Review: Befriending Your Monsters

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Befriending Your Monsters, Luke Norsworthy. Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2020.

Summary: Discusses the fears (monsters) we often run from or that shape our lives, advocating befriending them by facing our fears, allowing us to move into healthier lives.

The real monsters in our lives are not the ones we watched in monster flicks on TV or at movies or read about in horror fiction. In one sense, fictional monsters represent the projection of our fears. The author of this book, Luke Norsworthy maintains this is so in real life as well. We have all sorts of fears: of failure, about the future, concerning money, about health, about our children, about what our lives have meant. And just like in childhood, there are only two ways to deal with monsters–whether they are under the bed, or in the thoughts that wake us in the night– we hide or we confront.

Norsworthy notes that word monster comes from the Latin monere meaning “to warn.” Monsters may be friends, warning us, in order to save us. Unheeded, they may also destroy us, as any addict will tell you. Sin pulls us away from the life of God, exploiting the cracks in our lives, causing us to curve in upon ourselves rather than thriving as we reach up to God. Sometimes, it is only in the darkness that we realize how lost we are and can finally reach out for the help we need.

Norsworthy, in the second part of his book focuses on three universal monsters: comparison, more and success. He looks at four questions concerning how the monsters operate and how we become free:

  1. What’s the prop? The prop is the presenting monster that gets our attention
  2. What’s the pull? How does the monster exercise influence over our lives?
  3. What’s the point? The point has to do with the issues of the heart for which the monster is a warning.
  4. How does the light get in? How do we turn from hiding to facing the monster and loosing its hold on us?

For example, with comparison:

  • The prop is the unsettling awareness that in some respect, another is more or better than me.
  • The pull is an identity crisis, in which the focus on others causes us to forget who and whose we are.
  • The point is that this draws us away from a stable scale or place of resting in God’s love and approval of our lives for the shifting and fickle measures of approval or measuring up with others.
  • The light for comparison, is to keep our focus in our lane, not on those in other lanes, on Christ’s bidding to follow him, not to be like someone else but to be more like ourselves.

After considering these four questions for each of these monsters, he concludes with discussing how to befriend our monsters–how to heed the warnings of the monsters without being driven in fear of them. Using the example of David preparing to meet Goliath, he invites us to learn to shed the armor of our false self for the true self that is neither better nor worse than who we are, just who we are. To recognize our monsters, we have to move beyond our shallow emotions to what they point toward. We move beyond our anger to what has been disturbed arousing our anger–our inadequacies, our fears of impotence. And we learn not to expect our monsters to be immediately vanquished but by facing them daily as disciples allowing them to transform us.

Norsworthy’s writing style is not what one would learn in composition classes. He uses a number of one sentence paragraphs, somewhat like Hebrew parallelism that reinforces or contrasts ideas. It ends up being oddly readable, where one moves through the text, clearly grasping his key ideas. Rather than seeming disconnected, it his highly coherent. Furthermore, Norsworthy presents in insightful and imaginative ways the ideas of facing rather than running from our fears, recognizing our false self, and embracing who we are in Christ.

Running from our fears always cuts us off from life in its fullness and gives fears far greater control over us than if we faced them. Norsworthy helps us name these monsters, these fears, and wisely helps us to see that the aim is not to banish them but to turn them into friends. Only then may we learn to live wisely and well.

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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 Gospel in Dickens

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The Gospel in Dickens, Charles Dickens (edited by Gina Dalfonzo, foreword by Karen Swallow Prior). Walden, NY: Plough Publishing, 2020.

Summary: A collection of excerpts from the works of Charles Dickens showing the Christian gospel themes evident throughout these works.

Many who have read or are familiar the stories and life of Dickens might think him hostile to religious faith. His personal life was not always exemplary, particular his relations with his wife, with whom he separated to pursue his affair with actress Ellen Ternan. Often his portrayals of religious figures are sharply barbed as with Mr. Bumble the beadle in Oliver Twist. In this book, Gina Dalfonzo proposes that what Dickens despised was not Christian faith, but the hypocrisy of some of its leading figures.

