Happy Birthday, Andrew Marvell.


In case anyone in the blog world hasn't heard, I'm moving to Ventura County this next week to work in Santa Barbara and live with my sister. That's all I have to say about that.


Art, including juvenile literature, has the power to make any spot on earth the living center of the universe; and unlike science, which often gives us the illusion of understanding things we really do not understand, it helps us to know life in a way that still keeps before us the mystery of things. It enhances the sense of wonder. And wonder is respect for life.

-William Steig, Caldecott acceptance speech, 1969


Pretty luggage. Since I'm going somewhere.
Tomorrow I'm going to be speaking to an entire school full of elementary students, and I have no idea what I'm going to say. This is a problem.


Haven't posted recently, I know. And one should hardly break the silence with the unlikely meeting of Ricky Gervais (who also has a very creepy kids pop-up book available now in stores, titled 'Flanimals') and Elmo, but this made my morning more than a little bit better today:


briefly unlenten

Here's a link to the next upcoming kids-film-adapted-from-series. The picture's so pretty, I might actually read the books. Maybe. Later.


'...who can duly adore that love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape?.... the hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and his compulsion is our liberation.'

- C. S. Lewis (quoted in the classiest Christian tract I've ever seen.)


About chief of sinners I don't know, but what I know about sinners I know chiefly about me. We did not mean to do the deed, of course. The things we have done wrong seemed, or mostly seemed, small at the time. The word of encouragement withheld, the touch of kindness not given, the visit not made, the trust betrayed, the cutting remark so clever and so cruel, the illicit sexual desire so generously entertained, the angry answer, the surge of resentment at being slighted, the lie we thought would do no harm. It is such a long and tedious list of little things. Surely not too much should be made of it, we thought to ourselves. But now it has come to this. It has come to the cross. All the trespasses of all the people of all time have gravitated here, to the killing grounds of Calvary.

Not only about our entanglement in the loss of each but also in the consequence of our deeds, John Donne was right: "No man is an Island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main." It was not only for our sins, but surely for our sins too. What a complex web of complicity is woven by our lives. Send not to know by whom the nails were driven; they were driven by you, by me.

Is there a perverse presumption in confessing that we did the deed? There could be, I suppose. But there is also prudence, and an irrepressible awareness of John Donne's truth about our entanglement with the whole. We pray with the Psalmist, "Who can discern his errors? Cleanse me from my secret faults." Foolishly we hold back from the admission, separating ourselves from the full burden of common deed. We do not know the measure of our trespass, whereas we know God's mercy is beyond measure. Be grateful that forgiveness is not limited to the sins that we know. "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

- Richard John Neuhaus, from Death on a Friday Afternoon


'If what Christians say about Good Friday is true, then it is, quite simply, the truth about everything.'

- Richard John Neuhaus, from Death on a Friday Afternoon (more to come.)
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