Nassauer’s “Images of Women” chapter, for example, includes nine different devices, with examples of passages for each. The literary art of scripture, and our awareness of how writers make meaning and move readers through various devices can enrich our reading and our personal and corporate response to scripture. While the title to this collection may seem daunting, the material here is a goldmine for any interpreter of scripture.
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.
Summary: Biographical sketches of William Tennant and his students, with accounts of the revivals under their ministries.
Until 1727, ministers in the Presbyterian Church in the American colonies could only obtain theological training at Harvard or Yale, or back in England. And because of a divide among Presbyterians occasioned by the revivals of which George Whitefield was a leading figure, those were not preferred schools for those on the “New Light” side of the divide. In 1727, William Tennant, Sr. established a seminary on the banks of the Neshaminy, where Warminster, Pennsylvania is now located. The facilities were plain, a twenty by twenty foot cabin, located a mile from the church Tennant served as pastor. Aspiring ministers, awakened in the revivals came to study there until Tennant died in 1746.
Log College Building, By Engraved by Snyder – Presbyterian Historical Society, Philadelphia, Pa., Public Domain, via Wikipedia
This reprint of a work by Princeton seminary professor Archibald Alexander offers biographical sketches of a number of the graduates. Alexander incorporates into these sketches first hand accounts of revivals under the ministries of these graduates. In addition to information about the founding of the Log College, Alexander profiles William Tennant, Sr, his sons Gilbert (over four chapters), John, William, Jr., and Charles. Samuel and John Blair, Samuel Finley, William Robinson, John Rowland, and Charles Beatty.
Two institutions succeeded the Log College. The more significant of these was the College of New Jersey, which became Princeton University and Seminary The other was the New London School, located near Philadelphia. Alexander provides chapters on the beginnings of both of these.
Even before the elder Tennant died, a controversy contributed to the founding of both of these institutions. The Presbyterian Synod of Philadelphia did not consider the Log College to offer a sufficient education, despite the vital ministries of many and in 1739 refused to recognize the credentials of Log Cabin graduates. Many had been ordained in the Presbytery of New Brunswick, in New Jersey, which separated for a period of time over this issue. Their response was to start the College of New Jersey to address the educational deficiencies. A number of Log College graduates were on the board and Samuel Finley later served as President. Meanwhile, The Synod started its own school at New London, near Philadelphia.
One of the things this account does is give accounts of a number of revivals in the mid-Atlantic states. The first-person extracts give an immediacy to the account. As in the ministry of Edwards, it is not the rhetorical skills of ministers. Rather, we note a Spirit-given concern over the state of one’s soul, leading to repentance and the granting of an assured faith in the work of Christ.
Another striking observation. Most of those profiled died young. In their 20’s, 30’s, or 40’s. Consumption (tuberculosis) took many of them. However, the hard work of these people who burned brightly for a short time hastened the deaths of many.
Finally, it is fascinating to reflect on the fruit of William Tennant’s little Log College. Not only were the students he taught and mentored instrumental in the Awakenings of the 1700’s. They also laid the groundwork for Princeton Seminary as a bastion of Reformed education during the nineteenth and early twentieth century. The Log College had a far greater impact in pre-revolutionary American history than it’s modest physical footprint.
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.
The Story of America, Jill Lepore. Princeton University Press (ISBN: 9780691153995) 2012.
Summary: Essays on American origins from Jamestown and the Constitution to the IOU and Webster’s dictionary.
Nations as well, as individuals strive for self-understanding. Much of this comes through the stories we tell of ourselves, particularly the stories of our origins. That is, we try to understand how we got here as a way of understanding who we are. This is what Jill Lepore strives to do in this collection of essays on the story of America. Rather than a comprehensive, beginning to the present account, she offers a variety or origin stories, arranged roughly in chronological order.
Most of these essays first appeared in The New Yorker. Lepore says, “I wrote them because I wanted to learn how to tell stories better. But mostly, I wrote them because I wanted to explain how history works, and how it’s different than politics.” She adds to this her definition of doing history: “History is the art of making an argument about the past by telling a story accountable to evidence.”
