Review: Leadership, God’s Agency, & Disruptions

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Leadership, God’s Agency, & Disruptions, Mark Lau Branson and Alan J. Roxburgh. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2021.

Summary: Argues that “modernity’s wager” has shaped the leadership practices of church leadership, leading to a reliance on technique-driven strategies rather than responding to God’s agency.

Churches in the West are facing powerful forces of disruption, ranging from the pandemic to abuse scandals to disenchantment with political alignments. Many churches are witnessing declining numbers and financial support. We are in an age of the rise of the “Nones.” Suddenly the vision processes and church growth strategies are being turned on their heads.

Mark Lau Branson and Alan Roxburgh propose that what we are seeing is the failure of “Modernity’s Wager,” the bet that we can live well, and even build churches without God. Sure, we don’t say this, but often we believe we are working for God or even without God rather than trusting in and responding to the initiatives of God. They contend that this secular outlook has had a corrosive influence on church leadership.

They advocate for a different kind of leadership premised on God’s agency–indeed that the very disruptions we face may be invitations to step into and join what God is doing. Leadership is standing in the “space between” where we do not control but discern the ways of the Spirit of God.

They consider four biblical sources as case studies in this “space between” leadership in disruption. Jeremiah considers the disruption of exile and the focus on the local rather than the wished for return.. Matthew, writing to a Syrian community after the fall of the temple, sets forward action-learning communities with the teaching of Jesus. Acts models improvisational leadership. Ephesians confronts the disruption of Artemis worship and to live under kingdom authority amid empire.

This kind of leadership is the kind of making the path as one walks. It means finding and enlisting partners to work with, perhaps with limit scope experiments in one’s neighborhood. Such leaders start with where and who people are.

This is a book on leadership perspective rather than methods. In fact, it is an indictment of methods divorced from reliance upon the agency of God in our situations. So the book does not offer a program so much as a paradigm shift for leaders. Readers might feel this work is long on theory and short on practice. That is because the authors are seeking to shift the “social imaginary” that shapes contemporary church leadership. They want to encourage new habits and practices and a different way of conceiving of leadership.

This feels like the message Eugene Peterson tried to convey through his books. What Branson and Roxburgh are trying to do is call people back to the real work of pastors. The question is whether our church leaders are willing to give up on modernity’s wager for God’s agency. Or more simply, they are pressing us with the question, “do we really believe in God?”

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

Review: The Planter of Modern Life

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The Planter of Modern Life: Louis Bromfield and the Seeds of a Food Revolution, Stephen Heyman. New York: W.W. Norton, 2020.

Summary: A biography of novelist, screenwriter, and sustainable farming pioneer Louis Bromfield.

This happened to be a serendipitous find as I was shopping at an online book site. I was unaware of this recently released biography of Louis Bromfield. I will forgive you if you are wondering Louis who? Stephen Heyman, his biographer, acknowledges that this is not an uncommon reaction:

If Bromfield ever appears in a book today, he is shoved into parentheses or buried without ceremony in a footnote. If we remember him at all, it is only as a character in somebody else’s story. As Humphrey Bogart’s best man, say, or Doris Duke’s lover. As Gertrude Stein’s protege or Edith Wharton’s gardening guru. As Ernest Hemingway’s enemy or Eleanor Roosevelt’s pain in the ass. What is surprising is not that he has his own story to tell, but that, six decades after his death, that story suddenly feels important (pp. 2-3).

Louis Bromfield’s life began and ended in the Mansfield, Ohio area, and so he is well-familiar to this lover of all things Ohio. I’ve toured Malabar Farm and the Big House where Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall were married. I’ve learned about his farming ideas and even camped at the farm with my son’s Boy Scout troop (a story in itself!). I’ve read some of his farm writings, Pleasant Valley and Malabar Farm. Much of what Heyman mentions in the quote above had nothing or little to do with this part of Bromfield’s life.

