Archive for the ‘Books’ Category

Sacred Cows and The Calf Path

Sunday, October 21st, 2012

Depending on which account you read, Mark Twain or a Commissioner of Education for the State of New York or Abbie Hoffman once said that sacred cows make the best hamburger. While a pithy soundbite like this is full of fun and easy to recall, it doesn’t have half the charm and depth of ‘The Calf Path’, a poem by Sam Walter Foss, which tackles the same theme far more eloquently. I came across the poem whilst reading Julie Ferwerda’s Raising Hell, which explores and questions the notion of hell in Christian doctrine.

The Calf Path

One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;

But made a trail all bent askew, 
A crooked trail as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled, 
And, I infer, the calf is dead.

But still he left behind his trail, 
And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day, 
By a lone dog that passed that way.

And then a wise bell-wether sheep, 
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep;

And drew the flock behind him too, 
As good bell-wethers always do.

And from that day, o’er hill and glade. 
Through those old woods a path was made.

And many men wound in and out, 
And dodged, and turned, and bent about;

And uttered words of righteous wrath, 
Because ’twas such a crooked path.

But still they followed – do not laugh – 
The first migrations of that calf.

And through this winding wood-way stalked, 
Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane, 
that bent, and turned, and turned again.

This crooked lane became a road, 
Where many a poor horse with his load,

Toiled on beneath the burning sun, 
And traveled some three miles in one.

And thus a century and a half, 
They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet, 
The road became a village street;

And this, before men were aware, 
A city’s crowded thoroughfare;

And soon the central street was this, 
Of a renowned metropolis;

And men two centuries and a half, 
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout, 
Followed the zigzag calf about;

And o’er his crooked journey went, 
The traffic of a continent.

A Hundred thousand men were led, 
By one calf near three centuries dead.

They followed still his crooked way, 
And lost one hundred years a day;

For thus such reverence is lent, 
To well established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach, 
Were I ordained and called to preach;

For men are prone to go it blind, 
Along the calf-paths of the mind;

And work away from sun to sun, 
To do what other men have done.

They follow in the beaten track, 
And out and in, and forth and back,

And still their devious course pursue, 
To keep the path that others do.

They keep the path a sacred grove, 
Along which all their lives they move.

But how the wise old wood gods laugh, 
Who saw the first primeval calf!

Ah! many things this tale might teach – 
But I am not ordained to preach.

Henhouse and heritage

Tuesday, October 2nd, 2012

Although I’m on leave this week, there is a lot that needs doing around the place. Guilt and the stern gaze of SWMBO has so far prevented me from just loafing on the couch with a book and I have been gainfully employed each day working through the ‘Honey, do!’ list.

As mentioned last week, Wendy bought a well worn but sound homemade shed from a guy at the other end of the district.  Although well built from treated timber, having seen action first as a playhouse for his kids and then a mansion for their rabbits, it has seen better days.

After a morning spent ferrying the womenfolk around the shops of West Auckland, this afternoon was ear-marked for cleaning up the shed. After the best part of three hours with a Karcher pressure washer, the Palais de Poulet stood gleaming in the afternoon sun and I was encrusted in all manner of filth I’d rather not think about.

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Le Palais de Poulet –  before

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Le Palais de Poulet –  after

Hopefully, the weather will hold and I can do a few repairs and set about converting it into Wendy’s dream chook house.  I’ll also need to give some serious consideration to how I’m to get it over the fence and into position in the home paddock – I suspect I shall need to call upon the services of Johnny and his tractor.

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As I have already said, I was also keen to do more reading this week. Long weekdays in the office interspersed with evenings and weekends doing stuff around the farm have meant I’m barely able to get a page read before my eyelids close. As usual, I have a few books on the go on my Kindle but fancied tucking into a book for my week off – which was just as well as when I popped over to see my friend and neighbour Johnny last week, he handed me two books he had borrowed from his Dad.  Coming from a family that have farmed here for years and knowing that I was interested in leaning more about local history, he had picked them up for me when seeing his folks. 

The one I’m reading at the moment is a first edition copy of ‘Men Came Voyaging’, a detailed history of the town of Helensville (which celebrates its 150th year this year) and the surrounding area including where we live. It was written by Colleen M. Sheffield, a local resident and talented Maori writer who lost her life in a tragic bus accident on Brynderwyn Hill on Waitangi Day in 1963.

Written in celebration of Helensville’s centennial year, the book was the culmination of extensive and painstaking research by Sheffield. It covers the entire history of the district—the formation of the earliest forests and sandhills, the complicated Maori history and the changes brought by the Pakeha settlers. I was intrigued to learn that, depending on your theological / evolutionary outlook, the hillside upon which we now live is actually a silted-up sea cliff dating from the Pleistocene period one million years ago.

While sometimes hard to follow, the chapters on Maori settlement were enlightening, detailing the travels and land struggles between Ngapuhi and Ngati Whatua iwi.  Our home is between two of the southern most Ngati Whatua marae (meeting area) at Haranui and Rewiti on the side of Tauwhare Maunga (mountain).

