One Minute Review: A Serious Man
One Minute Review: A Serious Man from Thomas McKenzie on Vimeo.
One Minute Review: A Serious Man from Thomas McKenzie on Vimeo.
This entry was posted on Friday, November 6th, 2009 at 2:26 am by Thomas McKenzie and is filed under Story. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
So I was having a bad day. I woke up, for no apparent reason, at 5:30 in the morning, and my brain was already two hours ahead of my body. It was the kind of day that usually lands me in front of the mirror with a mental baseball bat. But on this day, I did not have the wisdom to walk away in defense. Instead, I moved in closer for a beat down. My arms would not reach up to fight, but remained stubbornly, helplessly at my sides. My face, totally unprotected from the oncoming head blow, narrowly dodged clear at the very last second, and I closed my eyes in relief. A minute or two passed and I gained strength enough to push away from the glass and head for the safety of my computer. I put my head down and got to work, hoping to shake off the shadows, but an hour later I found myself crying through the proofread because I hated every single letter on the screen.
Here is a small excerpt from John Piper’s excellent book Don’t Waste Your Life (which you can read here for free, or buy here for a pittance) wherein he expresses thankfulness for Clive Staples Lewis and details some of the ways he has cleared a path for us all. I’ll only add that I vigorously concur, and that JP is among the very few men who rank with CSL for impact in my own life. -sam
Someone introduced me to Lewis my freshman year with the book, Mere Christianity. For the next five or six years I was almost never without a Lewis book near at hand. I think that without his influence I would not have lived my life with as much joy or usefulness as I have. There are reasons for this.
He has made me wary of chronological snobbery. That is, he showed me that newness is no virtue and oldness is no vice. Truth and beauty and goodness are not determined by when they exist. Nothing is inferior for being old, and nothing is valu¬able for being modern. This has freed me from the tyranny of novelty and opened for me the wisdom of the ages. To this day I get most of my soul-food from centuries ago. I thank God for Lewis’s compelling demonstration of the obvious.
Heaven knows why it has taken me so long to write a little something about this album, the newest EP from friend and soul sister, Julie Lee. Julie and I met several years ago at a friend’s house and found immediate ease in conversation and a unique connection; sparks of light and magic hung lightly in the air around our collision. It was one of those instances where you know for sure that the God of the Universe meant for you to meet this one particular human being out of the millions that He created. I know that sounds a little dramatic, but I like drama (the good kind only, please) and am grateful when I find it happening in my little life.
Browsing the shelves of wicked-cool used bookstore here in Nashville, McKay Books, I happened upon Kathleen Norris’s (The Cloister Walk, Dakota, Amazing Grace) latest, Acedia & Me. Though I had no idea she had a new book out, the cheap sticker price for a primo first edition (Note: you will recall from a previous post that I have a more than slight affinity for used bookstores and, especially, first editions) was an easy decision. The title itself was mildly intriguing since I was vaguely familiar with the word, “acedia”, but of which I knew very little. The subtitle, “A Marriage, Monks, and A Writer’s Life”, though hardly an enticing, round-em-up, gather-em-in slogan, is true to Ms. Norris’ midwestern style, neither flamboyant nor melodramatic.
Acedia, coined the “noonday demon” by the early monastics, is the absence of care when life becomes overly challenging, repetitious and boring, while engagement with other people is too demanding. In short, it is spiritual apathy, and is described as a weariness of soul. Though it is not readily a part of the modern scientific lexicon, acedia, in today’s culture, is generally lumped in with depression and the sin of sloth, one of the supposed seven deadly sins. We treat it with medication, just like everything else. But, as Norris continually illuminates, acedia possesses spiritual roots, and, thus, can ultimately only be treated with spiritual attention and resolve.
I’ve been hearing about this children’s Bible called The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones for a year or so now, first from Ben Shive, then from a smattering of others whose opinions I respect on such matters. One night last week Jamie and I were putting our sweet Skye to bed (she’s 6 now), and we were talking to her about Christmas. I’d been gearing up to leave for tour and with the first Sunday of Advent fast approaching we wanted to find out what she thought. Jamie asked her who was born on Christmas morning, and Skye answered, “Um…Noah?”