It turns out that this part of the story of Bromfield is what Heyman believes to be important in our day. He does not rush to make this point but sets what he thinks Bromfield’s most significant contribution in the context of his whole life. He renders the story in two parts. The first centered around Paris, his very successful novels, the Lost Generation set of which he was part, and his gardens at Senlis. The second focused around his childhood home of Mansfield, and Malabar Farm in Pleasant Valley, where his work and revolutionary thinking about the soil and farming practices began a movement that continues to this day.

The first part picks up with his ambulance corps work during World War I where his love of France was born. After a few years back in New York working in the publishing trade, he published his own first works, to immediate success. Both The Green Bay Tree and Possession featured strong, modern, American women. And he married Mary, the antithesis of these women. Heyman traces his longing to return to France, realized in 1925. He fell in with the literary set, befriended by Gertrude Stein while Hemingway resented his success, including his Pulitzer Prize. Even amid the success, the glitter, and the parties, Bromfield loved the soil, creating a beautiful garden home along a stream in Senlis, which became a gathering place for his friends, including Edith Wharton, a fellow gardener. We also learn about the beginnings of his association with George Hawkins, his personal secretary, discretely gay, and responsible for at least some of his success in Hollywood.

With the rise of Nazism, the response of appeasement, and increasing longings for home, Bromfield organized a rescue and repatriation effort for the American Lincoln Brigade, fighting in Spain. Through his connections, he mobilized the means to get over one thousand sent home, winning the French Legion of Honor. But Munich closed the door on Europe, and in 1938, he moved back to the States.

The second half of the book describes his purchase of a worn out farm in the Pleasant Valley area outside Mansfield, and his work with agricultural efforts to restore the farm through green crops, contour plowing, and limited use of fertilizers and chemical interventions, crop rotation, and shunning the monocultural farming of so much of Ohio. I learned that he was one of the first to sound the alarm as to the dangers of DDT. Heyman captures the sheer joy Bromfield derived from this work in his chapter “Four Seasons at Malabar.” He offers a nuanced treatment of these years, highlighting the reality that Bromfield’s Hollywood earnings sustained the farm–and really didn’t do that, especially after Hawkins death. He was controlling and didn’t let his two daughters, who loved farming, take a share in the work. They and their husbands went elsewhere, Ellen to Brazil, where she and her husband far more successfully realized Bromfield’s vision.

While Bromfield’s own careless business practices, mistaken ideas, and endless experiments led to mounting debts, his books and lecturing inspired future generations of agricultural writers, and the organic food movement, all of which have challenged America’s business-agricultural complex. Heyman traces the lineage of writers and activists influenced by him including Wendell Berry and Robert Rodale, founder of Organic Gardening magazine and the organic food movement.

Heyman captures Bromfield’s essential message, that ‘{m}ost of our citizens do not realize what is going on under their very feet.’ Bromfield recognized the danger of not caring for the top soil, one of America’s great assets and that chemical fertilizers could never substitute for good soil management. Perhaps the time in France and seeing farms that had been owned for generations had something to do with it.

I welcome this work. Perhaps it is just Ohio pride, but I do believe Bromfield deserves to be better known as an important influence on our contemporary movement for sustainable agriculture and healthy food. His other writing work is another matter and I suspect the author’s inferences to its lack of enduring value are on the mark, though I still want to read more Bromfield. Bromfield was one of the first to practice and preach good soil management, testify before Congress on the dangers of pesticides, and attempt to return to sustainable practices. He also left a tangible monument to his work in Malabar Farm, a working farm where people can learn about his ideas and tour the Big House. The farm doesn’t fully realize his dream of a research center nor display all his farming practices, given its tourism focus as a state park, but one can learn about his life, and see the land he saw, and perhaps something of his vision, which Heyman captures in his biography.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — Mill Creek Park Trails

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Mill Creek Park Trail, Photo by Marilyn Trube, all rights reserved

One of my most cherished memories of childhood was going for hikes with my dad in Mill Creek Park. I think the first one I remember was the One Way Trail, which at one time was One Way Road, beginning near the Green House, occupied by park foremen, on Lake Glacier, opposite the Parapet Bridge and ascending to overlook the Lily Pond and coming out by Bears Den Road. I also remember class trips starting at the Lily Pond with park naturalist Lindley Vickers

Trails generally run along the east and west sides of the lakes and gorges of Mill Creek. I grew up on the West Side, near the north end of the park. So walking the whole length of the trails was a challenge. Before I drove, I’d often ride to a trail entrance, and then walk my bike on a portion of the trails. Some of my favorite were the trails along the east and west sides of Lake Cohasset, one of the most beautiful parts of the park. My other favorite was the West Gorge Trail between Lake Cohasset and Lanterman’s Mill. This stretch helps you see how the creek carved out the gorge over generations and seemed to me one of the most untouched parts of the park.