Like other books in Plough’s “The Gospel in…” series, this consists of excerpts of a number of his major works organized around three main themes: Sin and Its Victims, Repentance and Grace, and The Righteous Life. Dalfonzo offers an introduction to the work of Dickens seen from a Christian perspective, and concludes with two letters that evidence his personal warm sentiments toward a morally Christian life, one to his son, “Plorn” and the other, written on the next to the last day of his life.

In “Sin and Its Victims” we have the familiar scene from Oliver Twist “I Want Some More” and one I had not read before from Bleak House that was quite striking under the title “He Who is Without Sin” in which a godmother raising an illegitimate child bore a grudge against the mother until struck down with a stroke on hearing the story read from the gospels of the woman caught in adultery and Jesus response to her accusers: “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ So many of these are warnings against the ways we may be blind to our own sin.

“Repentance and Grace” consists of excerpts that reflect the theme of awakening to one’s sin, the harms one has caused and in some cases finding grace to begin again. One of the most famous is the awakening of Miss Havisham in Great Expectations to the deleterious effects of training Estella not to love, when she sees the hurt Estella inflicts upon Pip. Her cry, “What have I done?” reveals her remorse, and leads to a new resolve to help Pip. A short passage from Little Dorrit between Mrs Clennam who set herself to combat evil in all its forms mercilessly, and Little Dorrit, contrasts wrathful lawkeeping and the gospel of grace. Little Dorrit replies:

“O Mrs Clennam, Mrs. Clennam. . . angry feelings and unforgiving deeds are no comfort and no guide to you and me. My life has been passed in this poor prison, and my teaching has been very defective; but let me implore you to remember later and better days. Be guided by the healer of the sick, the raiser of the dead, the friend of all who were afflicted and forlorn, the patient Master who shed tears of compassion for our infirmities. We cannot but be right if we put all the rest away, and do everything in remembrance of Him. There is no vengeance and no infliction of suffering in his life, I am sure. There can be no confusion in following Him, and seeking for no other footsteps, I am certain.

The third part portrays “The Righteous Life.” Sometimes we see the beauty of a life lived under grace as in “Little Mother” from Little Dorrit in the ways Amy Dorrit cares for and advocates for Maggy, a brain-damaged young woman. There is the attractive character of Septimus Crisparkle in The Mystery of Edwin Drood, at one a proponent of “muscular Christianity” and yet solicitous toward his mother and kind toward all he meets. This section concludes with the speech of Sydney Carton at the end of A Tale of Two Cities and the transformed Ebenezer Scrooge of A Christmas Carol.

Short introductions set each excerpt (and there are many more than mentioned here) in context, although at times with works of Dickens I had not read, I felt I did not have enough context. Still, Dalfonzo’s exploration reminded me of the times of delight in reading him and whet my appetite for “more.” I read this in conjunction with a book “weed out” and set aside several volumes of Dickens I’d not read. It’s been a half dozen years or more since my last Dickens. Dalfonzo persuaded me that for reasons of both delight and spiritual edification, it was time to return to “our mutual friend.”

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

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — Cascade Run Stone Bridge

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“Cascade Run Stone Bridge” Bob Trube, (c) 2015.

The Lanterman Falls Bridge, the silver Suspension Bridge and the Parapet Bridge are probably the most photographed bridges in Mill Creek Park. But there are many bridges in Mill Creek Park. Several years ago, on a fall visit to Youngstown we took a number of pictures in the park. One of those was of the Cascade Run Stone Bridge. I was on the north bank of Cascade Run, between the bridge and Lake Cohasset, looking toward the bridge and up the ravine beyond in the afternoon sunlight.

That picture turned into the painting above a few years ago when I was practicing working with an easel and paints before joining my wife and a group of artist friends in a plein air retreat at Linwood Park on Lake Erie. I don’t claim this is great art, more of a beginners effort. I suspect I am just one of many who have been inspired by a place in the park.

A early photo of the Cascade Run Stone Bridge (Source: The Vindicator)

The pictured bridge is a small stone bridge over Cascade Run, just before it flows into Mill Creek at the south end of Lake Cohasset. If you are driving north on Valley Drive from the Suspension Bridge, it crosses the Cascade Run Stone Bridge just before West Gorge Drive and West Cohasset Drive. Cascade Run Ravine is one of the most scenic spots in the park, running parallel to West Gorge Drive. It is a steep ravine (as is West Gorge Drive) punctuated with cascading waterfalls as it makes its way to Lake Cohasset. According to John C. Melnick, it was one of Volney Rogers’ favorite places.

