There go the ships

Howard Moltz, who died a year or so ago, was a professor at the University of Chicago.

His field was biopsychology, but he had a side interest in the Hebrew scriptures, which is how I ended up in two of his classes. He taught two of the most radical parts of the Bible: the books of the prophets, and Job and Ecclesiastes, which challenge the goodness of God in a world of evil and seeming futility.

It was Mr. Moltz (no one at the U of C went by "Prof." or "Dr.") who introduced me to the Biblia Hebraica and the Oxford University Hebrew-English dictionary, both of which I would eventually study myself. He pointed out many interesting things in the Bible that another reader might have overlooked.

Recently I was reading Psalm 104, and came across this verse about God making the sea and its creatures: "There go the ships, and Leviathan that you made to sport in it."

Leviathan is the mythological sea monster, but from the divine perspective, he is like "God's rubber duck."

That's what Mr. Moltz said.
May his memory be a blessing.

Reading: The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan

Grand Canyon

Grand Canyon is a movie ("The Big Chill for the '90s") about an ensemble of people, all of whom go to the Grand Canyon in Arizona and experience something bigger than themselves.

It is also a song by Susan Ashton, in which the Grand Canyon represents the gulf between the human and the divine.

I was at the bottom of the Grand Canyon on Holy Saturday, the day when, according to Christian tradition, Jesus was harrowing hell. From down there, in the heat, looking up, I heard Susan Ashton's song a different way. It felt to me like being somewhere so big was rather like being very close to God.

Reading: Dupont Circle by Paul Kafka-Gibbons
The Gospel of John
The Vision of Theodorus Verax by Bryce Blair

The eighteenth century

I am not a formal student of literature. In fact, I've taken exactly one English class since high school, and that was only to impress a girl.

The "long" eighteenth century (starting in the 1660s) was a great time for literature, though. Women were back on the stage, Nell Gwynn was running around with the king of England, the novel was invented, and satire bloomed. The comedy of manners (with character names like Flit and Flounce, the women of the town) came over from continental Europe. Life was good.

Reading: William Wycherley
The Gentleman Dancing-Master
The Country Wife
The Plain Dealer (not to be confused with the Cleveland newspaper of the same title)

Blessed Assurance

A Moral Tale
by Allan Gurganus

You've got to hand it to this guy: he can do titles. Naming this story after a Fanny J. Crosby hymn is a stroke of something close to genius. And a book called Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All, well...

Read. Read, read, read.

Everything that rises must converge

What can I say about Flannery O'Connor? Known for one novel (Wise Blood) and some of the most admired short stories certainly of twentieth-century America, she was a Southerner who almost never left home, except for a brief stint in New York as, of all things, an advertising copywriter.

She was Roman Catholic and a fierce moral sensibility infuses her work, but it can't be called "religious" or even hopeful.

Her stories are terribly bleak, yet a descriptive line can cut so sharply I find myself laughing out loud.

She had autoimmune disease and died at the age of thirty-nine.

She's quotable as hell, but I will limit myself to one: "What people don't realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross. It is much harder to believe than not to believe. If you feel you can't believe, you must at least do this: keep an open mind. Keep it open toward faith, keep wanting it, keep asking for it, and leave the rest to God."

- Habit of Being

Much more at http://blog.wfmu.org/freeform/2006/08/i_hear_you_got_.html

Reading: The Workshop: Seven Decades of the Iowa Writers' Workshop
The Gospel of Luke

High tech

For someone who learned to type on a Royal manual standard typewriter that weighed about as much as I did at the time, computers are a wonderful thing.

To be sure, I can't quite get over the feeling that a computer is *work*. Spending my evenings downloading music files, or "surfing the Net" (a phrase that is now years old and so might as well date from ancient Greece), holds little appeal. The usefulness of computers for the business of writing, though, is undeniable. Researching anything is much easier with the Internet than it ever was before. There is no excuse for not knowing an editor's name when the publisher has a Web site.

And, of course, there's the unprecedented and amazing possibility that someone I've never heard of--or have, and admire--or someone who wouldn't write me a letter if you tied a pen to his or her hand--will see a blurb or a post and e-mail: Hey, how interesting, what else have you got?

Reading: Mark

Ash Wednesday

"Surely, if there is sin, it must be that--to throw life away as if it were nothing."
--Tomorrow's Promise