She begins with the primal origin story, the settlement of Jamestown through the lens of Captain John Smith, who gave us our first account of the settlement, concluding that while he was an “Elizabethan gallant,” he was not a fraud. The colony was a mixture of success and catastrophe, American dream and American nightmare.
Subsequent essays consider the Puritans and the succession of historians who have tried to tell their story, Franklin’s The Way to Wealth, and the career of Thomas Paine, hailed for Common Sense and excoriated for The Age of Reason. She writes on the 4,400 words of the Constitution, often not read and even less understood, and the meanings that have accrued, including originalism as one form of interpretation.
From key events and ideas, Lepore moves to origins less noticed but also significant, for example, the origins of the I.O.U. and the development of bankruptcy law. Particularly fascinating is Lepores avvount of Noah Webster and his dictionary, begun in 1800 and ended in 1828. She reflects on his singular effort in defining 70,000 words compared to Johnson’s 43,000. He defined American words using American examples in his definitions and dug into the etymology of words. And Webster, a religious man whose faith was implicit in the work, reaped the benefit of the religious revivals coinciding with the dictionary’s publication.
She turns to the art of presidential biographies, particularly those on Washington to Jackson. And then there is that inferior item, the campaign biography! She weighs in on Jefferson and the Hemings family. She chronicles Charles Dickens’ journeys in America and his decided dislike for the country. Paired with Dickens in the following essay is Edgar Allan Poe. No love lost between the two men. She charts Poe’s struggle with poverty, his drinking and the question of whether Poe was a genius or mad. Then there are our heroes and the accounts that make them bigger than life, from the dime novels on Kit Carson to Longfellow’s Paul Revere. Added to these is Earl Derr Biggars’ Charlie Chan based on Hawaiian Chang Apana. Chan was hailed as great crime fiction in the day and for invidious racial stereotyping today.
Along the way are essays on the development of voting ballots and Clarence Darrow on a major labor case. One essay discusses the Great Migration. the subject of Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns, another on homicide and the death penalty. She concludes with the daunting task of writing inaugural addresses. Certainly, James Garfield was daunted, reading his predecessors. Only Lincoln really excelled. Most were mediocre to awful. Most address some version of history as they look to the future. But even the best speakers are rarely at their best here.
One of Lepore’s observations is the role of literacy in these stories. The story of our democracy is a story of reading and writing. She believes “Americans wrote and read their way into a political culture….” This, for me begs the question of the future of our democracy in our post-literate culture that wallows in an epistemic crisis. Instead of “stories accountable to evidence” we resort to fake news memes created with increasing visual sophistication. And it seems we are recreating our origin stories, engaging in both erasure and fable, attacking the history that is accountable to evidence. If nothing else, what Lepore does is remind us, in engaging story, of our real origins. And she reminds us of what we may easily lose.
Summary: Drawing upon Coptic and other church tradition, explores how Lent may be personally and communally transforming.
I grew up in a Protestant tradition that did not observe Lent. But I lived in a Catholic neighborhood where the conversation before Ash Wednesday was a discussion of “what are you giving up for Lent?” For most, it was something like candy, or perhaps more narrowly, chocolate. I was never quite clear why God needed people to give up chocolate, or other things during this time. For many of us as adults, that is the extent of our knowledge of Lent. Phoebe Farag Mikhail, who has been shaped by the Coptic Orthodox tradition, fasting, and what one fasted from wasn’t a choice. But what her community abstained from reflected a deeper longing, a corporate hunger for righteousness. She writes of this in her introduction.
If we pay closer attention to the earliest Christian Lenten traditions, we’ll discover how Lent was a period during which individuals who wanted to become Christian prepared themselves not for personal transformation, but to join the body of believers, the communion of saints, through baptism. By examining our liturgical prayers and Scripture readings developed over centuries, we’ll discover the ways Lent has always been a time for individual repentance, yes, but first for giving and forgiving, for mending relationships and building new ones, for fighting injustice, and for growing in intimacy with God communally, not just individually (pp. 13-14).