Russ Bremeier at Christianity Today:
“One track he’s an evocative poet, the next a storyteller, and before long he’s singing praise to the Lord—all within the same album. Though he resides in the same folk-pop vein throughout, he varies his scope from song to song (like Mullins) and thus more fully articulates Christian living than most of today’s …
Is there a qualitative difference between learning a song from your Grandfather and downloading a song from iTunes, from getting a recipe online and pulling out the yellowing paper of an old, family recipe? Ken Myers answers in the affirmative, channeling C.S. Lewis when he discusses the need for thoughtful Christians to consider not only content in what we appreciate in art, but also how we receive it.
Myers, in his excellent book All God’s Children and Blue-Suede Shoes, points out that while Christians have been very sensitive to the content of movies, music and other art forms, we have been less discriminating about how art comes to us and what that process can help us become. We have counted the references to the name of Jesus in music (at rough estimation, repeated about 9,000 times in many Praise and Worship songs) and we have checked for how many so-called “curse words” there are in films, but we have failed to recognize our increasing tendency to fracture and disconnect from our own history and community in how we receive art. Often we see art only as a vehicle for moralism and this has issued in some pretty crummy results. And by art I mean music, painting, drawing, writing, etc. Myers (and Lewis) argue that we need to receive art in a different way than we are being trained to by our culture (increasingly autonomous in the modern era) and I think he is right.
The other night my wife and I had the opportunity to see Charlie Peacock in concert. The Art*Music*Justice tour, featuring Sarah Groves, Derek Webb, Sandra McCracken, Brandon Heath and Charlie, had an off day in Kansas City. So Charlie set up a house show with just him and his piano in the upstairs art gallery of the world’s most perfect Christian bookstore, Signs of Life, in downtown Lawrence, Kansas. (No kidding. Not a Scripture mint to be found, but huge sections on art, history, classics and local writers. There’s one wall devoted to the puritans, and another to Walker Percy, Flannery O’Connor and the like. Dangerous.)
Now you need to know for those formative years bridging high school and college, Charlie provided the soundtrack for my life. So there’s my bias. There was one record in particular which made me want to write, sing and play guitar. In fact, it planted in me a desire to make art and live artistically during that window of life when I was considering, in many ways for the first time, what I wanted to do and become.

Back in 1994 I was living as a student in Jerusalem. A roommate of mine had this book called “The Living.” He was just finishing when I first saw him reading it. I asked him if it was any good. In a non sequitur kind of way, he said, “Look at this picture on the cover.” It was an old plate picture of a family of loggers in the American northwest, circa 1900 or so. I couldn’t stop studying that image with fascination. It seemed to capture an era we’ll only imagine– men and children with axes and saws beside a clapboad shack beside fallen redwoods with trunks six feet thick.
I judged the book by its cover. And while Annie Dillard didn’t take the picture, write about the picture or probably even select the picture, that photo of a world that seemed to be teeming with a secret knowledge of how hard life is brought me into Dillard’s world, which carries that same secret, along with a secret knowledge of how glorious life is at the same time.
Mystery. Intrigue. Drugs, dark secrets, the decay of the will, and the transforming power of God’s love sown by a single man to a harvest of redemption.
That’s Donal Grant. George MacDonald has an uncanny gift for unzipping a reader’s heart, dropping in all kinds of mind-expanding and life-altering thoughts, and then zipping it all right back up.
My favorite book I’ve read this year was initially only a curiosity piece I perused while killing time in a Barnes & Noble. I had recently bought Unchristian – a book that offers an insightful look at how outsiders of the faith view the church – by David Kinnaman & Gabe Lyons, but decided I needed a mental break and started looking for something a little lighter. I’m not inclined to reach for humor books, but the cover of a book featuring a man dressed in Old Testament garb and looking earnestly heavenward with the ten commandments in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other proved irresistible. I picked it up, thumbed through the pages and found myself laughing out loud in the aisle at Barnes & Noble – another uncharacteristic behavior for me.
