Friday, September 21, 2007

Third Annual Film and Worldview Conference

October 26-27
Films about Home

Join us in Historic Franklin for the Third Annual King’s Meadow Film and Worldview Conference. We will watch and discuss films about home—a sense of place, universal longing, and rootedness. In addition, Dr. George Grant and others will present seminars about film and worldview. Email ( for schedule, costs, and registration.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Current Reading

National Talk Like a Pirate Day

Argh! Mateys, today is National Talk Like a Pirate Day. You can get your own pirate name and other important info here--if you're not too busy swabbing the decks. Yo, ho, ho!

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Now Here's a Shelving Idea!

Click here for additional images from people with this unique method of cataloging their books. This might be addictive!

Monday, September 17, 2007

The Future of Philip K. Dick

Geoff Boucher wrote an interesting article about the future films based on stories by Philip K. Dick in this twenty-fifth anniversary year of Blade Runner. His writings continue to be fodder for much creative exploration from what was a difficult, yet fertile, mind.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Quote from Annals of a Quiet Neighboourhood

I know this is a long quote from George MacDonald, but it is a great reminder of how often we can get lost in theology and lose the image of Christ. It's all about Jesus.

During the suffering which accompanied the disappointment at which I have already hinted, I did not think it inconsistent with the manly spirit in which I was resolved to endure it, to seek consolation from such a source as the New Testament—if mayhap consolation for such a trouble was to be found there. Whereupon, a little to my surprise, I discovered that I could not read the Epistles at all. For I did not then care an atom for the theological discussions in which I had been interested before, and for the sake of which I had read those epistles. Now that I was in trouble, what to me was that philosophical theology staring me in the face from out the sacred page? Ah! reader, do not misunderstand me. All reading of the Book is not reading of the Word. And many that are first shall be last and the last first. I know NOW that it was Jesus Christ and not theology that filled the hearts of the men that wrote those epistles—Jesus Christ, the living, loving God-Man, whom I found—not in the Epistles, but in the Gospels. The Gospels contain what the apostles preached—the Epistles what they wrote after the preaching. And until we understand the Gospel, the good news of Jesus Christ our brother-king—until we understand Him, until we have His Spirit, promised so freely to them that ask it—all the Epistles, the words of men who were full of Him, and wrote out of that fulness, who loved Him so utterly that by that very love they were lifted into the air of pure reason and right, and would die for Him, and did die for Him, without two thoughts about it, in the very simplicity of NO CHOICE—the Letters, I say, of such men are to us a sealed book. Until we love the Lord so as to do what He tells us, we have no right to have an opinion about what one of those men meant; for all they wrote is about things beyond us. The simplest woman who tries not to judge her neighbour, or not to be anxious for the morrow, will better know what is best to know, than the best-read bishop without that one simple outgoing of his highest nature in the effort to do the will of Him who thus spoke.

But I have, as is too common with me, been led away by my feelings from the path to the object before me. What I wanted to say was this: that, although I could make nothing of the epistles, could see no possibility of consolation for my distress springing from them, I found it altogether different when I tried the Gospel once more. Indeed, it then took such a hold of me as it had never taken before. Only that is simply saying nothing. I found out that I had known nothing at all about it; that I had only a certain surface-knowledge, which tended rather to ignorance, because it fostered the delusion that I did know. Know that man, Christ Jesus! Ah! Lord, I would go through fire and water to sit the last at Thy table in Thy kingdom; but dare I say now I KNOW Thee!—But Thou art the Gospel, for Thou art the Way, the Truth, and the Life; and I have found Thee the Gospel. For I found, as I read, that Thy very presence in my thoughts, not as the theologians show Thee, but as Thou showedst Thyself to them who report Thee to us, smoothed the troubled waters of my spirit, so that, even while the storm lasted, I was able to walk upon them to go to Thee. And when those waters became clear, I most rejoiced in their clearness because they mirrored Thy form—because Thou wert there to my vision—the one Ideal, the perfect man, the God perfected as king of men by working out His Godhood in the work of man…So much I saw.

And therefore, when I was once more in a position to help my fellows, what could I want to give them but that which was the very bread and water of life to me—the Saviour himself?

Friday, September 7, 2007

The Further Degradation of TV

Gloria Goodale has a new article reviewing the line-up of new sludge on fall TV schedule. Just when you think things can't get worse on the networks, they decide to push the line yet again.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

Luciano Pavarotti (1935-2007)

Luciano Pavarotti died today at his home in Modena, Italy, at the age of 71. He had battled pancreatic cancer for the past year. Pavarotti exuded great force as an artist, presence and personality, and thankfully, he had the voice to back it up. He grew up as the son of a baker and did not turn towards the idea of a career in singing until his early twenties. After a few years of voice lessons, his career as an opera star cannot be described in any other terms than meteoric. His was a distinctive voice full of passion and life. There is no mistaking his characteristic sound.

Perhaps that is what drew me in to a love of opera in the first place. My earliest memory of hearing opera was from the eight track tapes my grandfather played and Pavarotti figured prominently in that collection. My earliest image of opera was Pavarotti dressed as a clown in the role of Pagliacci. The fact that my grandfather also sang Italian arias explains the close association my young mind had between my grandfather and Pavarotti—that was at times almost synonymous. I thank my grandfather for opening the world of opera to me.

The first two opera recordings I bought were Pavarotti in Puccini’s Turandot and La Boheme—still two of my favorites. My wife and I were thrilled when we got to hear him in concert a few years ago, and one of my prized possessions is a signed photograph of him.

Despite some of the controversies that surrounded his later career, his effortless voice and presence embodied the great things about the art of singing. Such beauty and passion only come around once every few generations. He will be missed.

Qui.. amor... sempre con te!
Le mani... al caldo... e... dormire.