This book is designed to be read and meditated upon and applied during the weeks before and during Lent. One chapter covers each week, as well as a final chapter on Easter. The first week “trains us for the climb” in preparation for Lent by considering Jonah and the Ninevites through practice of the three day Jonah fast. Subsequent chapters consider:
Abraham, reckoned righteous by God, who negotiated with God for Sodom.
St. Abraam of Fayoom, a nineteenth century ascetic who gave generously to the poor.
The faith that moves mountains, including the mountain of forgiveness.
Abba Serapion and the challenge to grow as repentant readers of Scripture.
St. Paesia, a trafficked woman, her turning from despair, and the ways we wrongly judge others.
The righteousness of Tamar, more determined to perpetuate her husband’s family than Judah.
The righteous faith of Abraham again, in the sacrifice of Isaac.
We conclude on the note of Resurrection. Mikhail considers the pilgrimage accounts of Egeria enroute to Jerusalem during Roman times. Egeria walks the way of Jesus passion, and we read of her joy in God and rest in the risen Christ.
Each chapter offers questions for reflection and application. Two appendices offer further resources including the Great Lent Lectionary of the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria.
Mikhail helps us see the fast of Lent as a hunger for righteousness, glimpsed in the lives of biblical figures and saints we may not have heard of before. Whether we adopt the practices of Coptic Christians or not, her reflections help us deepen our own practice of Lent. She helps us move beyond the “give up” to the promise for those who hunger for righteousness. They shall be filled.
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.
The Pursuit of Safety(Studies in Christian Doctrine and Scripture), Jeremy Lundgren. IVP Academic (ISBN: 9781514008010) 2024.
Summary: A theology of safety as creational good, tempered by what living by faith means in a world never free of risk.
If you’ve been a parent, it is an instinct to care for your child’s safety. You look out for physical danger, illnesses, and stranger danger. However, any honest parent will also admit that despite one’s best and most diligent efforts, our kids get cuts, bruises, break bones, get sick, and sometimes encounter harm from others. And what’s true for our kids is true for ourselves. In fact, the pursuit of safety is often a reflection of our sense of the precarity of life.
Jeremy Lundgren explores that tension and then does something not often done. He thinks theologically about the creational good of safety and the realities of risk and danger in our lives. Lundgren begins by noting the signposts or tokens of safety-consciousness in our modern culture and the tension in parenting between protecting children and helping them develop resilience and independence. He distinguishes between absolute safety, an ideal often striven for but found only in Christ, and ordinary safety.
Part Two considers the sources of risk throughout history. In the pre-modern era, the danger was posed by the various gods believed to inhabit the world, and life involved negotiating one’s way to stay on their right side. In early modernity, the risk was from nature, particularly as we moved from an enchanted to disenchanted world. Everything from micro-organisms to the laws of physics posed danger to be reckoned with. Finally, in late modernity, humanity becomes the risk. Examples include environmental, lifestyle, medical, interpersonal, economic, criminal, and political risks.
Part Three, then, turns to the avoidance of harm. These include probabilistic tools reflecting our ability to anticipate the future. Yet our faith calls us to live in light of God’s promises as we prepare, but without anxiety. In addition, we resort to technological tools (consider seat belts and air bags). Yet such means may also be idolatrous and can end up controlling us. In contrast, Lundgren explores the right ordering of technology under Christ rather than under autonomous humans (or even artificial Intelligence!). Third, he considers the rise of proceduralism in accident prevention, especially in workplaces. The problem is that proceduralism, while reducing the number of accidents, cannot eliminate them. We cannot always foresee what will cause an accident until it occurs. In contrast, Lundgren commends the wisdom of both Mosaic law and Ecclesiastes, along with means for forgiveness and reparation, when accidents occur.
In the final part of the book, Lundgren turns to reflecting on what safety means for disciples of Jesus. Fundamental to discipleship is the way of the cross. Jesus speaks of losing our lives to save them. Thus, safety can only be truly understood on the other side of the cross. The way of the cross means risk and danger–and the promise of life! So for Lundgren, we can only understand safety within the wider context of following Jesus. Safety is only a proximate and not an ultimate good. We live both prudently and by faith. We keep safety in its place.