Who knows? Maybe it was my tour induced exhaustion, or maybe it was the Vietnamese food I’d just had for lunch with a few friends, but for whatever reason I left the store with a hardcover of The Year Of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow The Bible As Literally As Possible by A.J. Jacobs tucked under my arm (after paying for it, of course - thou shalt not steal, you know).
A.J. Jacobs is the editor of Esquire Magazine and the author of Know It All: One Man’s Humble Attempt To Become The Smartest Man In The World, a book he wrote chronicling his experience of reading the entire Encyclopedia Britannica. He is also a self-proclaimed agnostic who decided the only worthy book to follow the Encyclopedia Britannica project would be the book of all books: the Good Book.
The Yellow Leaves: A Miscellany, the new book from my favorite author, Frederick Buechner, was released on June 16th. I added it to my Amazon shopping cart when I first heard about it from the Proprietor and Eric Peters, after they heard Buechner read a couple excerpts during the grand opening of the Frederick Buechner Institute back in January (which also featured a concert by Michael Card, with AP opening for him).
The blurb on the back of The Yellow Leaves from John Wilson, editor of Books and Culture, perfectly describes it: “Heartbreaking, sardonic, whimsical, elegiac, crazy-funny: this is a book to be sipped like a rare wine, the last bottle of a fabled vintage, brought up from the cellar for our delectation.”
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One listen to Ben Shive’s debut The Ill-Tempered Klavier will provide obvious evidence of why this young man has secured the respect of peers and colleagues on the inside of the Nashville music community. With The Ill-Tempered Klavier, Shive’s skills are now planted in the public garden.
Heretofore, there have been unsubtle hints: Andrew Osenga pronouncing Shive as his favorite songwriter, Andrew Peterson naming him as producer of The Far Country, his ubiquitous presence as a studio piano ace on a wide range of mainstream CCM records, Sara Groves choosing him to produce her next record, and the majestic arranging of the strings for Andrew Peterson’s Behold the Lamb of God, The True Tall Tale of the Coming of Christ. Like a fast growing wildflower, Shive seems to pop up everywhere, though always in the background. Now, the secret is out. Raise the curtain on Ben Shive.
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I just stumbled on a copy of O’Connor’s complete short stories at a used bookstore here in Nashville and listed it in the Rabbit Room store. Years ago a friend bought me this same edition and I read it with a sense of creepy amazement; it was like nothing I’d ever read. I knew Chris Slaten was a big fan of her work so I asked him to write a recommendation for the book. We only have one copy, so if you click here and can’t find it, someone beat you to the punch.
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This collection is essential to both long time fans and first time readers interested in the work of Flannery O’Connor. My first time to read a handful of her short stories I was helpless to interpret them. One would expect that reading the 1950’s work of a female “Christ-centered” southern fiction writer would be a simple, modest or at least predictable experience.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Several people in the last few weeks have commented to me about how glad they are that they discovered Wangerin’s The Book of the Dun Cow here in the Rabbit Room. It really is a remarkable book, and I still can’t recommend it highly enough. It won the prestigious National Book Award when it was first published in 1978, and was only the beginning of Wangerin’s career.
I just stumbled on his most recent novel, Saint Julian, and was so captured by it that it bumped aside the other four books I’m reading. Last Sunday afternoon–a perfect Spring day–I sat on my front porch swing and read the last half of the book, savoring the careful prose, the pastoral tone, and even the look and feel of the book itself. The cover illustration fits the epic, vivid quality of the story perfectly, and the fonts (I’m a sucker for a great font) added just the right atmosphere.
The musical bumper sticker on my car during the ol’ college years would have definitely read “I’d Rather Be Listening To Acoustic Music.” Therein was my initial foray into the early careers of Square Peg artists like our own Proprietor. I found great enjoyment in the Texan college worship scene (early Crowder, Robbie Seay, Justin Barnard, anyone?). And the great unknown (acoustic) rock over which I stumbled came in the form of Jill Phillips.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
But once a year the Sea Dragons sing just off the coast of Glipwood. With their song, life reasserts itself in the hearts of Skreeans who have long since learned to numb themselves:
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Andy Gullahorn is funny, but he’s also one of the more serious lyricists I’ve come to enjoy in a while. Listening to Reinventing the Wheel, you come to understand that he is more than a good songwriter. He is a craftsman. He knows what he’s doing, where he’s going, and where he’s taking his hearers.But as I said, people say Andy Gullahorn is funny. They say that, I think, because he makes them laugh. But as for me, I’m calling it nervous laughter.
