I was reading a book once in which the author, having made a great theological point, went on to say “we would do well to note this and remember it.” Now this was a famously feisty Swiss author, given to using exclamation points and double dashes throughout his prose. So “note this and remember it” seemed a bit too polite and reserved, perhaps a bit too British to be the kind of thing he would say. So I hauled out the German original to check up on the work of the translators. What I found is that the most literal translation of what the author wrote would be:

WE MUST GET THIS FACT IN FRONT OF OUR FACES AND HOLD IT IN FRONT OF OUR FACES !!!

What’s the difference between “note and remember” and the type of, erm, facial proximity with dwell time advocated here in the muscular teutonic phrasing? “Noting and remembering” sounds like something angels and reasonable people do, but “getting something in front of your face and keeping it in front of your face” is more along the lines of human nature as we all live in it every day. William Wilberforce (1759-1833) says something truly wise about this in his Practical View.

“The state of man is such, that his feelings are not the obedient servants of his reason, prompt at once to follow his dictates, as to their direction, and their measure.” That is, even when we know intellectually what’s good and bad, our emotions don’t attach to the right things.
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William Wilberforce (1759-1833) admits in his Practical View that his definition of religion runs pretty close to what most people would call a definition of fanaticism (or, in 18th-century terminology, enthusiasm). He calls religion

the implantation of a vigorous and active principle; it is seated in the heart, where its authority is recognized as supreme, whence by degrees it expels whatever is opposed to it, and where it gradually brings all the affections and desires under its complete control and regulation.

That makes it sound like a dangerous force from which one ought to keep some critical distance. Christianity like this, in the estimate of all the worldly wisemen, is to be handled with care: “It’s a good thing in moderation, but don’t get too involved in it.” Wilberforce begs to differ. In the first place, a “vigorous and active princple” implanted in the heart is not something you ask for a little bit of, and what would “moderation” even mean when we’re talking about loving God? But in the second place, a little bit of Christianity is a recipe for a permanently grumpy semi-Christian, who can’t enjoy heaven or earth. It’s not the totally sold-out saints who mope through life disappointed with everything, but the ones who are hedging their bets and keeping a few options open. Wilberforce says:

“Drink deep…or taste not,” is a direction full as applicable to Religion, if we would find it a source of pleasure, as it is to knowledge. A little Religion is, it must be confessed, apt to make men gloomy, as a little knowledge to render them vain: hence the unjust imputation often brought upon Religion by those whose degree of Religion is just sufficeint, by condemning their course of conduct, to render them uneasy; enough merely to impair the sweetness of the pleasures of sin, and not enough to compensate for the relinquishment of them by its own peculiar comforts. Thus these men bring up, as it were, an ill report of the land of promise, which, in truth, abounds with whatever, in our journey through life, can best refresh and strengthen us.

Bad spies! No promised land for you! Caleb never bored us with cliches about moderation…

Consider airplanes. They are simple structures, with a certain minimalist elegance. They are necessarily aerodynamic, with the happy result that their sleek horizontal lines appeal to the eye of any aesthete. The binding logic of motion and force dictate most of their structure, including the delicately nuanced perpendicular of the wings sprouting from the body.

Add to these smooth lines the optical magic of a propeller in motion (how DO you draw that?), and it’s no surprise that a young artist would become fixated on capturing the visual phenomenon of airplanes.

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Click here for a comic book explanation of icons.

It was originally published as a chapter in Dr. Doctrine’s Christian Comix, issue 2 (InterVarsity Press, 1998). This was a way-ahead-of-its-time set of comic books that took on serious theological topics in a cartoon format. It was so far ahead of its time that the citizens of earth-present did not purchase many copies, apparently thinking it was intended for citizens of earth-future. Big ideas in little cartoons, reverent theology and irreverent fun, etc.

But if your idea of a good time is to hear a talking sheep interview the church fathers, then here’s something you don’t want to miss. John of Damascus’ On the Divine Images with a cartoon sheep.

(The Dr. Doctrine character, by the way, is qualified to do the interview. In addition to his doctorate, he holds a B.A.A.A. and Master of Ovinity degree.)

The William Wilberforce movie is coming out, and I hear it’s pretty good. Here’s hoping the movie is at least good enough to get William Wilberforce back in the public eye.

Wilberforce is justly famous as a man of action, and his legislative victories in the cause of justice are the thing we should never forget about him. If he had just done the things he did in the british Parlaiment, that would be enough. But he was also a good enough communicator that he managed to capture his life-message in words as well as deed. His excellent book has this (not) catchy title: A Practical View of the Prevailing Religious System of Professed Christians, in the Higher and Middle Classes in This Country, Contrasted with Real Christianity. Published in 1797, it is a classic statement of evangelical Christianity. Wilberforce’s Practical View is especially eloquent about how real Christian faith moves the heart and motivates social action.