I appreciate the tension Lundgren maintains throughout between the creational good of safety and the impossibility of absolute safety apart from Christ. Ultimately, following Jesus is more important than being safe. Christian faith offers a basis for prudent care for both our and others’ well-being out of love rather than anxiety or mere economic calculations.
As a former leader in a Christian ministry, we were trained to assess and mitigate risk in mission-related activities. A case study applying his theological analysis to a risk management scenario might have been helpful to many readers in similar real life situations.
That said, I appreciated this thoughtful exploration of our culture of safety and how we engage with this as disciples walking in the way of the cross,
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.
I write this on the evening of St. Valentines Day. While we celebrate it as the holiday of romantic love, the day actually marks the martyrdom of the original Saint Valentine in 269 AD. Valentine was kind and he was courageous in testifying to his faith, even in the face of a death sentence. We know little more than that about him.
While imprisoned awaiting death, Valentine wrote notes to encourage his friends, tying them with twine, signing them “from your valentine.” So that’s where the practice of all those “valentines” I had to take and exchange each year at school came from! Seriously, it is an amazing act of selfless kindness for one about to die.
As the story goes, the “valentine” he sent on the day of his death went to a formerly blind girl. A judge in one of his cases gave him a challenge. If his God was so powerful, then ask that God to heal the judge’s blind daughter. Valentine prayed and God healed the girl through him. She lived to see while he died.
Reading fiction is supposed to develop empathy. But empathy is only a feeling if it is not converted to acts of kindness. Of late, our cultural life consists more in threats and harsh words than in kindness. Perhaps it is up to us readers to be the modern Valentines, speaking and acting with kindness in an increasingly coarse world. We may never know those we heal by our kindness. And it could cost us dearly. But if that’s the cost to be kind in a cruel world, I’d choose that in a heartbeat over cold cruelty.
Five Articles Worth Reading
Many of us thought Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead one of the best novels we read, chronicling the deadly opioid epidemic in Appalachia. Kingsolver is an example of turning empathy into action. In “‘Demon Copperhead’ Explored Addiction. Its Profits Built a Recovery House,” we learn Kingsolver has used her royalties from the book to start a center for Appalachian women in recovery.
The empathy evoked from literature often comes from its exploration of suffering. In “Beyond the Cage and Fog,” Mary Grace Mangano explores the contrasting ways Gerard Manley Hopkins and Sylvia Plath addressed mental suffering.
Tove Jansson is best known for the Moomins cartoons. Lauren LeBlanc, in “The Outsider Who Captured American Loneliness” reviews a new book by Jansson, Sun City. The setting of the book is a senior community in St. Petersburg, Florida. It explores the loneliness of many who are elderly in America.
Then there is Ross Douthat. Often, the most interesting reads in The New York Times are the op-eds, and Douthat’s are among those. I appreciate his voice as a person of faith, Now, he has a new book out titled Believe: Why Everyone Should Be Religious. “Accidental Pilgrim” adapts content from the book to describe Douthat’s own faith journey.
Finally, it is National Library Lovers Month! Of course, isn’t that the case every month for booklovers. Sadly, not all share our library love. Katie McLain Horner offers practical tips for ways we can support our libraries in “How to Stand Up for Your Local Library by Getting Involved.”
Quote of the Week
I’m a fan of the mysteries of Georges Simenon. It just so happens he was born February 13, 1903. Consider this pithy observation, with which most of us will identify:
“I adore life but I don’t fear death. I just prefer to die as late as possible.”
Miscellaneous Musings
I’ve learned of so many good books through other readers. There is one who not only introduced me to the writing of William Kent Krueger but also to a book I am reading right now. It is And There Was Light, an interesting title for a memoir by a blind French resistance hero, Jacques Lusseyrand.
A Cargo of Eagles is the last of the Albert Campion books by Margery Allingham. I just began it. Whereas I loved the Brother Cadfael series and was sad to come to the last of the books, I honestly feel more relieved to finish Allingham. Convoluted plots, lots of people to keep track of, and an enigmatic sleuth make her books a challenge. Of the Queens of Crime, I rank Sayers, Christie, and Marsh ahead of her, in that order.