The climax of this walk came as you approached Youngstown-Canfield Road and the falls and mill just beyond, framed by the bridge. This was a view you could only see on the trail. Two other short trails, on either side of the Hemlock Gorge flowing north from Pioneer Pavilion are also quite scenic. The one on the west is appropriately called Artist’s Trail. One the other side is Slippery Rock Trail, leading to Slippery Rock Pavilion.

I most often traveled along the west side of Lake Glacier. It is a whole different view if you take the East Glacier Trail, which runs the length of Lake Glacier from Volney Rogers Field to Slippery Rock Pavilion, with a close up view of the Parapet Bridge.

There were no wetlands at Lake Newport when I grew up. The trails followed the lake on either side, coming out at Shields Road. Now there is a boardwalk wetland trail, allowing people to walk through the wetlands while keeping their feet dry. East Newport Drive is now only open to one way, northbound traffic, and serves as a paved walking and cycling trail. On the other side of Shields, the road on the east side of Mill Creek is now closed to vehicles entirely, making for an easy walking and cycling trail, arched by trees.

Looking at the current trail map of the park, I don’t see some of the trails I remember, such as the Bears Den Trail running from the parking lot to the rock formations, or the trail between the Lily Pond and the Rock Garden that followed a creek. I know there are quite a few trails in John Melnick’s The Green Cathedral (pp. 409-411) that I don’t see on today’s park maps. I wonder if these have been kept up. It would be interesting to go back and explore!

What walking the trails gave was a sense of the rugged beauty of the park. The trails were up and down, following the contours of the gorge. There was so much of the park you could not see just driving or walking along the roads. Nor could you listen to the burbling of the creek unless you walked along. In the fall, you could savor the smell and crunch of fallen leaves. It was part of the wisdom of Volney Rogers and those who worked with him to lay out trails, occasionally with bridges or stone steps, but mostly just packed dirt that gave you a sense that you were walking in the park, and not just through it. They are part of what make it such a special place.

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!

The Freedom of the Christian

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I hear a lot of talk about freedom in our current pandemic situation where people do not want to accept mandates to wear masks or be vaccinated to hold a job or participate in a function. I don’t want to discuss that for the moment because I believe this reflects a different understanding of freedom than how I understand freedom as a Christian. When we discuss things from different premises, we often end up talking past each other–no wonder we disagree.

As a Christian, I understand freedom as freedom from and freedom to. Fundamentally the uses of freedom from in the Bible are either freedom from human bondage or freedom from sin. In the Old Testament, the outstanding case was the liberation of the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt. Exodus 20:2, the prologue to the Ten Commandments says “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery” (NIV). Even here, we see they are freed from Egyptian bondage for a relationship with God.

The other form of bondage is that to sin. The singular “sin” refers to the fundamental approach that says to God, “not thy will but mine.” Bondage to sin means a life of running from God, living under the tyranny of self, broken relationships with others, and the abuse of creation, fouling our own nest as it were. In one of the most famous passages, often misappropriated, Jesus said:

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

They answered him, “We are Abraham’s descendants and have never been slaves of anyone. How can you say that we shall be set free?”

Jesus replied, “Very truly I tell you, everyone who sins is a slave to sin. Now a slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. (John 8:32-36, NIV)

Jesus says elsewhere that the truth that sets free is “to believe in the one he has sent” (John 6:29) or in the immediate context, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples” (John 8:31). Jesus says real freedom comes in believing and obeying him.

