The Grand Budapest Hotel is surely the most Wes-Andersony of all the Wes Anderson movies, and if you’ve never seen a Wes Anderson movie, well, I don’t know what to tell you. Try this: of all contemporary filmmakers, Anderson is the one most likely to provoke reviewers to use the words “fey” and “twee.”
[St Seraphim Prison Fellowship; Winter 2013]
Are there crimes that cannot be forgiven?
Apollo was a shepherd, and had been hardened by his rough life. One day he saw a pregnant woman alone in the field, and was seized with curiosity to know how the unborn child lay in the womb. So he killed her; there was no one there to help her. He opened her body and looked upon the dying child.
Wes Smith’s column this week for First Things is about the flowers at his church that continued to be fresh, after a parishioner poured out the last of his holy water into one of the vases.
The comment of a skeptic at that site clarified for me a point of miscommunication. The skeptic seems to think we are claiming that holy water is magic, and if we tested this in a controlled environment it would have this effect on flowers every time. There would be a pattern, one that kept appearing in any place and time.
Oliver Burkeman, a blogger for The Guardian, says that proponents of the atheist side of the God debate (where, he says, his sympathies lie) are being intellectually lazy. They attack a concept of God which imagines him as a sort of superhero, rather than grappling with the classic monotheistic view of God as the source and ground of reality. This is like anti-evolutionists refuting a distorted and absurd concept of evolution. Burkeman recommends David Bentley Hart’s “The Experience of God” so that they might grasp and then grapple with a more theologically-accurate concept of God.
Priest: O Trinity, transcendent in essence, in goodness and in divinity, O Almighty, invisible and incomprehensible, who watch over all, O Creator of intelligent essences, of natures endowed with speech, O Goodness of utter and unapproachable brilliance, who enlighten every person who comes into the world: enlighten me also, your unworthy servant! Illuminate the eyes of my mind, that I may venture to praise your immeasurable goodness and your might; may the prayer that I offer be acceptable for the people here present. Let not my sins prevent the descent of the Holy Spirit upon this place, but permit me now without condemnation to cry out to You, O all-good Lord, and to say:
We glorify You, O Master and Lover of Mankind, Almighty King before eternity!
We glorify You, Creator and Maker of all!
There’s much to admire, but not much to enjoy, in Inside Llewyn Davis, the latest film from the Coen brothers. Joel and Ethan Coen, two Minnesota boys, have won great acclaim over 30 years of filmmaking, sharing a dozen Oscar nominations for writing, directing, and best picture. Their films cover an amazing range of genres, from dark and violent, like best-picture winner No Country for Old Men (2007), to quirky-funny, like The Big Lebowski (1998). You could say that, with Raising Arizona (1987), the Coens invented quirky-funny. A longtime favorite in my family is O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), the comic odyssey of a trio of chain-gang escapees in 1937 Mississippi.
Updated on Friday, December 6, 2013 by Frederica
For children, Christmas is a time of wonder, if not outright bafflement, because of the archaic vocabulary and syntax of Christmas carols. This produces interpretations that our devout ancestors never had in mind. Here are some of my childhood mishearings of these songs. How about yours?
* “For in thy Dock Street shineth…”
(“Little Town of Bethlehem”)
I knew what “Dock Street” meant, because my home town was a seaport. But if something was shining there, it was a little creepy.
Surprisingly, the Bible treats the heart as the place where we do our thinking—we think in our hearts, not our heads. And, as Matthew 15:19 shows, those thoughts are not always noble. In our culture we regard our ability to reason as one of the highest aspects of human personhood, but forget how often we employ that faculty in less-than-noble pursuits. The biblical Greek word for thinking actively, like when you’re thinking something through, is dianoia, and it includes selfish fantasies, plotting, and scheming:
“The imagination [dianoia] of man’s heart is evil from his youth” (Gen 8:21)
“He has scattered the proud in the imagination [dianoia] of their hearts” (Lk 1:51)
[Further thoughts on the feminism of yesteryear, following “Enough of Anger,” National Review 9/30/2013]
The chapter on sexuality in Our Bodies Ourselves is not so bad; it’s actually refreshing. “We are all so oppressed by sexual images, formulas, goals and rules that it is almost impossible to even think about sex outside the context of success and failure. The sexual revolution—liberated orgiastic women, groupies, communal [sex], homosexuality—have all made us feel that we must be able to [have sex] with impunity, with no anxiety, under any conditions and with anyone, or we’re some kind of uptight freak.” These “alienating inhuman expectations” are “destructive and degrading.” The authors of this communal chapter quote Robin Morgan (“a Women’s Liberationist in New York”): “Goodbye to Hip Culture and the so-called Sexual Revolution which has functioned toward women’s freedom as did the Reconstruction toward former slaves—reinstituted oppression by another name.” In short, “We must destroy the myth that we have to be groovy, free chicks.”
You have to wonder what might have happened if feminists had continued to proclaim women’s freedom from the sexual revolution.
The authors observe that the contemporary assumption is that “‘Sex’ is about being a ‘real woman’—being that ridiculous caricature of a person that this society tells us we had better become if we are to extract even the smallest amount of security, pleasure, and self-esteem from the world. It’s a sexual achievement exam.” So it’s no wonder we feel confused. “First we’re supposed to set the sexual limits, deny our responses, and hate our looks. Then, within a few years we’re supposed to be experimental and libertine. The more [sex] we have the closer we are to being ‘real’ women. That’s a lot of confusion, and it’s no wonder that many of us still have serious questions about who we are and what we want.”
Here’s some clear thinking: “Part of the reason so many people have problems about sex is because sexual feelings are considered separate or different from other kinds of feelings we have. Sex has got to do with the body—that alien part of us residing below the neck that has needs and responses we don’t understand.” But all our feelings affect the body, whether the rapid heartbeat of fear or the headache of anger. “It’s all part of the same body that we live in every day… It can’t be mysterious or alien because it’s our own familiar house….To make sex special, different, better is to disown our bodies…[O]ur bodies are us all the time.”
Indeed, the authors say, sexuality deserves its own chapter in the book only because it is “permeated with myths and preconceptions that put the woman down, and not because sexual relations are an absolutely necessary part of a fulfilled woman’s life.” Subsequent chapters on Celibacy and Monogamy treat them as reasonable choices. But if the goal had been merely increasing sexual pleasure, “it would have been a waste of time to write this paper.” Sexual fireworks “are not that important. What is important is loving, giving, free relationships between people.”
It’s a pretty good chapter; you could clean up the four-letter words and print it in a pro-family newsletter.
Sorting through some old boxes in the basement, I ran across a manila envelope stuffed with 40-year-old women’s lib literature. It was right under the Earth Shoes. Back then, I was a mother-earth-type hippie, and an enthusiastic “women’s libber” (then the prevailing term of choice). In the envelope I found an assortment of leaflets protesting the nuclear family (inherently oppressive) and warning against “female hygiene deodorant,” “the myth of the vaginal orgasm,” and other threats to womankind. There were some huffy letters I’d written to the campus newspaper, and mimeographed flyers for the campus women’s group. The pride of the collection was a 1971 copy of the classic feminist guide to health and sexuality, Our Bodies Ourselves. This was the pre-mainstream edition, published by the New England Free Press, stapled together and priced at 40 cents.