I’ve long wanted to read through my grandmother’s Bible. She was a woman of faith who had a profound influence in my life for the few years I knew her. I now have outlived her but I’m curious what her Bible will tell me about her. It is an old Scofield study Bible in the King James Version with tissue thin pages. I began reading it this week.
Next Week’s Reviews
Monday: Jeremy Lundgren, The Pursuit of Safety
Tuesday: Phoebe Farag Mikhail, Hunger for Righteousness
Wednesday: Jill Lepore, The Story of America
Thursday: Archibald A. Alexander, The Log Coillege
Friday: Megan Henning, Nils Neumann, eds., Vivid Rhetoric and Visual Persuasion: Ekphrasis in Early Christian Literature
So, that’s The Weekly Wrap for February 9-15, 2025!
Find past editions of The Weekly Wrap under The Weekly Wrap heading on this page
Summary: A study of the nativity narratives offering a defense of the virgin birth and considering its significance.
“Conceived by the Holy Spirit.” Some of us speak this phrase every week, or even every day. It is part of the Apostles Creed, one of the early creeds of the church. It is a confession to the supernatural conception of Jesus in the womb of Mary apart from sexual relations with a man. There has always been skepticism surrounding this idea. Babies just don’t happen that way. Yet Christians regularly confess that it did happen this way on one occasion.
Rhyne R. Putnam has given a wonderful gift to pastors preaching the nativity passages and to all of us who wonder about these things. This book explores the nativity passages in Matthew and Luke, defending the doctrine of the virgin birth, conceived by the Holy Spirit and considers the importance and significance of this doctrine. In the book, he takes small portions of the narratives and draws out the significance of the textual material.
He begins with Luke’s introduction and notes the Marian perspective of the early narratives evident in the following:
Only Mary would know whether she had never been sexually involved with a man.
Only Mary would have knowledge of a private visitation from Gabriel.
If Mary spent three months with her cousin Elizabeth, she would have been very familiar with the circumstances surrounding John’s birth.
Although Mary was not present with the shepherds when the angels visited them, Luke explicitly tells us that the shepherds “reported the message they were told about this child” to Mary and Joseph (Luke 2:17).
She was present when Simeon and Anna blessed the child in the temple.
Like any other parent, Mary would remember the time when her son went missing in a large city (p. 22)).
While these don’t “prove” the virgin birth, the likelihood that Luke’s account was based on the witness of the one in the best position to know about these things is not to be lightly disregarded. Along the way, Putnam also offers sidebar discussions of objections posed such as the origins of the virgin birth in pagan theology. He shows how the miraculous conceptions in the Old Testament (and that of Elizabeth) anticipate this event.
Not only does he defend the virgin birth, he unpacks the theological significance of this event. God keeps his covenant promises. We listen to Mary’s glorious Magnificat and realize we are even more blessed. The accounts reveal the babe as Savior, King, God with us, God’s Anointed One. He was born under the law, and from his circumcision and dedication onward, met all its requirements for all of us who don’t. And he is the King manifested to the nations in the visit of the Magi. For example, Putnam writes:
“In the case of the magi, something wonderful and unusual was happening. These men of a higher station–potentially emissaries from an eastern king–were lying prostrate in a humble Jewish home before a small child, revering him as a king unlike any other. More remarkable still, God had called these pagan men from a faraway land to worship at the feet of his Son. What Matthew depicts in this humble, earthly scene mimics the future heavenly scene where ‘a vast multitude from every nation, tribe, people, and language, which no one could number’ stand around the throne and sing praises to God and to the Lamb (Rev 7:9) (p.181).
Putnam’s writing is at once theologically and devotionally rich. This extends to the second part of the work which considers “The Virgin-Born King in Christian Theology and Practice.” Putnam discusses briefly and concisely the Christological debates of the early church. In concluding, he argues that they “saved Christmas.” Then he discusses how Jesus is both God and Man in One Person, and how it is fitting to call Mary theotokos (the God bearer). Appendices offer a harmonization of the accounts and an irenic discussion of the author’s differences with Marian dogma in the Catholic Church.