Cascade Ravine was among the earliest park acquisitions. 29.36 acres west of Mill Creek. The deed was signed by George Tod and H. H. Stambaugh on September 15, 1891. A steel bridge at the top of the ravine was built in 1894. A new bridge was built in 1990. The stone bridge over Cascade Run on Valley Drive was built in 1913, which means it has lasted over a century, like many of the other bridges in the park.

This is not one of the more dramatic sights in the park, yet it is one more example of the careful workmanship and aesthetic sense of Volney Rogers and those who worked with him to create scenic and durable structures to complement that natural beauty of Mill Creek Park. It caught my eye on an afternoon roaming the park, and on another afternoon when I painted the scene. It is one of the reasons the park is such a treasure–favorite places to return to at different times of the year, and a thousand new ones to discover.

Why Returning to University Campuses Now is a Bad Idea

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I write as someone who has worked around universities all my adult life. In the last week some high profile campuses like the University of North Carolina and Notre Dame have suspended in-person classes after welcoming students back to campus. Last spring and early summer, administrations on these and other campuses made plans to open up. Many spent the summer creating elaborate testing, social distancing, living, dining, and classroom protocols to lessen the risk of infections. It seemed to me then, and now, that these were plans with holes in them.

  1. Even if campus plans control infection risk on-campus, they don’t control infections in the towns students were living in over summer, or the behavior of students in those places. This is different from primary and secondary schools, where everyone is local and decisions can be shaped by local infection rates. Some students from areas with high rates of infections, or who engaged in higher risk behaviors may bring infection to campus. These students come from all over. Some campuses test students before they move in, but all tests are a “moment in time” measure.
  2. Even if campus plans control infection risk on-campus, they don’t control infection rates and policies in the city, town, or state where they are located. The city where our flagship state university is located currently has a high, though falling, infection rate. Students have returned amid this. They are in bars, restaurants, coffee shops, businesses all over our city.
  3. Even if campus plans control infection risk on-campus, they don’t control student behavior off campus. Students are just like the rest of us in this pandemic. What have adults been doing all summer? Having large, non-socially distanced, non-masked parties. And students are already following suit as reports from many campuses are bearing out. Just like the general population, most students are trying follow safety protocols. But enough are putting themselves at risk of infection, and in turn risk infecting others.
  4. Even if campus plans control infection risk on-campus, not all students live on campus. In fact, more students may be living off-campus because of reduced density resident housing. The number of students in apartments, the ventilation of buildings, what steps are taken in social distancing, masking, and in gatherings likely will be left to students. And these students will be mixing with students living on campus.
  5. Finally, I question the premise that campus protocols will minimize infection risk making in-person classes feasible. At this time rapid-tests have higher false-negative and false positive rates. The better tests often take two days to a week. Students without symptoms could spread infection to others throughout that time. Even with reduced class sizes and masking, I wonder if these will be sufficient to prevent infections when people share this space for an hour or longer. Will residence halls be safe when senior facilities, which are basically dorms for seniors, have had significant outbreaks?

Students are at an age where many may be asymptomatic, though contagious, or contract mild illnesses and recover (although we are continuing to learn about long-term effects on even some healthy young adults. And some will get very sick. What is more concerning are other university personnel, some with more significant risk factors. Where these are known, some have been able to work out remote work arrangements. But those who provide food, sanitation, and maintenance services and many support staff cannot work remotely.

What drove these decisions as in so many of our “open-up” decisions were two things: economic realities and the difficulty all of us have had sheltering in home. The former raises questions about our economics. The latter raises questions about the health of our souls. Yet I cannot help but wonder if this decision will result in greater losses with all the extra costs of starting up only to suspend classes and send students home. What will this do to student morale? It will be interesting to see how campuses that planned for remote learning in the fall from the start do in comparison to those who tried to open up.

The situation on universities is dependent on what is happening in our larger society. John M. Barry, author of The Great Influenza, says that if we do not get the virus under control now, colder weather will likely make things worse, with up to 150,000 new cases daily nationally. We cannot reasonably hope either to bring back the national economy, nor students to our campuses without rigorous control measures. Given our apparent lack of will, consensus, and leadership, I think universities need to start planning now to extend remote instruction through the spring. Either that, or plan for a lot of sick students and campus personnel.