That brings me to the freedom for. Real freedom is to be freed for right relationships: with God, with ourselves, with each other, and with the creation. Instead of rebelling against and running from God, we love God and believe that our highest joy is found in “knowing and glorifying God forever.” Instead of seeing ourselves at the center of the universe, we find that our greatest dignity is living as beings who reflect the character of the God who is. It is a great relief to realize that God is God and we are not. When I realize I’m not the center of the universe, I can get along better with others. When we accept that we are creatures entrusted with the care of a creation that belongs to the God who made us, we cherish what he made and seek its flourishing. We gain freedom from poisonous water, polluted air, unhealthy food, and, hopefully, a climate out of control. And other creatures of God gain their lives.

Paul’s letter to the Galatians may be called the manifesto of Christian freedom. Here is what he says our freedom is for:

You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.

Paul says that our freedom in the society of people comes not in seeking our personal wants but rather seeking for our neighbor what we want for ourselves. He observes that self-seeking at the expense of others is an exercise in mutual destruction. It deeply troubles me that people cloak this disregard of neighbor in an assertion of personal freedom against “tyranny.” Paul wrote these words under the tyranny of Rome that would one day take his life. The use of “tyranny” in our context is an insult to the sacrifice of martyrs to real tyranny around the world.

As I think about our present moment, freedom means freely choosing to do all I can to protect others from being infected by COVID. Masks block the spread of the virus to others. The vaccine can sometimes prevent infection, or if not, make me less infectious to others. No one has to require these of me. If they prevent my neighbor from getting sick, even if I do, that is love for my neighbor.

These verses challenge me in my response to those who differ. My temptation is to belittle their decisions, which I believe endanger themselves and others. I think my belief warranted, but my belittlement or angry reactions are also indulgences of the flesh and a form of biting and devouring. Where I have done this, I am in the wrong.

But I do want to question my Christian brothers and sisters who refuse to wear masks or receive vaccinations, despite their safety, for reasons of personal freedom, to explain how this freedom takes precedence over the love of neighbor and the humble service of others. I would love to know how you believe this is both love of God and neighbor for which you have been freed in Christ. I honestly would like to understand how an assertion of personal freedom that puts at risk the freedom, health, and possibly life of another is consistent with freedom in Christ. In our present situation, I am deeply concerned that this especially puts the children Jesus loves, and those with other illnesses, at greater risk.

My discussion is not with those who do not share my faith commitments but with those who say they do, who say they follow Christ. It seems to me that you are embracing a worldly rather than Christian definition of freedom. My concern is that when we embrace the worldly, we move away from right relationship with God, ourselves, our neighbors, and the world. Instead of freedom, we return to an embrace of bondage. That is even more deadly than COVID. I dare to raise these concerns not merely out of concern about a disease, but out of concern that you renounce the freedom that is in Christ for a poor substitute.

Reading as We Age

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My reading glasses and e-reader with larger font size

For many of us, it starts in our forties. We start noticing that our arms aren’t long enough to hold books where we can properly focus on them.

Sometimes it seems harder to focus on the small print. E-readers are a blessing for being able to enlarge the font size.

Drug store reading glasses work for some and suddenly these glasses spring up everywhere in the house where we read–the easy chair, the bedside, the kitchen.

Then you start noticing that the light you used to read by somehow seems dimmer. You change the bulb but it is still dim. It’s not the light. It is your eyes, as cataracts start to form and reduce the amount of light that can get through the lens of your eye.

The irony is that by the time we have more time for reading, we do not read as easily. Does that sound familiar? First we saw it with our parents. Now it is us. We do not read as effortlessly, and sometimes, it seems we have to work harder at attending to what we are reading.

One of the things I’ve discovered is that as we age, a reader’s best friend is his or her eye doctor! Sometimes it is as simple as telling you what power of those readers are right for your eyes. At one time, I had a single prescription for my near-sightedness. Then I adjusted to progressive lenses for different distances. You read through the bottom part of the lens.

