End of Year Musings….
There are few writers who bring me more joy than G.K. Chesterton. His ability to praise the beauty and wonder of the everyday breathes new life into the reader’s day to day. What other writer could wax poetic about a dreary English rain, calling it the “cosmic spring-cleaner” and the source of “a world of mirrors” on account of the puddles it produces (“The Romantic and the Rain)? He gives brilliancy to “browness” in the essay “A Piece of Chalk” and recognizes the wonder of the hundreds of intricate living statues “walking about the streets” that we often miss when contemplating a sculpture on a Street corner in “On Sight Seeing”.
Read him and be amused while you are given wise counsel.
Alexander Pope is a giant of 18th century poetry. His playful epic The Rape of the Lock is well known, as are his didactic works on “Man” and “Criticism.” And the lines of his Ode to Solitude are beautiful and poignant:
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
(Alexander Pope,“Ode on Solitude”lines 17-20)
He is a master.
But give me the works of Phillis Wheatley over the giant Pope any day! Hers is not the voice of privilege or arrogance or satire (as Pope’s, for one, could be). Instead, Wheatley wrote with not only the technical skill of her peers, but also with a passion and vibrancy that set her over her peers. She wrote as one who had suffered much but, by the Grace of her Heavenly Father, endured. She was not “to the manor born.” Far from it for this woman who was kidnapped from Africa, enslaved, and eventually earned her freedom. What a gift it is to have her words saved for us, like these about “Imagination”:
O thou the leader of the mental train:
In full perfection all thy works are wrought,
And thine the cepter o’er the realms of thought.
Before thy throne the subject-passions bow,
Of subject-passions sov’reign ruler thou;
At thy command joy rushes on the heart,
And through the glowing veins the spirits dart.
(Phillis Wheatley “On Imagination” lines 35-41)
Early in the morning of December 14th I found a gift on our front stoop. A large box, decorated with green and red plaid and sparkly letters wishing “Merry Christmas” and filled with chocolates and cookies and other treats, had been left in front of our door. In the box was a handwritten note, inscribed in almost Medieval handwriting, with a variation of the twelve days of Christmas verses, ending with a line about the gift of Salvation through Christ give “full and free!” From then until Christmas Day, our family received a gift either on our porch, or at our mailbox, or next to our car everyday! We do not know for sure who was our secret Santa, though we have our theories, but I think that is appropriate. One night in fact I saw a figure through our window moving stealthily off our porch. I made to open up the curtains and peer out toward the driveway, and then stopped. I didn’t need to know who was leaving the gifts, I actually didn’t truly want to know. How much better to receive these gifts unbidden and from an unknown source?! They did not wish praise or acknowledgment, only to give graciously.
But I will I thank these unknown givers here. Merry Christmas Indeed!
I saw two movies this year that marked the end of a story told over multiple films and multiple years. *Spoilers*
Star Wars Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker: Quite a satisfactory close. I was left wanting from The Last Jedi, and much of the narrative movement that was abandoned in this previous film had to be brought forward at quite a frenetic pace. But once J.J. Abrams was able to get into the real meat of his final story, it was vintage Star Wars romance again. My biggest complaint, you can’t set up a big question from Finn to Rey throughout the film and then not follow through with it! This feels like a slap-dash storytelling. Still, while not the greatest of all time and with nothing brand new, it is fulfilling and fun and filled with wonderful spectacle.
The Avengers Endgame: What a final act! The pacing grew over the course of the films three hours and lead to an amazing climax. The way the stories that came before wove into and out of the narrative was clever and seamless. It is incredible how much is happening, and how intimate and nimble the story is able remain at the same time. This is how a story arc comes to a conclusion. The emotional power of the ending is earned in spades. Few scenes in film are quite as powerful as Cap standing before Thanos and his horde, ready to defend to the last, then hearing the voice of Sam Wilson crackling over the headset, “On your left.” Chills and tears.
On a side note- If Disney Parks were to create a “World Of Wakanda” at one of their parks, could one transfer one’s citizenship there and live there with one’s family?
For the fall term, two of the 20th century poets we read and discussed were William Carlos Williams and T.S. Eliot. What a contrast in style. Williams: sparse, often staccato in rhythm, observant of the tangible world around him, each word charged with immediate energy, accessible and yet layered with depth. Eliot: esoteric, brutal and beautiful, full of allusion to history and ancient literature, confounding, and as one student articulated “unconcerned with whether you understand him or not, but instead of this pushing you away, you just want to figure out what you are missing”. Going back and forth between these two poets almost produced literary whiplash at the onset. But it didn’t. After the initial oddity of the pairing, the way these two modern voices articulate the ideas, struggles, rejections, affirmations, and hopes of the early 1900s struck a harmonious note and opened us all up to great discussion.
Every avid reader has experienced the excitement and fear of beginning the first chapter of a new book from a beloved author. There is the anticipation and joy of being able to spend time this new story, but there is always the trepidation and worry that this volume will disappoint or not live up to your expectations. It is a flaw that no reader can ever fully shake, as we all bring our personal experience and opinion to the table. However, every writer knows of this flaw and wades into these dangerous waters anyway.
This joy and tension came to bear on me when I opened the newest novel from Leif Enger, Virgil Wander. Enger’s two previous works, Peace Like a River and So Brave, Young, and Handsome, are masterworks. It was unrealistic in truth to think that he could go three for three, and all home runs, with this third tale. Amazing things happen everyday. Virgil Wander may be his best, but I cannot write any details about it. I need to read it again to fully appreciate and consider it and appreciate it anew. And I cannot wait for this re-read.
Now—on to 2020. To essays by C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. To poetry by Elizabeth Bishop and Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry. To the terror of William Golding and the rich beauty of Leif Enger. To more consistent blogs (hopefully). To baking more pastries. To building the Kingdom through works of charity and creativity and love.