Books I Keep Talking About

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The banner of Andy Unedited

One of the blogs I follow is Andy Unedited. The “unedited” part has to do with his work through most of his career as an editor at a publishing house. He recognizes great writing, and knows how to make it better. So when he wrote a post recently titled Twelve Books I Keep Talking About, I paid attention. He confines his list to books he’s read in the last two years. It’s a great list. There’s one that would be on my list, four others I’ve read, and a few I might look into. But the hook for me was his question at the end of the post: What are the books you keep talking about? I said I might answer in a blog post (never pass up a blog idea!), so here’s my list!

The Crucifixion, by Fleming Rutledge is one on which we agree! It was the most profound theological book I’ve read in ten years, and greatly enriched my Lenten journey a year ago. Review

Write Better, by Andrew T. LePeau, the “Andy” of Andy Unedited. He focuses on the craft, art, and spirituality of writing and the book inspired me to be a better writer. Were it not for Fleming Rutledge’s The Crucifixion, this might have made my best of the year in 2019. It was a Christianity Today Book of the year. Review

Grant, by Ron Chernow. I think each book Chernow writes gets better, and this was magnificent in exploring both the inner man and outward accomplishments of this Union general and president. Grants Memoir is on my must read list after reading him Review

Goshen Road, by Bonnie Proudfoot. This is a first time novel published by a small university press that deserves much greater attention. The writing is exquisite and the story of two sisters in working class families in rural West Virginia was one I couldn’t stop thinking about. Review

Answering the Call, by Nathaniel R. Jones. Jones and I grew up in the same home town of Youngstown. A blog follower said I ought to write about him, and in researching his life, I learned of his memoir, an inspiring story of a persevering pursuit of civil rights from advocacy, to a legal career, an Assistant U.S. Attorney, general counsel of the NAACP, and a judge on the United States Court of Appeals Sixth Circuit. Review

Still Life, by Louise Penny. I’d heard from others how good the Chief Inspector Gamache series is and what a special place is the fictional village of Three Pines. The first book lived up to the praise, and from what I hear, it only gets better. Review

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, by Betty Smith. Finally read this “coming of age” classic this year. It was one of the “books that went to war” in World War 2, reminding many soldiers of the homes and family they left behind. Review

The Cross and the Lynching Tree, by James Cone. Draws a profound connection between Christ’s crucifixion and the lynching of Blacks readily apparent in the Black community, but one whites may be oblivious to. Review

City on a Hill, Abram C. Van Engen. A tour de force historical study of the phrase “city on a hill” from Governor John Winthrop’s sermon in the 1630 down to the present appropriation of the phrase to articulate American exceptionalism. Review

The Great Alone, by Kristin Hannah. Like The Nightingale, this book stuck with me when I wasn’t reading it. It is kind of a more toxic fictional version of Tara Westover’s Educated set in the beauty of the wilds of Alaska. Review

Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom, by David W. Blight. Another magnificent biography of the escaped slave who became the greatest black orator, writer and activist of the nineteenth century. Review

Perfectly Human, Sarah C. Williams. An exquisitely written personal narrative of a couple facing a pre-natal diagnosis of fatal birth defects, their decision to carry their daughter to term, their process with family and friends, and the larger issues their own decision raised for them. Review

Well, Andy, there is a dozen to match yours, at least in number. As I put this list together, I realized that these really have been books I’ve talked about, and I’ve enjoyed the chance to do so once more, to give a shout-out for the books, and to remember the great pleasure each gave in a dozen unique ways. Thanks for the question, Andy. Hope you find something on this list, and between the two of us, we gave people 23 books to consider (one in common). Happy reading my friend!

Review: Somebody Else’s Troubles

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Somebody Elses Troubles

Somebody Else’s Troubles, J.A. English. Union Lake, MI: Zimbell House Publishing, 2020.

Summary: Several troubled individuals find their way to Mabuhay, a tiny Caribbean Island, and find in the troubles of others the possibility of the redemption of their own.

Five individual stories intersect on the tiny Caribbean island of Mabuhay. They come from Chicago, New York, and Athens, Ohio.