At my last visit, I happened to mention my book blog and how many books I read a year. My doctor recommended a separate reader. It was a good move. The whole lens is a reading prescription, which means I don’t have to look only through the lower part of the lens, raising and lowering either the book or my head as I read down the page. I’ve noticed that I read more easily as a result.

I likely have cataract surgery in my future as do many older readers. Everyone I know who has had it talks about how things seem brighter, and sometimes, their visual acuity is improved.

Eye doctors watch for other problems that rob us of vision. My mother had macular degeneration, as does one of my siblings. It is a result of a deterioration of the center of our field of vision through changes in the retina. My doctor recommended taking an AREDS formula that prevents progression of macular degeneration. Whether it prevents or delays onset is an open question, but with my family history, I’m willing to try it. Glaucoma, a build up of pressures in the eye fluids can also damage our sight. Catching these things early can prevent or limit vision loss. The yearly eye check up is more important than ever.

My mother was a reader (probably where I get it from). She adjusted to vision loss, but as it progressed, she gave up reading. She never liked audio books. I think of the losses of vision loss, reading would be one of the greatest for me. The saying, “so many books; so little time” is especially significant given my family’s history. It both makes me selective, and contributes to a “read while you can” mentality.

Hopefully my eye doctor’s ministrations will avert or delay vision loss. At very least, his prescriptions and better lighting make reading easier. It is a risk to rush through books, a kind of FOMO (fear of missing out), abetted by reviewing. Perhaps a better approach is to take a breath and allow myself to engage a book at its own pace–some pondered, some studied, some drunk up quickly with satisfaction while others savored. I have to remember that you don’t want to finish a great book too quickly or finish books not worth one’s time.

Perhaps my engagement with books will end as it began with having books read to me, either from a recording or a person. And maybe I will remember the power of words, of fitly written sentences and gripping stories, the very things that taught me to love books and reading as a child. And maybe that won’t be so bad.

Review: Passions of the Christ

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Passions of the Christ, F. Scott Spencer. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2021.

Summary: A study of the emotional life of Jesus in the gospels, drawing upon both classical thought and emotions theory.

Sometimes, Jesus is presented to us as without passion, always in control. Some of this arises from belief in the impassibility of God. Yet what does the incarnation mean if the fully human as well as divine Jesus is emotionless. F. Scott Spencer presents a very different picture of the emotional life of Jesus. He observes a range of emotions in Jesus from anger and disgust to anguish to surprise, deep compassion, and joy. Often, in the same episode, there will be a complex mix of emotions. Not unlike us.

Spencer’s approach is a combination of exegesis, word study and cultural backgrounds, a consideration of classic philosophy concerning the emotions and contemporary psychology. This results in a deep, probing study of the emotions of Jesus, surprising and unsettling at times, particularly the instances of his anger or disgust, and yet consistent in his passion for the full human flourishing of those to whom he came to minister.

After two chapters laying out the basis for his study, Spencer explores in eight chapters key emotions of Jesus evident in the gospels: anger, anguish both during his ministry and in his final hours, disgust, surprise, compassion, and joy. One of the most interesting episodes is the resuscitation of Lazarus where anger, anguish, disgust (Jesus “snort”), and compassion all come together in one narrative.

Perhaps the most interesting chapter was that on the amazement or surprise of Jesus. We see this both in response to the unbelief of his own people, and the unexpected belief of the Roman centurion. Spencer proposes that there is a kind of “enlargement” of Jesus on perspective in these episodes. Likewise, we may wonder about the anger of Jesus at times, for example with the leper in Mark 1. Spencer contends that the leper’s “if you choose,” questions the life-giving mission of Jesus, a form of unbelief deeply disturbing, sufficiently explanation for the anger of Jesus.

Spencer makes us take a fresh look at these emotional expressions in Jesus’s life. Whether one agrees with his exploration of these emotions, it is unavoidable that Jesus manifests the full range of emotions we all do. He is not the incarnate God in appearance only. Yet anger, disgust, surprise, compassion and joy also make sense in light of a singular passion for human flourishing in relation with God. And in all this, the saving God is revealed.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

Review: The History of the Congregation of Holy Cross

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The History of the Congregation of Holy Cross, James T. Connelly, C.S.C. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2020.