But his opening gambit in the book is to lambast the lukewarm Christians of his day for not knowing their doctrine, and in particular for neglecting to cultivate proper theologies of Christ and the Holy Spirit. If the nominal Christians of Britain are ignoring gross institutional wickedness like race-based chattel slavery, it is because their hearts are cold; and their hearts are cold because their heads are empty. What Dr. Wilberforce prescribes is a big dose of “the peculiar doctrines of Christianity:” not morality or piety in general, but the core doctrines which we only know from special divine revelation in Scripture.
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John Teter’s 2003 book Get the Word Out: How God Shapes and Sends His Witnesses is a great little introduction to evangelism. Teter is obviously very (veryvery) passionate, but he writes with a disarming breeziness. He develops his ideas through stories and personal illustrations, so by the time you’re done with the book (an easy read at 168 pages of biggish print) you’ve met a lot of interesting people and watched them in their encounters with Christ and each other.

Get the Word Out is insightful and informative, but also probably 40% motivational, which I’m discovering is about the right proportion for books about evangelism. Most Christians don’t need amazing new ideas about evangelism; they need encouragement to try it and to keep at it. This book is not just a pep rally — it’s got strategic recommendations (small-group evangelistic Bible studies), sobering advice (”It is not a good investment for witnesses to spend countless hours building trust, serving and teaching the Word to people who have no desire to change.”), and theology aplenty (”Witness is a gift of grace from God for the disciple…”). But if you’re out of pep and need to rally, just admit that a book of strong encouragement is the thing to read.

Where Get the Word Out breaks some new ground, however, is in Teter’s decision to develop the whole project as an interaction with the gospel of John. Teter’s central ideas are all straight from the theology of witness in John, and every major point he makes is drawn back to a story from that gospel. That makes Get the Word Out a kind of sermonic commentary on the Johannine theology of witness, and puts readers into direct contact with God’s word over and over.
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For Lent this year, I have decided to give up the liturgical calendar.

It’s a big sacrifice, but I think I will learn a lot from this voluntary abstention.

Could somebody please e-mail me when it’s time to start up again? That would be a big help.

Since at least the time of Nietzsche, a major objection to Christian faith has been that it is bad for the human spirit generally, and the imagination in particular. It produces people with tiny souls, content to monger prooftexts, take everything on authority, stay on the surface of life, and investigate nothing. Pat answers satisfy our lethargic minds and trite nostrums guide our moral lives, while “Christian art” (if the term itself is not indeed oxymoronic) is considered wildly successful if it rises to the level of bare mediocrity.

So goes the critique, and it’s got some bite. But Daniel Amos’ 2001 CD, Mr. Buechner’s Dream, is a standing refutation of the notion that faith kills art. This sprawling CD (actually a double-CD set) doesn’t refute the Nietzschean suspicion simply by being swell art and therefore a bit of evidence to the contrary –though as the mature product of an accomplished group of Christian musicians it is certainly that. No single CD will turn that tide; in fact a generation or two of Rembrandts and Bachs would barely suffice to that end.

Instead, what Terry Taylor and his band offer here is the fruit of a quarter-century’s personal struggle with questions of art and faith. In the unpromising arena of Contemporary Christian Music, the band Daniel Amos has been fighting this battle across a career that spans more than two dozen major releases (if you count all the solo projects, side bands, and whatnot). Taylor has been turning this problem over and over in his head, asking himself and his listeners about the way Christian faith shapes art.
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I guess if it weren’t for a road trip, I might have missed this altogether: Doug TenNapel’s Catscratch is the theme of the current Happy Meals at McDonald’s!

Splee!

TenNapel is the mad genius whose singular Turlock brain virus has infected video games, animated cartoons, and graphic novels in recent years. For anyone who’s followed his work through its various permutations, it’s a surreal experience to stop for the mandatory Happy Meal fuel-up during a long drive with kids, and find TenNapel creatures staring at you from the toy display. These are quirky little toys. A nation tugs its chin and says “huh?”

“Imagine it… a world where bacon could walk straight into your mouth.” Surely the advent of Catscratch Happy Meal toys brings us one step closer to that world.

In the latest issue of in The Wesleyan Theological Journal , Wesleyan theologian Don Thorsen carries out a nice little exploration of biblical authority and theological method. The article, “Sola Scriptura and the Wesleyan Quadrilateral” (WTJ 41:2 (Fall 2006), pp. 7-27), clears up a lot of confusion. Both Sola Scriptura and the Quadrilateral are widely misconstrued, and need to be rescued from that darkling plain where ignorant armies clash by night. Here’s a good question: have these two principles suffered more abuse at the hands of their thoughtless detractors or their clueless defenders?

In case you are not among those who labor under misconceptions of either of these principles, let me sketch the state of play that Thorsen presupposes. In one corner is a version of Sola Scriptura which is so totalitarian that it cannot even admit any relative authorities or interpretive norms to function near it. In the other corner is a version of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral so flimsy and merely procedural that it sounds like nothing more than limp recommendation to take everything into account and let every voice be heard. Described this way, the two principles are set up in advance to clash with each other at the first ding of the bell. No surprise that they seem contradictory, since described this way the two principles are transparently nothing more than projections of conservative and liberal theological postures at their cartooniest.
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