Category Archives: Books

Escapism with a Goal

I enjoy reading novels as an escapist kind of diversion. I once devoured thrillers (Ludlum, Clancy, Morrell, Cussler), but in more recent years I have favored older hard-boiled detective novels by folks like Raymond Chandler, James Cain, and Dashiell Hammett. These guys wrote in the early to mid 1900s, when explicit sex scenes and profanity were taboo in literature. It’s nice reading books without all that junk (only general immorality, skullduggery, and senseless killings). Right now I’m reading Hammett’s The Thin Man, written in1933. Before that, I read Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train (1950).

I find myself being oddly purposeful in how I tackle books. For example, Highsmith’s book was 280 pages. When I start a book, I always note how many pages until the end. My first goal is to get through the first 100 pages. Then I feel I’m committed to the book; I can’t back out, but must finish it. My next goal is to get to the halfway mark. So after reaching page 100, I set my eyes on page 140. Then I focus on the point where I have just 100 pages to go–in this case, page 180. And then it’s just a matter of counting down, ten pages at a time.

This would seem to get in the way of escapism, this quest for The End. But that’s how I am and have always been. My own private little neurosis.

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Don’t Mess with Reading Traditions

They’re changing the dimensions of mass-market paperback novels. Taller and thinner. I don’t like it. Reading is a lifelong sacred habit for me. This represents a capricious change made without my approval. So I’m against it.

Right now I’m reading my first book in this “Premium” format, John Sandford’s Broken Prey. Book publishers must be getting some resistance, because a page inside the back cover goes to great lengths to convince me that this is a Eureka-class change intended solely for my benefit. That’s bunk. Somewhere along the line, this design makes money for Berkeley Books–in paper production, the printing process, how books are packed and shipped or arranged on shelves, or something. This drastic change requires a bottom-line benefit. Call me a cynic.

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Book: In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day

In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy DayMark Batterson gave the opening keynote at the MinistryCOM conference I attended in August. He started National Community Church in Washington, D.C., a ministry that now includes three churches, all of which meet in two movie theaters and a coffeehouse. It’s a very innovative church. Batterson had some great stuff for us.

He has written a book with what has got to be the best title ever: In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day. It will be released on October 1, and you can buy it at Amazon, which is something I recommend, based on reading the opening chapter (he sent it to me for review purposes).

The title is based on Banaiah who, according to 2 Samuel 23, “chased a lion down into a pit. Then, despite the snow and slippery ground, he caught the lion and killed it.” Batterson fills out the story in a very entertaining way. Imagine Benaiah and the lion coming face to face, then the lion–not the human–turns tail and runs away. And Benaiah chases it. The lion falls into a pit with snow on the ground, and Benaiah stupidly jumps into the pit and kills the killer cat. This is not a story I learned in Sunday school, for some reason.

Batterson says we often equate holiness as the things we don’t do–holiness by “subtracting something from our lives that shouldn’t be there.” But in what he calls “opportunity stewardship,” he thinks God is more concerned with the things we don’t do, but should have done. “You can do nothing wrong and still do nothing right. Those who simply run away from sin are half-Christians. Our calling is much higher than simply running away from what’s wrong. We’re called to chase lions.”

He also points out that not every lion chaser kills the lion. Sometimes opportunities don’t work out. But you were still chasing a lion. I think of some church planters and missionaries I know who gave up everything to pursue God’s calling, and things went bust. But I still admire them. They jumped into a pit on a snowy day and at least tried to kill a lion.

So that’s what Mark Batterson’s book is about. And I’m looking forward to reading the whole thing.

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Ann Kiemel, Wherefore Hast Thou Been?

kiemel-3books-570

I have rediscovered Ann Kiemel.

I love Donald Miller’s writing. But having finished Blue Like Jazz and Searching for God Knows What, I’ve been searching for someone else who writes with such authenticity. Searching in vain.

Until, last weekend, I thought about Ann Kiemel, whose books I devoured during my post-college days of the 1980s. She wrote in simple free verse, and mostly just told about her encounters with people and how she shared Christ with them. She was a great inspiration to me, and since we were both single at the time, I felt a kinship of sorts.

Then she agreed to marry Will Anderson. I saw her doing such amazing things to influence people–not only people in her immediate sphere of influence, but people like me who read her books. Now she was abandoning all of that (abandoning me!) to live on a farm in Idaho and raise a family. She has, indeed, pretty much disappeared from the Christian landscape.

I found two of Ann’s books on my shelf, I’m Out to Change My World and Yes! I brought them home. Though her recent years have not been good (I understand that she wrote a book in 2004 airing some dirty linen), there was an exceptional real-ness to those earlier years when she wrote those books which moved me so much. Would her writing still move me?