I’m looking forward to the coming chapters and learning more about this beautiful valley that we live in.

On being asked to dry dishes for the second time in an hour

Monday, February 13th, 2012

Like many I suspect, I used to wonder what ‘dying to yourself‘ meant when I heard it bandied about in books or conversations about Christian faith and living.  The following helped my understanding when I first read it – and still does.

“I was in San Francisco recently staying at this bed and breakfast place for people who are in the city to do ministry. It was a small house, but there were probably fifteen people living there at the time. The guy who ran the place, Bill, was always making meals or cleaning up after us, and I took note of his incredible patience and kindness. I noticed that not all of us did our dishes after a meal, and very few people thanked him for cooking. One morning, before anybody woke up, Bill and I were drinking coffee at the dining room table. I told him I lived with five guys and that it was very difficult for me because I liked my space and needed my privacy. I asked him how he kept such a good attitude all of the time with so many people abusing his kindness. Bill set down his coffee and looked me in the eye. “Don,” he said. “If we are not willing to wake up in the morning and die to ourselves, perhaps we should ask ourselves whether or not we are really following Jesus.”

—Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

The passage popped into my head again a short while ago as I headed to the kitchen to dry dishes for the second time in an hour. I hope and pray that I’ll become more like Bill and less like me as time goes on.

God hates all the same people you do

Sunday, January 29th, 2012

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“You can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do”.

– Ann Lamott, quoting her priest friend Tom, in ‘Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life‘.

Reading this a few moments ago pulled me up short; a more succinct reality-check statement would be hard to conceive.  I always appreciate Ann Lamott’s writing; when I read her stuff, it’s like I’m listening to a sister who has seen a lot more and done a lot more than me – and cares enough to share the lessons.

Seeing her quoted always makes me sit up and pay more attention as she invariably polarises folk and provokes debate.  In this case, the quote appeared in a open letter about LGBT and faith issues at play in the current US political race, itself quoted in Scott Miller’s guest post on Donald Miller’s blog.

The Feds are in town!

Sunday, January 22nd, 2012

A day of variety.  Awoke to learn that we seem to have some naughty neighbours.  After a quick tea, hooked up and checked over our trailer before taking it to the vehicle inspection station for its periodic WOF.

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Took a bunch of stuff to read as the queue is always a long one on Saturdays.  Upon arriving, I was surprised to see that there was no queue – until I remembered that this is the weekend of the annual local hot rod show.  While the roads were choked with cars as always, clearly no-one was getting theirs tested, judging by the large number failing checks at the police check point down the road.

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Back home in record time and after fruit salad and coffee, I set to and tackled the ‘honey, do!’ list of tasks requested by SWMBO.  For the record this included:

  • Resurrecting the non-functioning turbine head on our Dyson vacuum cleaner.  Having fiddled with, disassembled, reassembled, tested, disassembled again, disassembled some more, cleaned, dried & re-lubricated the brush & drive components and reassembled again, I fixed the thing. I take my hat off to James Dyson and his design engineers – not only is the vacuum the best we’ve ever had, it is user serviceable and therefore flies in the face of the ‘cheaper to buy a new one’ mentality so prevalent these days.
  • Repairing the grip of the expensive salon-grade hairdryer.
  • Glueing a Dr Scholl’s heel file back together.

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After providing a quick lesson in how to use sandpaper to a crafty daughter making a wooden wall hanging, I jumped on the Brompton to run last night’s DVDs – The Tree of Life and Oranges and Sunshine – back to the store before heading to the library to scoop up a requested book for SWMBO and Brad Meltzer’s The Book of Lies for me.

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Following lunch, I took the smallest and a friend to see The Adventures of Tintin. Great fun and technically brilliant but always felt like it was tailored to favour the 3D version with heaps of in-your-face action and, with its linear plot and set pieces, maximise the spin-off game potential.

Later, after a brief read, a longer nap and a fish supper, we decamped to the home of Canasta-playing friends on a whim when SWMBO decided she wanted to learn to play the game.  Whether it was because I’m tired, was sober due to being the designated driver or simply not the most motivated of card players when it comes to longer games, I struggled from the first hand.  Even with the patient coaching of my mate Paul, I found it hard to match the enthusiasm and growing skill of SWMBO who was under the tutelage of Paul’s wife Tracey.  That said, we somehow won.

Back home and with a glass of red wine consumed, I’m off to bed and to delve into the darkness of Adam.

The unplanned planner

Tuesday, January 10th, 2012

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On occasion, like when I’m on holiday like now, I leave things until the last minute and, just sometimes, it actually works in your favour.

A few years back, I had a great page-a-day daily planner that had daily Scripture verses, devotional thoughts and a whole bunch more stuff (even a reading plan) bound up in a neat book-sized leather-look cover.  Each year since then I have tried in vain to find the same planner, as I liked the layout, appreciated the quality of the binding and enjoyed using the planner.