Summary: A history of the Congregation of the Holy Cross, describing its beginnings, its focus on education and missions, its approval in Rome, the succession of Superiors General, and the growth of the Congregation until Vatican II and decline in more recent years.

Growing up in a midwestern heavily Catholic town, I had friends who aspired to attend the University of Notre Dame, either to play football, or to get a Catholic education at one of the top universities in the country. What I came to understand in reading this history was that the University of Notre Dame is only the most prominent of a global commitment to education of the Congregation of Holy Cross, from which Notre Dame arose.

It all began at a clergy retreat in 1818 in the French village of Le Mans, at a diocesan retreat where the need for school masters to lead schools in the parishes. They envisioned an order of brothers and priests and entrusted the work to Jacques-Francois Dujarie’ and what became the Brothers of St. Joseph. Rev. Basile Moreau preached the 1831 and 1832 retreats for the brothers and assumed the office of superior in 1835 when Dujarie retired. James T. Connelly traces the history of the development of the Congregation from these humble beginnings.

Moreau was the leader responsible for the Order’s recognition by Rome, having agreed to send priests and brothers on mission to Bengal. Already, he has sent priests and brothers to Canada and the U.S., including Father Edward Sorin, who went to northwestern Indiana, training priests and brothers, starting schools, and a college in South Bend that became Notre Dame.

The history is one of courageous missions, often ending in the early death of those who went. It is one of tension between leaders and provinces–priests, brothers, and sisters. In the U.S., the divisions of the Civil War became reflected divisions between north and south. One of the most notable tensions was between the founding province in France and Edward Sorin and the US. When Sorin succeeded Moreau, the focus of power shifted from France to the U.S., even while the formal center remained in France.

Gilbert Francais followed Sorin and oversaw expansion of the Order throughout the world, even as it was legally persecuted in France and decimated in 1903. Connolly traces the growth of the Order up until Vatican II, which seemed to be a watershed. From then on, the numbers declined by half by 2000, most dramatically in North America, replaced by vocations from Africa, India, Bangladesh and Haiti. The structures changed, reflecting this shift in demographics.

Connelly’s history is granular in detail, and traces developments country by country during each period. Especially in the early years he focuses extensively on the Superiors General, especially Basile Moreau, a deeply spiritual man who failed to administer the growing order well, engendering growing dissatisfaction. Only later was his reputation rehabilitated and he was beatified in 2007. As in many situations, ambition and pride was not absent among his rivals.

At the same time, there is the less prominent but significant work of priests and brothers who founded or took over schools, of which the University of Notre Dame was the epitome. There were the saintly priests like Andre Bessette who established a notable healing ministry at the Oratory of St. Joseph and was canonized in 2010.

I’ve read many evangelical histories of global mission. This is a valuable work to read, to learn of Catholic efforts during roughly the same time frame to evangelize the world, to establish educational institutions, and develop indigenous leaders. In both, there is a period of American ascendancy, a growing struggle with modernity, and a shift of dominance from the West to countries that once were the objects of mission but now are evangelizing the west. Lastly, it is the lesson of the mustard seed writ large in this history–a humble beginning in a French village spreads to much of the world in 150 years.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher via Edelweiss. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

Review: Letters for the Church

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Letters for the Church: Reading James, 1-2 Peter,1-3 John, and Jude as Canon, Darian R. Lockett. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2021.

Summary: A study of the catholic epistles, arguing that they ought be read together and exploring their shared themes and particular emphases.

The books between Hebrews and Revelation, known as the catholic epistles, often seem to get less attention, except perhaps for James, 1 Peter, and 1 John. There were questions early on about the canonicity of some of the books. In contemporary scholarship, books on the gospels and Pauline subjects seem to be in the preponderance.

Darian R. Lockett contends that not only were these books accepted into the canon as a collection but that they ought be read as a collection that concern common themes of concern to all the churches of the day–hence “catholic.” He gives a brief history of the early church’s discussion about affirming these books as part of the canon and talks about their importance as scripture, as instruction on resisting false teaching inside and outside the church, and for their emphasis on practiced faith.

