Here's a link to a paper by James B. Jordan. Surprisingly enough in light of the title, it's an essay defending the celebration of Christmas. Count your blessings if you've never run into one of those unfortunate souls who actually believe the celebration of Christmas is wrong; I once watched one of these persons in full tirade, and it's not pleasant. I imagine that it is much more common to encounter one of the multitudes of people who celebrate Christmas without any understanding of the holiday's true import or the Christian meaning of its many symbols (perhaps this even describes you). This essay is helpful and informative in addressing this deficiency as well. And it's funny.
Merry Christmas!
Earlier this semester I gave a lecture at a public coffee house and plaza for the Francis Schaeffer Institute. It was entitled, "Life Waiting to be Found; An Exploration into the hit television show LOST." Unfortunately the attempt to record the lecture was a failure, so it will not be posted on-line. So here are my notes from the lecture, which I revamped and delivered again a week later at my church. At times the notes are in shorthand; I prepared them for oral presentation, so there are grammatical infelicities and spaces for impromptu elaboration. I offer them simply because I've had so many friends ask for my take on the show.
First, I set up the context for the creation of LOST and consider its many wonderful qualities. Then toward the end I engage the more thought-provoking elements of the show's various themes, considering what questions LOST forces us to ask as we watch, and what this might say about the show's popularity.
Warning: there are spoilers if you haven't seen the first season. I gave this lecture two episodes into the second season, so my thoughts are limited to all that had transpired up until that point.
For what it's worth...
For me those moments are far too rare when one feels fully content and satisfied with what one is given to do at any particular moment. Too often my mind is flitting around in search of some warm, safe place in my past or casting ahead to an idealized future. The present passes me by. So I thought I would pause to give thanks for a perfect moment of work right now. I am fully content, and joyful even, for my station in life this moment. I'm sitting here working at the seminary, giving thanks in my heart for a courageous and beautiful wife hard at work at home with the two loveliest children in the world, writing my final papers and studying for exams. I'm seated at a large, stately table in the library, the lamp-light illuminating my papers. I've enjoyed the familiar, silent presence of my faithful pastor and closest friends in the seats around me as they work. Ceiling-high windows flank me on the right, at the end of the table. And I watch as outside a day's worth of snow falls to and covers the ground. I pause to give thanks for honest work accepted from my hands by the Lord, work done with a clean conscience--a privilege far too few know the feeling of. And I get back to work, translating Biblical passages from Greek into English. And I ponder the whiteness of the falling snow as I slowly crank out the words: "Long ago, at many times and in various ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets. But in these last days he has spoken to us by a son, whom he placed as heir of all things, through whom also he made the world--Who is the radiance of his glory and the exact representation of his essence, bearing all things by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the majesty on high, having become so much better than the angels, as much as he has inherited a more excellent name than they."
Blogger extraordinaire Gideon Strauss recently brought this journal to my attention. If you visit right now you will have the happy opportunity, amongst other things, to read an article by Makoto Fujimura on art in New York City and engage in a discussion on the importance of urbanism.
- I'm shookfoil
- From Brooklyn, New York
- Church-planting apprentice.
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