Yes, I just said that the Book of Job is emotionally unsatisfying. Several people have disagreed with me, which came as a surprise to me. Do others think that the Book of Job is emotionally satisfying? Does it answer the big questions in a way that puts your heart at rest?
I would have to agree that, if we are honest, the book of Job is emotionally unsatisfying. Did Job know why God allowed such horrible things to happen? Was he ever told about the conversation between God and Satan? Maybe not. Like you said, I can’t imagine that Job’s heart was put to rest concerning the big questions that he had. Maybe his heart was just put to rest concerning the bigger question of the character of God.
It does seem interesting that the “open-endedness” of Job seems to resonate with these Coen films.
Overall, did you like the film?
Just got back from it. I loved it. The actors were great, the script was wonderful, and it kept my eyes glued to the screen. The existential questions that each rabbi brought up were great.
I did call what the final rabbi would have. Score!
I’ve really enjoyed the 1-minute reviews, and have found them insightful and enjoyable. Thanks so much for doing them!
I actually think Job is one of the most emotionally satisfying answers to the problem of evil and pain I’ve ever found. I agree that it’s a very difficult book, and I think it took a long time for me to find it satisfying, but now I do. What I find satisfying about it is precisely that it ultimately does not offer a philosophical answer to the question of evil. Job asks all his questions, and the only answer he gets is God. But he does get the direct attention of the Creator, and he gets the Creator’s own lavish descriptions of His work. If God attends so faithfully to creation, if He pours out such mysterious power on stars and dust and Leviathan, is He not also attending to us? As an agnostic friend of mine said, Job gets roughly the answer, “There is a design. Here’s the Designer.”
This might still be emotionally unsatisfying, though, if there weren’t a second Christian answer to the problem of evil, one which is also not propositional, or not mainly so. The best answer I’ve ever found to the problem of pain is God, in a body, on a cross. Pain is not ultimately a philosophical problem, and God’s answer is not ultimately a philosophical answer. In sharing our suffering, our blood and sweat and sorrow, God offers not explanation but understanding - and ultimately, rescue.
Hannah
I can’t wait to see this movie again.
I’m with Hannah T-Mac. Like I said on FB its not about emotional satisfaction, its about wisdom. Life in general is not emotionally satisfying because we live in a Fallen world shot through with the effects of our sin. We will not find our rest in any sense until we find our rest in Him. Maranatha!
Job does remind me of another Cohen brother’s movie that I saw in college — Blood Simple. That is a story where the audience knows more than the characters — so its frustrating from a narrative standpoint. But in the case of Job, we are meant to learn something not just be touched or provoked by it. Job falls into the context of Wisdom literature, so its not just some story we read and give it our thumbs up or thumbs down.
However, I’ll take your bait and venture another question.
Was Lord of The Rings emotionally satisfying to you? I think Tolkien dives into similar issues with that great work. Frodo goes from his idyllic life in the Shire and by the end of the story he’s not able to return to it – unlike Job. The scars Frodo carries have ruined that for him. I don’t like that, but in the context of the story, it was necessary for the survival of his people and all the others saved by his sacrifice. He dies to that life in order that his servant Sam can live. Sam didn’t like it either, but he did live and I’d daresay he lived much better knowing the price that was paid for his freedom.
But that still might beg the question, why? Why suffer at all? I agree, but it goes back to this line from Job in chapter 13 “Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him;” God is our only hope and that hope finds its fullness in Christ alone. He is the only One we can find completely satisfiying in heart, soul, mind, and strength because He is the only One who loves us completely. While sin and its allies (the World and the Devil) may cause pain in this life — this is but a mist James tells us that will soon disappear and to quote Sam “all the sad things will come untrue.” Can’t get much better than that, eh?
I really liked the thoughts here. Thanks
Hanna - thanks for that comment. I will take it with me.