Well…it does. The other morning I read six chapters (they’re short) in I’m Out to Change My World, and in each one, I got choked up. The Agnostic, God is So Good, The Taxi Driver, Homesick GI, Ordinary Days, Spinach and Dreams. This heart for God which so captivated me 20-some years ago still comes through, and I find myself, today, again inspired by her words:

I’m an ordinary girl in a big world,
but I’m going to change it–
God and I
and love.

UPDATE August 2012: Ann Kiemel has returned to writing, with her own blog. Check it out at AnnKiemel.com.

Additional posts about Ann Kiemel Anderson:

 

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Book: Adventures in Missing the Point

book_adventures.jpgPaula, my niece, highly recommended the book Adventures in Missing the Point, by Tony Campolo and Brian McLaren. Each chapter deals with a different topic–Doubt, Sin, Women in Ministry, Homosexuality, the Environment, Evangelism, etc. The two authors each wrote half of the chapters and briefly commented on the other person’s chapters.

Since Paula recommended the book, as we stood in the Christian bookstore where she works, I bought it. I finished the book a few weeks ago.

Last night, I had supper with an old friend, We were talking about postmodernism and how much we bought into the assumptions about the fundamental attitudinal change which postmodernism insists is upon us. And so it’s inevitable that Brian McLaren’s name arose, since he’s the guru of postmodernism. My friend, Steve, suddenly asked, “Am I the only one who thinks McLaren is a boring writer?”

I thought I was alone. I breezed through Campolo’s chapters in Adventures in Missing the Point, but found myself continually bogged down in McLaren’s chapters. The contrast was spectacular. I ended up reading all of Campolo’s chapters first, checking them off in the table of contents, and then forced myself to read McLaren’s chapters, like downing cough syrup. Steve, my friend, had exactly the same experience.

Campolo’s chapter on homosexuality was some of the best writing I’ve seen on that subject; many of my questions found answers that lined up very satisfactorily. His chapters on women in ministry, the environment, and eschatology were also very good.

Sorry, but none of McLaren’s chapters seemed particularly insightful, though my copy of the book does show occasional underlines in his writing. And they certainly weren’t fun to read. (Paula found the chapter on “Doubt” very helpful to her, which is great.) Part of my problem with McLaren is that he looks at everything through the filter of postmodernism. I don’t think he could go to the bathroom without pondering how the urinal design reflects modernity. Since I don’t necessarily buy some of his basic assumptions, and yet he examines every subject in the book based on those assumptions being correct…well, that obviously creates a problem.

So do I recommend this book? I recommend half of it. Campolo’s superb. Skip the rest.

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Book: God in the Alley

I read a lot of books by Christians who care about the poor. You know, “liberal” Christians, those social-justice peaceniks who live in communes and, incredibly, do not see the blatant inconsistency in claiming to be a Christian while voting for Democrats. Sadly, because of what is an obviously compromised state of mind, I actually learn a great deal from these folks.

GodintheAlley_150.jpgAbout a month ago I finished “God in the Alley,” by Greg Paul, who leads a small church in Toronto among prostitutes, the homeless, drug addicts, and general down-and-outers. Reading books like this demolishes the canned solutions and simpleton answers that we well-fed evangelicals (and the entire Republican Party) routinely fling at deep social problems.

I most remember the story of Rose, daughter of a heroin addict, now a prostitute trying to care for her own two children, whom she loves deeply. How can she be a prostitute and be a good mother? Greg Paul describes her as a commendably good mother.

Despite the fact that nobody anywhere ever has modeled healthy parenting for her, she is absolutely dialed in to those children. You make some remark to that effect, and her eyes fill with tears.

“I love them,” she says, simply, softly. “I’d do anything for them.”

And she does. Every night, in cars, hotel rooms, alleyways. Every night, she sacrifices her body for the children she loves.

Wow. There’s a whole world–a complicated, untidy, messy world–that I know nothing about, living in my comfortable middle class suburban home. I can sit back and render judgement on Rose, state what she needs to do to make her life right. But I’m largely ignorant of the real dynamics of such situations. I catch many glimpses of it at Anchor, my own church, as we interact with people in deep, deep holes. And I do, finally, get my hands a little bit dirty (as opposed to just writing a check).

I grew up hearing easy answers to social problems spewed from pulpits. But we don’t know what we’re talking about. Greg Paul offers no easy solutions. He just tells stories about people in this blighted area of Toronto, and sometimes the stories have happy endings. Greg Paul knows what he’s talking about. And having read his book, I know a lot more.

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High School Musical and Perfect Strangers

HighSchoolMusicalLast night Pam and I watched the Disney movie “High School Musical.” What a delight! We watched all of the special features on the DVD, then went back and watched for a second time three of the musical numbers. The story, the music, the dancing, the acting–it was a total package of goodness and fun. I’ll be recommending this movie far and wide.