I especially liked the chapter on the “fittingness” of the virgin birth. Firstly, it is a sign we are saved by God’s grace alone. Secondly, it demonstrates that divine revelation is solely God’s initiative. Thirdly, it is a sign of Jesus uniqueness as the natural, only begotten Son of God. Fourthly, it is a sign of Christ’s supremacy. Finally, it is a fitting sign of Christ’s pre-existence. Rich stuff!
I wish I could have read this during Advent! As I’ve noted, Putnam does more then defend and expound the virgin birth. He leads us into the blessedness of these truths. Thus, our response becomes “O Come Let Us Adore Him!” I’d encourage you to pick up a copy to have it on hand for Advent reading next year. And pastors, get a copy to enrich your thought and preparation for next Advent and Christmastide. Apologists will benefit from the defense of the virgin birth. I’m glad to add this to my library!
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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.
Summary: A young couple falls in love until she disappears to a mysterious city of people without shadows.
A teenage boy meets a girl at a writing competition. They write and are drawn to each other, visiting and cuddling and longing for more. He loses his heart to her but she asks him to be patient, saying she wants to give herself wholly to him. And then she just disappears. But before this happened, she told him that her real self lived in a city with walls, unicorns, a clock tower without hands, and that in that city, she was the librarian. The girl he knew was a mere shadow of that girl.
Understandably, he longs to follow her to that city, but does not know how. He never marries and works in publishing. Then, one day when he is forty-five, he falls into a hole and finds himself outside the city with a wall. To enter, the Gatekeeper must remove his shadow, which will live separately. Then he must go through a painful eye treatment to fit him for his job. He will work with the girl at the library reading everything in its collection. Not books, but the dreams of past inhabitants of the city.
So, each day, he arrives, the girl makes a tea to help his eyes, and gives him egg-shaped dreams to hold and “read.” Then he walks her home along the river to the housing where she lives. But she doesn’t recognize him from their relationship outside the wall. However, his shadow interrupts this companionable routine. The shadow is dying and must return to the outside world. Finally, he is convinced, but turns back at the last minute while the shadow departs.
Yet we meet him next, not in the city but back at home. He has a shadow again. But he is dissatisfied with his life. He asks a friend to help him find a different job in a small town. He applies for a job as a director of a small library. After an interview with the founder and retiring director, Mr. Koyasu, he is hired despite his scant qualifications. Mr. Koyasu is unusual. He wears a distinctive beret and a skirt. But he drops by and mentors the man, including taking him to a secret room that is warmer in winter. Only later do we learn that Mr. Koyasu is dead. A shade if not a shadow!
He finds Koyasu’s grave and talks to him on his days off. And he meets a woman who owns a nearby coffee shop. It appears that, if not first love, then some kind of love might be possible. Except a boy turns up who reads at the library every day, and knowing your birthday, can tell you the day on which you were born. Apart from that, he doesn’t communicate. Yet he connects with the director. And one day he overhears him talking to Mr. Koyasu at the grave about the city…
Shadow and substance. What is real? Murakami gives us his own version of Socrates’ Cave. And do we not sometimes feel alien to our own world, and think there might be another where we are more at home? And yet the nameless narrator doesn’t find his real love in the city without shadows–nor in this one. We wonder if he will accept the possibility of love in front of him from the coffee shop owner. Apart from that relationship, one feels he is living a shadow existence, unconnected with others in the town.
This is the second Murakami novel I’ve read, and I find myself drawn to his narrative voice. It is both quiet and evocative without becoming overpowering. He draws the reader into the mental and emotional landscape of his main character. Then he throws enough surprises and twist in to keep it interesting and make you wonder where this is going.
Murakami adds a fascinating postscript. He first wrote this story as a novella forty years ago but never was satisfied with the ending. This work is a re-working as he finally found a way to complete the story. We learn he added parts two and three. I’ve not read the earlier work. I’d like to hear from Murakami fans who have read both this and the earlier novella. Do you think he succeeded?