Travers Landeman inherited a family business, in a gradual declined propped up by government subsidies and transformed by the extra personnel these subsidies require. He is married to a shrew, Corinne, who shrewdly recognized that he’d be able to fund the lifestyle she coveted. Things come to a head when a nephew, sexually abused by a priest, commits suicide after reaching out in vain for help from Travers. A night with a prostitute leads to extortion, the decision to take flight to Mabuhay, and then to faking his own death. Albert Sidney McNab is a plodding but relentless insurance/private investigator who is convinced that Landeman never really died and is determined to find him. Apart from his sleuthing, he lives a lonely life.

The others in this tale are: Joe Rogers, whose best friend is a Vodka bottle. His former wife sets him up in a bookstore, complete with live-in help, Zero. The Yellow Harp gets off to a rocky start as a women’s group remembering the women’s history of the place (a former brothel) ends up starting a small fire, the damages from which turn out to be uninsured. A chance to fill in for an archaeologist on a dig in Mabuhay offers respite from it all. An accidental fall results in a near fatal ankle break, and the discovery of a singular ritual mask. Father Chester O’Reilly started out as a parish priest in the Austin neighborhood of Chicago where he grew up under a power-grasping monsignor. The parish is declining due to white flight, and Father Chester is too honest about issues of race and justice to be farmed out to the suburbs. A bequest providing for an Austin priest to provide spiritual care to the natives of Mabuhay offers a way out, and as he embraces the ways of the island, they embrace him. Marguerite departs from her love, Schugay, to pursue nursing studies in Chicago, being connected to hosts in the Austin neighborhood by Father Chester. She’s mugged, and then after pursuing charges, raped by her mugger. Chicago is nothing but a series of losses for Marguerite, including the loss of Schugay. Heartbroken, Marguerite returns to Mabuhay.

The narrative moves back and forth between the individuals, tracing their paths to Mabuhay. Along the way, they become voices for the corruption and sexual abuse scandals of the Catholic Church, the dynamics of white flight to the suburbs in Chicago, the war on drugs that made the careers of politicians and made neighborhoods like Austin the targets of drug busts, and the weasly practices of insurance companies and government funding programs. The story of Travers’ nephew is one of homosexual attraction when it couldn’t be spoken of, the intensity of his sexual experiences alternating with struggles with shame, compounded by a predatory priest. The confluence of these characters on Mabuhay opens up new choices for them in a new culture, for how they will live, and whether they will engage the troubles of “somebody else.”

It is interesting that the discussion guide for this novel raises the question of an authorial voice that editorializes at various places. I personally felt that the plot and characters were interesting enough and got at the issues explored in the editorial passages of the novel. I suspect the author, who continues to reside at least part of the time in the Austin neighborhood that is one of the settings of this novel, has strongly formed and important opinions for which this novel serves as a vehicle. I personally felt that he could have trusted the story to say these things for him. It did for me.

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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.

Books and the United States Postal Service

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mail-truck-3248139_1280

Image by F. Muhammad from Pixabay

I should begin with a couple disclaimers. First of all, I’m writing about a situation in the United States and I know there are those reading from other countries. I hope your situation is better, and if it is, you are welcome to gloat! Second, I do not want to get into the politics around funding of the postal service with regard to the upcoming election. I’ve made my own decisions in this regard and written to my elected officials. You don’t need to hear my thoughts in that regard.

Nor do you need an analysis from me of why the USPS faces the financial woes they are facing. Certainly, in recent years, and especially in the pandemic, first class mail has declined precipitously, a major revenue stream. Some have even suggested we all go out and buy a sheet of stamps to help the post office’s cash flow. But I don’t have the accounting background or time to delve into postal service financials–an issue that is complicated and debated. One of the challenges is that the USPS, since 1971, is supposed to be, by law, self-sustaining without taxpayer funding.

The health of the postal service affects not only our elections but many sectors of commerce in our country from the delivery of prescription drugs, many Amazon packages and as the last leg of delivery of many items to homes and businesses. The access to these services throughout the country is especially significant in many rural locations, not always served by other shippers.