Two weeks ago I read A Day with a Perfect Stranger, by David Gregory. I found this book at Meiers. This undersized 112-page hardback is actually a stand-alone sequel to Gregory’s book Dinner with a Perfect Stranger, which I now must, absolutely must, read. A Day is about a woman on a plane, going on a business trip, and the conversation she strikes up with a seatmate. Her husband claims that he had dinner with Jesus himself, and now he’s gotten all religious, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. She figures on getting a divorce. On the plane, in the terminal, and then on a second plane, this woman and “perfect” stranger engage in a fascinating discussion about religion. I tell you–this is a wonderful, engaging book. I finished it in one day. David Gregory is obviously an evangelical Christian. I’ll read Dinner with a Perfect Stranger, and then eagerly await any future Perfect Stranger books, because this story isn’t over.

What I’m reading now.

  • Novel Without a Name, by Duong Thu Huong, a tale of the Vietnam War told by a North Vietnamese soldier.
  • Searching for God Knows What, by Donald Miller, the author of the outstanding Blue Like Jazz (perhaps the best book I’ve read this year).
  • Adventures in Missing the Point, by Tony Campolo and Brian McLaren. My niece Paula highly recommends this book. Thus far I like Campolo’s chapters, not so much McLaren’s chapters.
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Book: Beasts of No Nation

On Sunday I finished a little 135-page book called Beasts of No Nation, by a Nigerian named Uzudinma Iweala (I’m only typing that once, because I really need to concentrate on the spelling). The story is a first-person novel told from the viewpoint of a young boy abducted into a guerrilla army and everything that he endures–killing, butchering, sexual abuse (committed by him and upon him by his Commandant), and so much more.

The story takes place in an “unnamed West African country,” which could easily be Sierra Leone, which underwent a horrific civil war during the 1990s. My denomination has had mission work in Sierra Leone since the 1850s, so we followed the fighting and attendant atrocities in Sierra Leone closely. But the country could as easily be Liberia, or maybe even Nigeria, where the author is from.

The book is an award-winning, acclaimed first novel, and appeared on various lists of the best books of 2005. It reads quickly, and yet is a bit difficult to read, because of the linguistic style. Here’s a sample passage:

“I am knowing I am no more child so if this war is ending I cannot be going back to doing child thing. No, I will be going back to be teachering or farming, or Doctor or Engineer, and I will be finding my mother and my sister, but not my father because he is dying in this war.”

The author wrote this as his senior thesis at Harvard. I read interviews on the web in which he talked about the book, and how his curiosity was first aroused when he read a story about child soldiers in Sierra Leone. He said, “One of the problems that the communities face is that sometimes the kids who are forced to fight are forced to commit atrocities against their own community members, to disconnect them from their communities, and make it impossible for them to go back. So they have nothing to do but fight, because they have nowhere to go. So then the war is ended, and now you have this kid who’s gone and killed people in his own community. Is that community just supposed to accept him back, without any problems?”

Gary Dilley, our director of Global Ministries, told me that the city of Bo (in Sierra Leone) has a number of former child soldiers exactly like this–nobody wants them because of the things they’ve done. The government has given them all bicycles as a tool for employment. But my, how they must be scarred in so many ways.

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Recycling the Same Stuff

I really like the book “Velvet Elvis.” It’s author, Rob Bell, is pastor of the Mars Hill church in Michigan, a different kind of megachurch. We’ll be hearing more about him in the years ahead. He’s probably the Bill Hybels of the postmodern generation. But my first real exposure was through “Velvet Elvis.”

One part, though, made me mad.

In one of his later chapters, Bell described the educational system in Jesus’ day. This was fascinating. From roughly age 6 to age 10, kids studied the Torah (the first five books of the Old Testament) at the local synagogue under a rabbi’s teaching. By age 10, most students would have those five books memorized. So Jesus went through this process.

The best students went on to the next level, which lasted until around age 14. The other students “dropped out” and learned the family trade. No dishonor in that. By age 14, these better students might have the entire Old Testament memorized. Jesus, I’m confident, did.

After age 14 or 15, only the best of the best remained; the others went back to the family business. These best-and-brightest students would apply to become a disciple of a rabbi, learning to copy that rabbi in every way. The rabbi would grill the kid to see if he was worth the investment. If accepted, the kid would join that rabbi’s band of disciples and follow him everywhere.

Then, about the age of 30, you would be considered a rabbi and would begin your own teaching and training of disciples. That, of course, is when Jesus began his public ministry. But Jesus, instead of choosing from the “best of the best,” chose lowly fishermen who probably washed out at age 10. In the eyes of other rabbis, he probably chose poorly.

All of this is fascinating background and sheds enormous light on Jesus’ childhood and the whole nature and perception of his public ministry.

And that’s what makes me mad.