Although a scholarly work, offering bibliographies for further reading and “going deeper” sidebars, Lockett has designed the book for reading through the catholic epistles in one’s study. A chapter is offered on each of the epistles, except for a combined chapter on 2 and 3 John. Each chapter includes discussion of authorship, audience, setting, and the occasion for the letter, the structure and outline of the letter and then a section by section commentary on the text, with further reading suggestions for each letter at the end of the chapter. While reviewing the alternatives in terms of authorship, Lockett seems to prefer the traditionally attributed authors (including Peter for 2 Peter). He does make an interesting case for 2 Peter as testamentary literature based on 2 Peter 1:12-15, comparing it to parallels. Regarding James, he offers a “going deeper” discussion on justification, comparing James and Paul in terms of their use of “righteousness.” He addresses the shared material in 2 Peter and Jude, believing that 2 Peter draws this from Jude but notes addresses different challenges–false teachers inside the Christian community in 2 Peter as opposed to the intruders from outside in Jude.

The commentary is well-suited for reading along with the text, dealing with key textual issues without becoming technical and tracing significant arguments and themes. Both in discussions of each letter and in a concluding chapter, Lockett traces recurring themes in the catholic epistles, the major of which are:

  • Love for one another
  • Enduring trial
  • Allegiance to God and the world incompatible to each other
  • Faith and works
  • Guarding against false teaching

I have studied these books individually but had never considered studying them as a canonical unit. Lockett makes a strong case for doing so and provides a great resource for those interested in making such a study. As I read along in the biblical text, his argument rang true–I had never observed the connections apart from the shared content in 2 Peter and Jude. Lockett’s book serves as a great introduction to reading this less familiar part of the New Testament.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — Thomas G. McDonald

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Thomas G. McDonald, Photo from Youngstown Vindicator, July 13, 1930 (via Google News Archive)

He oversaw the development of Carnegie Steel’s (later U.S. Steel) Ohio Works and the construction of the McDonald Works which were named after him, as was the village that grew up around these mills, McDonald, Ohio. He was Thomas G. McDonald, who was described in an editorial in the Youngstown Vindicator of July 14, 1930 (two days after his death) as “one of the old type of steel men who began at the bottom and by mastering every detail of the industry gradually worked their way up to the top.” From all I can find out about him, this is a fitting summary of his career.

McDonald was born in Allegheny County, Pennsylvania November 11, 1848. He learned to work hard on his father’s farm. Then, after public schools, he enrolled at the Iron City Commercial College, graduating to the carpenter’s trade in 1868. His first job was as a carpenter working on the construction of Carnegie Steel’s Edgar Thompson. He never left the company. He worked his way up in the company, learning all the details of manufacturing steel. In 1880, he became night superintendent at the converting department of their plant in Braddock. Then, in July 1880, he was assigned night superintendent at the Allegheny Bessemer Works in Duquesne, Pennsylvania. It was probably during this time that he became a close confidant of Andrew Carnegie, with whom he was a lifelong friend.

The company brought him to Youngstown in 1893 as general superintendent of the Ohio Works. Based on his advice, the plant decided to increase their equipment beyond the two 8 ton converters they had originally intended. He oversaw the instruction and the first heat in 1895. By 1897, monthly output exceeded 30,000 tons every month. Eventually, it would exceed 50,000 tons.

In 1906 Carnegie Steel promoted McDonald to general superintendent of the Youngstown District which included the Ohio Works, Upper and Lower Union Mills, Greenville Mills, and the Niles Furnace. Then in 1909, Carnegie Steel acquired land across the river from Girard for a new mill. In 1916 the new mill, whose construction was overseen by McDonald produced its first steel. Recognizing his leadership, Carnegie named the mills the McDonald Works. As it turns out, McDonald not only built the mill, he built the town of McDonald, building housing for the workers. The Village of McDonald was incorporated December 12, 1918. When it became apparent that workers with families would not come without schools, the company built schools, opening McDonald High School in 1929. It is still in use, having been renovated by Ricciuti, Balog and Partners in 1990.