The book world is crucially reliant on the USPS. One of the particular benefits the USPS offers is Media Mail, and a closely related service for libraries, Library Mail. These programs allow the shipping of books, sound recordings, printed music, and other educational media to the public, and between libraries and educational institutions at reduced rates. Have you used inter-library loan to get a book, available to you at no cost? Your library likely used Library Mail.  Begun in 1936, the Media Mail program recognized the importance of the flow of educational information and the free flow of ideas.

During the pandemic, when most bookstores were (or are) closed, Media Mail has allowed for the shipping of books by independent booksellers, chains, and even Amazon, at lower costs, playing an important part in sustaining jobs and income, and providing books to so many of us under stay-at-home orders, or voluntarily self-isolating because of risk.

In addition, Media Mail is used for book giveaways, advanced review copies to reviewers, book boxes which have become increasingly popular, and various bookswapping sites. In a BookRiot article one bookstore selling a $27 book indicated that it would cost $24 to ship the book via UPS, $14 via Fed Ex, and $3 via Media Mail. It may be necessary to raise these costs, but it would likely come at the expense of many of the programs mentioned here, at the expense of book sales, and maybe some booksellers. “Just get it at Amazon?”  That is an option, but realize that for many, you pay $119 annually, the equivalent of the shipping cost for roughly 40 books, and depending on shipping arrangements, it still may be the USPS delivering that book to your mailbox.

It’s clear there are problems with the business model of the USPS that I personally think best resolved after the elections, while ensuring the timely delivery of absentee ballots to voters and their boards of elections. For those of us who love books, bookstores, libraries and other aspects of the book trade, how these problems are resolved are important, particularly while we are under pandemic conditions. Media Mail and Library Media provisions historically were made to facilitate the flow of educational materials and ideas and have helped small booksellers with their businesses. Those who value these provisions should watch whatever measures are taken.

Review: Unto Us a Child Is Born

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Unto Us a Child is Born, Tyler D. Mayfield. Grand Rapids, Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2020.

Summary: Proposes that, as we read Isaiah during Advent, we need to read “with bifocals,” considering both the Advent liturgical significance of the texts and their meaning for our Jewish neighbors.

“For unto us a child is born.” (Isaiah 9:6a)

This is a phrase from Isaiah 9: 2-7, one of the readings on the fourth Sunday of Advent (Year A) in liturgical churches. Many non-liturgical churches will read this as well during one of the services leading up to Christmas. And surrounding all of this is the magnificent rendering of this passage by George Frideric Handel in Messiah. In our churches, we readily connect this passage with the babe born in Bethlehem, this great one come from God, even called “Mighty God.” We marvel at the divine condescension that means our salvation.

Little do we often consider that we are neither the first nor only ones to read passages like these that we understand as “Messianic.” These passages were read by Jews in Isaiah’s time, and down to our own day. Yet we often remain oblivious to what these passages meant and mean to our Jewish neighbors, sometimes in painful and insensitive ways.

Tyler D. Mayfield recommends that we read with bi-focals, using our near vision to read the Isaiah passages of Advent to consider their significance in the Christian Advent context. He also suggests that we simultaneously read with our distance vision, understanding what these texts mean for our Jewish neighbors who share them.

He spends the first part of the book discussing what it means to read with bi-focals. An important contention he makes is that the prophecy-fulfillment paradigm we often use fails to recognize the significance of the text in its original context, and to Jewish readers. He proposes instead a model of texts in conversation, as is often the case in liturgical churches where Old and New Testament texts are paired and we listen to the conversation between them for common and relevant themes. He also observes the importance of historical development of “messiah” from “anointed” to an eschatological figure, the deleterious effects of supersessionism (the idea that the church has superseded, or replaced Judaism in God’s economy), and how this may even shade into anti-Judaism.

The second and third parts of the book consider eight passages from Isaiah that are a part of the Advent liturgical readings, four “Messianic” texts (Isaiah 7:10-16; 9:2-7; 11:1-10; and 61:1-4, 8-11) and four “eschatological” texts (Isaiah 2:1-5; 35:1-10; 40:1-11; 64:1-9). For each passage, Mayfield considers originating contexts, later Jewish and early Christian contexts or readings, contemporary Jewish and Christian readings, and finally a “bifocal look,” a kind of summary.