Today, with a little Christmas gift money in my wallet, I felt a prompting to drop in to a bookstore I have been to once before rather than my regular one run by my friend Bogdan.  No sooner do I walk through the door than I see two copies of a planner sitting on the table by the door.  With a smile I realise that not only is this the planner I have been looking for but also that the store is, in all likelihood, the place I bought the original one three years ago!

Needless to say, I heeded the prompting and took a copy of the planner to the counter.  You can imagine the smile on my face when I was told that it was on discount too!

Funny how things work out, eh?

It’s not what you do that scares me, it’s what you hide.

Thursday, December 8th, 2011

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It’s not what you do that scares me, it’s what you hide is a fine example of why I continue to read – and be challenged by – Donald Miller writes.

picture props: austinwoods14

Pulling things to pieces

Saturday, November 5th, 2011

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Arriving home last Sunday and keen to make the most of the early summer sun, I whipped up a ‘whatever is left in the fridge’ salad and headed for the deck.   Munching away, I was keen to read Frederick J. Tritton’s The Discipline Of Prayer (Pendle Hill Pamphlet No.42) but couldn’t get past this passage on the first page:

We are critical and analytical, rather than appreciative and creative, and this tendency at its worst leads to a habit of pulling things to pieces, including other people’s reputations. Some persons simply cannot resist it, and we are all to some extent infected by the complaint.

While I am not conscious of pulling anyone’s reputation to pieces, I am indeed infected by the same complaint.  I am keen to pursue a simple faith which I can model to others and yet I am often too vocal about my struggle with much of the stuff that ‘religion’ and ‘church’ tends to involve.   On occasion, I find myself over-analysing and criticising rather than being conciliatory and appreciative and I spend a good deal of time wishing I could be more constructive and creative.

I want to be involved in a faith community and be part of seeking a way to tackle the issues that seem to plague ‘church’ as we commonly see and experience it.   However, I struggle to reconcile my belief in God and my faith with the doctrine and the orthodoxy of mainstream religion and I find myself failing to exhibit the behaviours I hope to see in others.  Unlike Paul in 2 Corinthians, I seem unable to find strength or, indeed, even grace in my weakness.

That said, I pursue and seek answers in scripture for, while it is the source of the limitless interpretation, literalism and biblicism that abound, I believe that it is through understanding it better in my own context that I will progress in my journey.

I also read a good deal of non-fiction works on faith and religion to increase my understanding and Tony Jones has recently blogged about two titles which have caught my interest and which I will add to my reading list.  The first is The Bible Made Impossible: Why Biblicism Is Not a Truly Evangelical Reading of Scripture by Christian Smith and the second The King Jesus Gospel: The Original Good News Revisited by Scot McKnight.  They won’t provide the ultimate answer – of that I’m certain – but they may help with the next step of my walk.

 

Rob Bell’s Love Wins

Sunday, May 1st, 2011

Cover of Love Wins by Rob Bell

A mini-review of Rob Bell’s Love Wins, in the style of Rob Bell’s Love Wins.

Yesterday, I bought and read ‘Love Wins’.

Beneath the hype

and the critics’ judgement,

I found intriguing thought,

reasoned argument

and provocative questions.

Challenging? Certainly.

Illuminating? For some.

Important? Maybe.

While Bell is no Luther, Wycliffe or Zwingli, he’s no heretic either.

Escalope à la diable

Sunday, February 13th, 2011

After an afternoon at the beach, we wanted a quick and easy supper.  While the rest of the family opted for chicken fajitas from a packet mix, I converted a great recipe for Blackened Redfish, from my twenty year old copy of Cajun Cooking by Marjie Lambert, to come up with ‘Escalope à la Diable’.  It turned out great and my mouth is still zinging from the flavours and the heat.  Here’s how easy it is.

After beating chicken breasts into escalopes, coat them with the following mix of herbs and spices, freshly ground to a medium consistency in a mortar and pestle.

2 tbsp paprika
1 1/2 tsp sea salt to taste
2 tsp onion granules
2 tsp garlic granules
2 tsp ground cayenne pepper
1 1/2 tsp ground pepper
2 tsp dried oregano leaves
2 tsp dried thyme leaves

Pre-heat your barbecue plate or cast iron pan to the highest temperature.  You’ll need a raging hot barbecue plate or cast iron pan to cook this dish and, if you cook it indoors, make sure the kitchen is very well ventilated.  The first time I cooked this in our tiny apartment kitchen in London, the smoke hit me like riot gas and left me with streaming eyes and nose! Once fiercely hot, cook the escalope on one side until the coating is blackened and the flesh whitened, probably no more than 2 minutes.  Gently turn over and repeat for the other side.  Serve plain with steamed fresh vegetables, flavoured rice or a mixed salad – or serve as a burger with your favourite toppings.