He retired in 1921 but continued working as a consulting manager. He was involved in a number of civic causes in the Youngstown area including service as a vice president of the Youngstown Chamber of Commerce and director of the Youngstown and Northern Railway Company. He served several terms on the Board of Education and as a director at First National and Dollar Banks.

He celebrated his 50th anniversary with Elizabeth on November 27, 1928. On July 1, 1930, in his 82nd year he was hospitalized at North Side Hospital in critical condition with a kidney infection. He died on July 12, 1930. He is buried in Belmont Park Cemetery.

From all I can read, everything McDonald built, he built well with a vision for the future. In fact, a portion of the McDonald Works is still making steel as McDonald Steel. The complex of plants he oversaw outlasted him by nearly fifty years until U.S. Steel ended operations in 1979. One wonders “what if” the area’s steel industry had enjoyed leadership like his throughout its history. What he did do is contribute to the capacity that helped make the Steel Valley the third largest steel maker in the country. That is no small thing.

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!

Review: Rules of Civility

/ rtrube54 / 1 Comment

Rules of Civility, Amor Towles. New York: Penguin Books, 2012.

Summary: The year that changed the life of a young woman in New York, remembered when photographs trigger a flashback twenty-eight years later.

Katey and her husband Val are part of the social elite at an exhibition opening at the Museum of Modern Art in 1966. For the first time, photographs taken by Walker Evans on New York’s subways in the late 1930’s are on exhibit. Among those photos are two of him. One elegantly dressed, a portrait of subdued power. The other, more gaunt in the tattered clothes of a laborer, but with a smile. Tinker Grey. And it brings back the year in between and how Katey’s life changed, beginning her rise from a working class immigrant background.

At the end of 1937, Katey and her roommate Eve decide to do the town for New Years. Eve is from the midwest with high hopes. Katya, now Katey Kontent (accent on the second syllable) is working in a secretarial pool for a New York law firm, living by her wits and struggling to make ends meet, but also enjoying the city. They are in a jazz club and in walks Tinker Grey in a cashmere coat. They end up ringing in the New Year, and Tinker leaves his monogrammed lighter behind, giving them a chance to see him again. A subsequent night on the town ends in an accident leaving Eve with leg injuries and a scar. Tinker offers his home to recover. They fall in love, and Katey is nudged out.

It’s a story that traces Katey’s year of 1938 in her voice, one that is whip-smart and shrewd. Both her external and internal dialogue make this book, a feat for a male writer. We see her rise from the secretarial pool to editorial assistant for a new magazine launched by the publisher of Conde’ Nast. She recounts the nights at the clubs, the jazz of the Thirties, and her relationships with Wallace Wolcott and Dicky Vanderwhile, the latter on the rebound from one with Tinker Grey after Eve refused to marry him and went to Hollywood. One of the most interesting characters is Anne Grandyn, whose wealth helped make Tinker. She made him in other ways, and unbeknownst to Katey, helps make her as well. Instead of being a rival for Tinker, in an odd way, she is an ally.

Meanwhile Tinker’s life unravels. From Central Park, he moves to a flop house, in some ways following his late artist brother–and hence that second picture in the gallery. And yet the move in his life is from a learned upper crust civility, schooled by George Washington’s The Rules of Civility to rediscovery of the New York he loved best.

Not only does Towles do a masterful job at writing in a woman’s voice, he captures the resurgence of New York on the eve of World War Two as the country climbed out of the Depression. He explores questions of class and upward mobility. Both Tinker and Katey rise from modest beginnings on their wits, yet come to different ends. We wonder if the 1966 Katey, confronted with the images of Tinker, wonders about the life she’s embraced. Or perhaps she was reminded of the year in which her life turned, the gains and the losses, and the course that was set.

I went back to read this after reading Towles’s masterful A Gentleman in Moscow earlier this year. It is hard to believe this is a first novel. So often, we just live our lives. In both of Towles’s works, we see characters who not only live their lives, but, through circumstances, are brought to reflect upon their course and what they’ve meant, inviting the reader to do the same.