We might take the example of Isaiah 9:2-7, noted earlier. He begins with the context of the passage in the 8th century BCE, at the time of the Syro-Ephraimite war. The language is that of the birth of a king whose enumerated qualities would have been vital for this time. Who is this child-king? He is not named but the leading candidate may be Hezekiah. In the early Christian context, “for unto us…” is not quoted but the first verses of this passage are in Matthew 4:12-16, noting the light that has come to the northern tribes in the region of Galilee. Early Christian commentators Justin and Jerome were the first to apply “for unto us…” to Jesus. He then considers the influence of Messiah, including some translational issues, and current contexts, focusing on the light to the Gentiles in this passage for Christians, the shared theme of light with Jews in Hanukkah, and a shared hope for faithful government. He concludes with this “bifocal look”

“With our near vision, we see a wonderful child has been born to us. With our near vision, we hum along with Handel as we celebrate: ‘Wonderful! Counselor! The Mighty God! The Everlasting Father! The Prince of Peace!

With our far vision, we see our neighbors celebrating the theme of light during Hanukkah. With our far vision, we see the originating context’s focus on a new king’s accession to the throne.”

This book raises an important issue of how we read not only these scriptures but other Old Testament texts. Do we read these in a way that recognize and honor our Jewish neighbors, are oblivious to them or even exclusive of them, or at worst hostile? Mayfield models an approach holding in tension readings acknowledging the conversation between these texts and New Testament texts and respect for the context of Jewish readings of these same texts. In this era of rising anti-Semitism in many countries, it is vital that Christians in no way contribute to this by our reading of scripture, and in fact affirm our common heritage with and debt to our Jewish neighbors.

I wonder, at the same time, about the repudiation of the idea of fulfillment, an idea found in the New Testament scriptures, for “conversation.” Fulfillment has historically been an important part of both a Christian hermeneutic of reading the two testaments, and of Christian apologetics. Likewise, prophecy has been understood not only as “forth-telling” but as including elements of “fore-telling.” Mayfield’s approach mutes but does not negate the differences between Jewish and Christian readings of these texts. Good bi-focals, ground to the correct prescription, bring both near and distant objects into sharp focus. I am concerned that Mayfield’s prescription for near vision softens or blurs our Christian reading of these texts while bringing our far vision into focus. While the latter is a commendable aim, for which the author offers a good and important model, I would like clarity of vision in both readings, even if it means wrestling in charity with the tensions that have always existed.

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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.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — Charles H Owsley and Charles F Owsley

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C F Owsley and C F Owsley

Charles H. Owsley and Charles F. Owsley

This father and son architect team designed some of of the most iconic and enduring buildings in Youngstown. Charles H. Owsley, the father, was born in 1846 in Blaston, England. He apprenticed under two Wales architects, Sir Gilbert Scott and Sir Matthew Digby Wyatt, who specialized in church buildings. When he finished his apprenticeship, he moved to the U.S. via Canada in 1868, buying a farm in Weathersfield Township. Originally he set out to farm but a few architectural commissions led to a career. Even before forming Owsley & Bourcherle in 1878 (Boucherle did the engineering work on Owsley’s buildings), Owsley’s projects included the original Strouss-Hirschberg store and the second Mahoning County Courthouse. One of his surviving structures, built in 1899, is the John R. Davis Building. It may be that his most enduring works were residential buildings. Among these are the Wick-Pollock House, Buhl Mansion in Sharon, and houses on Millionaires Row in Warren. He also designed the Carnegie Library in Salem, still in use today.

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Mahoning County Courthouse. Photo © Robert C. Trube, 2019.

Charles F. Owsley, his son, followed in his steps. After graduating from the Rayen School in 1899, he studied architecture at the University of Pennsylvania, and then went to Paris, studying at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. It wasn’t clear whether he would be an artist or an architect, but in 1905 he joined Owsley & Boucherle, and worked with his father on some of the notable buildings in Youngstown including the current Mahoning County courthouse, one of Youngstown’s architectural jewels, replacing the one designed by his father, the Reuben McMillan Public Library, and South High School.

After his father retired, the company was reorganized as the Owsley Company. He built homes for some of the powerful Youngstown families, and married into one of them, the McKelvey’s. Needless to say, one of his projects was the design of the McKelvey building, a grand building in which I was privileged to work. He went on to design both the original building of St. Elizabeth’s Hospital and North Side Hospital, Youngstown City Hall, and the Mahoning Valley Sanitary District buildings.