Why hadn’t I ever heard this before? I’ve sat through thousands of sermons and Sunday school classes and seminars, and I’ve never heard this. This is a fundamental understanding of Jewish culture and rabbinical ministry, and it illuminates so much of what was happening with Jesus and his merry band of followers. Do we just keep regurgitating the same information? Hadn’t anyone bothered to explore education in Jesus’ time?

I’ve got a stack of books by Christians about how to lead small groups. They all say basically the same thing‚Äîsame principles, same advice, same methods (except for Em Griffin, who does plow new ground). One time I was in a public library and discovered some secular books on small group dynamics. I browsed through a couple and discovered all kinds of stuff I’d never seen before. Fascinating insights into group behavior. Do Christian authors just keep recycling and repackaging stuff already written by other Christian authors?

Well, thanks, Rob Bell, for teaching me something truly new. Assuming that your info is accurate.

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Tabatha Lamb – Back from Vietnam

Tabatha and BikeTabatha Lamb spoke briefly at Anchor this morning. That’s her on the left. Anchor supports three Taylor University-Fort Wayne graduates, all girls, who now serve on the mission field–in Azerbaijan, Haiti, and Vietnam. Tabatha spent a lot of time at Anchor doing volunteer work during her college days. Last summer, she went to Vietnam–to Hanoi. Tabatha is one of my heroes.

The work is very difficult–very few Christians, deep cultural opposition to converting to Christianity. She told me of one young woman who had become a Christian and was involved in Bible studies, growing in her faith. But because of opposition from family and friends, she gave it up, renounced everything, and will now state sincerely that while she used to be a Christian, she is not anymore. Stuff like that must be highly discouraging.

Tabatha spoke for only a couple of minutes, and then showed a nine-minute DVD, a collage of photos from her time in Vietnam (she’s going back, by the way). I viewed those photos through two filters, which I should explain first.

1. I grew up during the Vietnam War, and the constant barrage of information from the government and media implanted, deeply, certain impressions of the Vietnamese, especially those in the North with whom we were at war. They were barbaric, psychotic even. No regard for human life. Cruel, primitive, fearless. No hint of being civilized. Attacking with reckless, wild-eyed frenzy. As an adult I know those descriptions aren’t accurate. But that’s what I picked up as an impressionable, patriotic kid.

Tabatha with 3 others
2. A few days ago I finished the novel “The Sorrow of War,” written by a former North Vietnamese soldier. The author, Bao Ninh, entered the war in 1969 as part of what was called the Glorious 27th Youth Brigade. Of the 500 who went to war, only 10 survived. Bao Ninh’s novel tells the story of a soldier. It is a bit tricky to read, since it jumps back and forth from pre-war, to post-war, to the present, to the war years itself. The book is non-partisan, neither pro-Vietnamese nor anti-American (actually, they do much more fighting with the South Vietnamese than with American troops). The book stirred controversy in Vietnam, since it didn’t portray Vietnamese troops as heroic and noble. But the book achieved international acclaim because of its honesty. The protagonist, Kien, deals with family issues, a girlfriend, the post-war effects of years of bloodshed, fear, despair, hopes and dreams, earning a living, and much more which left me feeling a kinship with Kien. He was just a normal person and a normal soldier (neither bloodthirsty nor particularly heroic), a man who survived the war and had to get on with life. At heart, Kien wasn’t unlike me.

So I watched Tabatha’s photos with a eye for the everyday humanity of the Vietnamese people. Most of the photos were of young people. The Vietnam War ended in 1975; they fought in Cambodia in 1978 to remove the Khmer Rouge from power, and then fought off an invasion of nearly 100,000 Chinese soldiers. But all of that was nearly 30 years ago. Most of the people in Tabatha’s slides appeared younger than that. They smiled a lot–much more than even American kids smile, I thought to myself. They played games, danced, ate, dressed up, mugged for the camera, and laughed.

Tabatha - party

Tabatha labeled this photo “No Electricity Party”

I looked at some of the young men in her photos, and thought of news reports from the 1960s and 1970s showing American soldiers herding captured Vietnamese soldiers. These guys in Tabatha’s photos, so full of smiles, could have been those so-long-ago POWs, whom I viewed as barbaric, uncivilized, bloodthirsty, and hateful. What was I to do with these pictures of young men who seemed wholly likeable?

I’m not passing judgment on the war and our involvement. That was an entirely different time. You can’t lay the present over those years and render analysis. The Vietnamese did horrible things, and American soldiers did horrible things. That’s what war does to people.

But in Tabatha’s photos, I was looking at peace. As I watched these fun-loving people with the ready smiles, I mused that this was the natural state of people. To laugh, to enjoy each other, to live in peace. Whether they are Asian, African, Palestinian, Russian, or American–young people yearn to smile. We are made for peace. We are made to smile. But we are also made to love Christ, and that’s the crucial element that the Vietnamese are missing. I’m glad Tabatha’s trying to do something about it.

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