Half Past Noon

Davey and I have been going back and forth on “antithesis”—hammering out what it means, trying to figure out if we agree or disagree (since we’re both prone to generalizing), and working towards a workable definition. Except that I hate definitions, so I keep protesting and asking for a story instead.

And now I have one.

It’s not by me, nor is it explicitly about antithesis. But I think it sheds some light on the topic and is worth the read. It’s titled “Dimensions,” and it’s in Alice Munro’s latest short story collection, Too Much Happiness. You can read the story here, on Google books.

If you’re interested in the topic, take a gander and see what you think. Does it shed any light? Or am I committing gross isogesis? You be the judge.

More on antithesis later. Stay tuned.

I didn’t have the patience to completely read the recent “Manhattan Declaration” in its entirety. Lazy, I know, but I’m not a theologian and was more interested to see who signed it than to understand every jot and tittle.

I’ve had several responses (some supportive, some not) forwarded to me. One of the most thought-provoking was from Professor John Stackhouse. I particularly liked this point:

3. The document gives no clear direction about what anyone is supposed to do once they have read it—besides sign it, I suppose. Is anyone now going to campaign for prolife positions any differently than he or she did before? Is anyone going to change his or her mind about homosexual marriage? Is anyone going to seek new legislation or, if the law swings against conservative Christians, engage in civil disobedience of some unspecified sort? Who knows? (HT: Garry Vanderveen)

The striking thing about previous church documents (the Creeds, Luther’s 95 Theses, the Westminster Confession) was their immediate practicality. The Nicene Creed, for example, was designed to distinguish between right and wrong worship of Christ. Luther’s Theses, though they began as an invitation to debate, ended up again distinguishing between true and false shepherding. And the Westminster Confession was designed to be a document for the edification and education of the church.

But what really is the Manhattan Declaration for? Speech can’t really be called speech unless it leads to discernible action and discernible change. Stackhouse is right to call this document a waste of time. Imagine the hungry that could have been fed, the pregnant teenagers that could have been counseled, or the lost souls that could have heard the Gospel with the time and resources expended in this document’s creation. To riff on Lewis, we’re content with defining the proper building code for mudcastles in slums when we should be inviting others to enjoy salt water and sunshine.

To make this personal, the more I’m faced with church responsibilities and church life, the more I realize how guilty I am of this in my everyday life. It’s hard and often not fun to talk to strangers at church, so I don’t. And I can admit this till I’m blue in the face, but what does it matter if tomorrow, I again go to church and leave without communing outside of my comfort zone? It’s not enough to feel guilty.

Father forgive us for our propensity to talk and our reluctance to get our hands dirty.

I am the prodigal returning.

After reading Austin’s celebratory post last week, I realized that I really missed HPN. Plus, blogging here is way more fun than blogging by myself. So I’m moving back in and will hopefully coax the rest of you to do the same. HPN, version 3.0.

I’ve been reading Bleak House sporadically over the past year. I’m over 300 pages in, but I’m still not at the halfway point, so I find it easy to lose interest and put it down for a while. But I’m learning to appreciate Dickens, which is good. Case in point: descriptions.

During the whole time consumed in the slow growth of this family tree, the house of Smallweed, always early to go out and late to marry, has strengthened itself in its practical character, has discarded all amusements, discountenanced all story-books, fairy tales, fictions, and fables, and banished all levities whatsoever. Hence the gratifying fact, that it has had no child born to it, and that the complete little men and women whom it has produced, have been observed to bear a likeness to old monkeys with something depressing on their minds. (Ch. XXI)

That last sentence is priceless. So absurd and yet so vivid.

Chicken grinder, no. This: yes, and yes. I’m very impressed.

On December 30th, Half Past Noon will turn 4 years old. Its first year was pretty slow, but even still that’s a long time. Chris, how about redesigning this thing to celebrate? Also, I’d love to hear from everyone how their life circumstances and thinking have changed in the past 3 years.