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Home Savings & Loan Building (now Premier Bank), © Robert C. Trube, 2019

Two of his most iconic works came at the height of his career. In 1919 construction was completed on the Home Savings and Loan building (now Premier Bank). I used to look out my back bedroom window with binoculars at the sign and clock tower, and the building represented financial stability of Youngstown for generations. Then, in a very different style, art deco, he designed the expansion of the Isaly Dairy plant with its distinctive tower.

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Isaly Dairy plant (now Hertz Rental and Storage), Photo © Robert C. Trube, 2019.

He built civic organizations as well as iconic buildings. He felt it important to gather business leaders over lunch to hear speakers and enjoy fellowship and formed the Rotary Organization in 1914, the 137th in the country. He was active in the Chamber of Commerce, the Masons, the Elks. His business began to wind down in the 1940’s with his last design being the Shenango Inn, in 1950. He died on March 17, 1953 of a stroke at his home.

His buildings live on. The classic beauty, detail, and stateliness of the courthouse, the dignity of the library, the striking art deco design of the Isaly building, and the distinctive presence the Home Savings Tower adds to the Youngstown skyline all are architectural gifts to the city. Yet these are merely the most prominent of many structures from commercial structures to residences given to us by this father and son. Now it is our job to preserve them.

Book FOMO

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I figured it out. There is this weird phenomena for many of us who love books. We tend to acquire more books than we can possibly read in our lifetimes. There’s even a Japanese word for this, tsundoku. I’ve puzzled why we do that. Or to get more personal, why do I do that?

I think it comes down, at least in part for me, to fear of missing out (FOMO). I read a review of an interesting book. I learn of a book that addresses a question I’m interested in. I see a list of recommended books, or a footnote in a book I’m reading. My wife tells me about a book she’s heard about that is interesting. A book I’ve heard about turns up in a used book store, or at a low price on Amazon Kindle (usually $2.99 or less for me). I see a forthcoming book that looks interesting and request it for review.

I don’t want to miss out on a chance to read any of these great books. I rationalize this with the thought that I may get around to reading the book someday. For books I’ve identified for review, I usually do, since publishers don’t like to send out books to reviewers who don’t review their books. For others, I may end up pulling them out if they relate to a subject I want to read up on, or if they strike my fancy.

But that also means I literally have boxes of stored books acquired in years past, and it is increasingly unlikely that I will get to many of these unless the pandemic goes on for years (which none of us want!). Every one of those books was acquired for some reason of interest–I’d like to read about that, and want to have the book at hand. Alas, newer acquisitions pushed older ones aside into boxes, stored away in a closet.

As it happens, that closet is probably the best place to shelter in our home in the event of severe storms or tornado warnings we get a few times a year. We’ve agreed that those boxes of books must go, along with stacks of books I have read but don’t need to keep. It’s tough though–I can imagine doing the Marie Kondo thing and end up discovering that they all give me joy. I may do better if I don’t open the boxes and just haul them away.

The truth is, I will miss out. I can’t read all the books in my own house within my likely remaining years, let alone the new books that will come out in years ahead and all the wonderful books that have been published that I don’t have. The antidote to my FOMO, oddly enough, is coming to terms with my mortality. It means accepting that God may be all-knowing, but I never will be. One of the comforts of my faith in everlasting life will be the chance to keep learning in whatever form that might take.

Hopefully, this will make me wiser in the new books I acquire. I do find myself asking more often “will I really read that?” The pandemic has helped in limiting some of the sources of lots of cheap books like library book sales and used bookstores.

Where I’d like to get to, and haven’t yet, is to reach the point where I don’t look at those book stacks and feel, “I’ve got to read all those books!” (so now you know the shape of my OCD!). It may be that making some of the stacks disappear will help. Perhaps it is applying a principle of relationships with people to books: if you are thinking about any other book than the book you are with, you are not with any of your books. A spiritual lesson I’ve been learning is to be present in the present rather than somewhere else. When I fear missing out, I’m taking away from the enjoyment of the book I’m reading right now. Perhaps with the uncertainty of the present time, it is not a bad thing to live in “right now.” With the book I’m reading. In my comfortable chair. With a coffee at my side. In those moments, I’m not missing out at all.