And I do need to do some rereading of the Lord of the Rings.
Actually, I think The Lord of the Rings might be the most emotionally satisfying thing I’ve ever read. And I don’t mean that as hyperbole.
I agree with Pete. LorR is entirely satisfying. Perhaps overly satisfying, with its multiple endings. And as to Pete’s concern about my enjoyment of the movie, I’m trying to let folks know if they will like the movie or not. I think that folks will be all over the place, depending on how they respond to something like Job. Or perhaps Waiting for Godot.
I personally liked the film but didn’t love it. There were too many things about it that distracted me for me to really love it. I enjoyed the comedic parts, and I resonated with the frustration of the main character. I especially liked the advice of the three Rabbis, none of whom were in the least bit helpful to me (though I was actually expecting them to be). And that is the funny thing about this movie, and about Job. I want there to be an answer, and I actually expect that someone will eventually give it to me. But the only answer I’m going to get from these sources is “you just don’t understand.” Which I already knew.
I agree that Christ is the only answer to these questions. God telling Job to shut up isn’t satisfying to me. God becoming like Job and suffering like Job, and past Job, now THAT is satisfactory. Most of the time, at least.
God telling Job to shut up isn’t satisfying to me.
T-Mac, that’s how you interpret this passage from Job?
Job 40:1-6ff
The LORD said to Job:
“Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct him?
Let him who accuses God answer him!”
Then Job answered the LORD :
“I am unworthy—how can I reply to you?
I put my hand over my mouth.
I spoke once, but I have no answer—
twice, but I will say no more.”
Then the LORD spoke to Job out of the storm:
“Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.
Then from 40:8 through chapter 41God gives a series of questions to Job to which Job replies in chapter 42:
Then Job replied to the LORD :
“I know that you can do all things;
no plan of yours can be thwarted.
You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?’
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know.
“You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.’
My ears had heard of you
but now my eyes have seen you.
Therefore I despise myself
and repent in dust and ashes.”
That is hardly “shut up!” At least not from God. Now, you could say Job tells himself to shut up, but even that seems a bit abrupt.
There is frustration in a narrative like this for the reader because we know more about the details of the story than its characters, but that’s the point, we know more of the story and are expected to learn from it and in most casees, like Job, repent.
I would submit, for Frodo, his story was frustrating like Job’s story. A lot of narratives work off this type of tension – especially great stories like these two.
There is a great cartoon short of LOTR where they just take those eagles and fly over to Mount Doom to destroy the ring. Very quick, no need for any sort of suffering on any one’s part. It’s all neat and tidy.
I read a book many years back by Peter Kreeft called “Making Sense Of Suffering”. In the chapter entitled “Seven Clues From Artists” he references Job. Here’s some of what he says:
“…[Suffering] leads to wisdom in the long run but not in the short run…short-range folly is a price worth paying for long-range wisdom. Job, the classic sufferer, admits his pain makes his words unwise: “My suffering is more than I can bear. What wonder then that my words are wild?” Yet Job learned from his suffering and from his folly. (Yes, folly. We are all fools, and no one more than one who thinks he is not.) And we can learn too. In the end, as we saw in our fairy tale, we ourselves, like Job, admit that it was worth it.
But why was it worth it? Why is wisdom worth suffering for? Why is wisdom worth more than pleasure? Why is foolishness worse than pain?
Because of what we are. We are not animals. We are human beings, with minds, souls, spirits, wills, psyches. Wisdom is the food of our souls. Without it, we starve. Just as hunters make sacrifices and endure suffering in order to capture prey and get food to survive, so do we philosophers, we hunters of wisdom, that far more elusive and far more precious quarry.
But why is it necessary to sacrifice? Why do we learn wisdom only the hard way, by suffering? Why are we such poor learners, such fallen creatures?
Here the paradise lost story comes in. The clues are beginning to fit together and make up a coherent picture. Whether the picture is true or not is up to you to decide. “
Good stuff, I’m going to have to go back and re-read this one. I love Kreeft.
If you’ve not read or heard of him, here’s a great lecuture he did on LOTR a few years back:
http://www.peterkreeft.com/audio/28_lotr_christianity.htm