The Battle of Franklin opened this past weekend and I’m exceedingly grateful to all the folks who have worked so hard (and are still working hard) to bring it to the stage. Here’s a behind the scenes video that gives a little more insight into the production. The show runs for two more weeks. Tickets are available at studiotenn.com. You can also purchase a hardcover edition of the script here in the Rabbit Room Store (the concept album is also available).

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics.

Over the next few weeks, we’ll be reading and discussing Bryan Stevenson’s Just Mercy together. Every Tuesday, we’ll post a few questions inspired by the week’s reading. Even if you haven’t read all the chapters, please don’t hesitate to share your thoughts and responses either in the comments below or on this forum thread. Before we get started, a few housekeeping things… Confused by the forums? You’ll find tutorials for everything from registration to setting up notifications in our Welcome thread. When we read Slow Church together last year, a lot of discussion happened in this space, so please be sure to drop by often! We might even have extra questions we couldn’t fit into the blog posts… See our Rabbit Reads recommendation for a quick introduction to the book And if you don’t have a copy yet, you can buy Just Mercy at The Rabbit Room Store Ready? Here are some questions from this week’s reading. We’re looking at the Introduction, and Chapters 1 through 4, highlighting the beginning of Stevenson’s career and the Morrison investigation and trial. Henry gave me a smile and said, “It’s okay, Bryan. Don’t worry about this. Just come back and see me again, okay?” I could see him wince with each click of the chains being tightened around his waist. Stevenson remarked that Henry looked like everyone he’d grown up with. Do prisoners look like people we know? Do they look like us? But there was no evidence against McMillan — no evidence except that he was an African American man involved in an adulterous interracial affair, which meant he was reckless and possibly dangerous, even if he had no prior criminal history and a good reputation. Maybe that was evidence enough. What is the most surprising part of the Morrison murder investigation so far? What doesn’t surprise you? “Put your hands up!” The officer was a white man about my height. In the darkness I could only make out his black uniform and his pointed weapon. I put my hands up and noticed that he seemed nervous. I don’t remember deciding to speak. I just remember the words coming out: “It’s all right. It’s okay.” I’m sure I sounded afraid because I was terrified. What do you anticipate or expect when a police officer approaches you? What would you have done in the situation Bryan faced with the SWAT officers? “All this grievin’ is hard. We can’t cheer for that man you trying to help but don’t want to have to grieve for him, too. There shouldn’t be no more killing behind this.” Think of Rena Mae’s aunt: “We don’t want to have to grieve for him, too.” How does this perspective challenge your perception of justice and of community? Click here to join the conversation at the forum, and find the Book Group Introduction and Reading Schedule here.

I’m six years old and I’m walking into a theater. The cavernous space is so crowded that nearly every seat is taken and we have to sit right in the front row. There are people on the floor in front of us and in the aisles around us as if they are congregated for a tent revival. The buttery smell of popcorn clouds the air and I’m anxious, aware of my own smallness. I’ve heard of the movies, I’ve seen them on TV, but this is new, this vast open space, the crowds of people, the clamor of excitement, the barely restrained hush of expectation. I’m right up at the edge of the towering screen and nervous, wondering what’s about to happen. What have all these people come to see? This is important. This means something. The lights darken, the speakers hiss background static into the air around us. And then, without warning, the screen flashes bright blinding white as a cacophony of noise fills the theater. I’m both terrified and transfixed— —and that’s where the memory ends. In the four decades since that flash of light transfixed me, I’ve often wondered if the memory was real. I couldn’t even remember for sure which movie it was. Was it Star Wars? The Black Hole? Against a Crooked Sky? Maybe it was just a projector malfunction or a Coke commercial. Did it matter? I’ve been in love with the cinema ever since. I tried (and mostly failed) to make my own movies as a kid, and for years I dreamed of film school and a career in movies. But few others seemed to feel as strongly about stories and movies as I did. Kids in school mocked me for all the time I spent reading. And I felt increasingly compelled to write stories of my own to try to articulate something I felt but couldn’t explain. Had I really seen something extraordinary in that flash of light? Or was I just crazy? Either way, I’ve never fallen out of love with the movies, and in lieu of being able to make my own I’ve embraced storytelling through my writing. I’m happy with that (though if I’m honest I’d still jump at the chance to make a movie if the right project came around). A couple of weeks ago I learned that Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind was returning to theaters for its 40th anniversary. I also discovered that my wife had never seen it. If ever there was a date night divinely appointed, this was it. “I can’t miss this,” I told her. We entered the darkened theater and took our seats beneath the towering silver canvas. The lights went out. The screen flashed white. And like critic Anton Ego experiencing his revelatory taste of ratatouille, I was instantly snapped back through space and time into childhood. Noise shattered the darkness. And a latent memory erupted into the present. I was six years old again. Small again. Wonder had awakened before me, around me—within me. This means something. This is important. Close Encounters is a peculiar story of a man set in motion by an encounter with something he can’t explain. It’s full of confusion and arguing and deafening noise. It’s a cacophony of human voices and mechanical clatter that resolves into an epiphany of breathless awe, thunderous music, and light. There may be no other piece of cinema that loses so much in translation to a television screen. The whole point of the film hangs on the experience of being enveloped by its final symphony of sound, color, and wonder. When I walked out of the theater with Jennifer, I realized that in a strange way, the journey of Richard Dreyfuss’s character, Roy, parallels my own. Apart from that opening flash of noise and light, I have no memory of seeing the film as a child, but like Roy, I’ve been haunted by an encounter that I can’t possibly have understood. There’s a moment in the film when the two main characters, Roy and Jillian, are watching events unfold while hidden in the rocks. She’s scared and apologizes because she’s too overwhelmed to go any closer. But Roy can’t withhold himself from the coming apocalypse. “I have to go,” he says apologetically. “I can’t miss this.” I think my wife would be the first to confess that this moment illustrates a facet of my own personality. If we’re out hiking, we’ll often find ourselves having that same conversation as I step away from her to peer over the edge of a cliff or climb a mountainside along the road. I can’t resist the call. I have to see what’s out there. A few years ago NASA announced that anyone who wanted to go to Mars could sign up on their website to be considered for the mission. Even at 40 years old, I had no hesitation. There was no question about whether I was going to sign my name to that list. Jennifer forbade me (as if I’d actually be picked) and a half-joking, half-serious argument ensued. I won’t say whether or not I later signed up without telling her, but I’ll bet you Roy knows what I did. If I look back at my life, I see that way of thinking has informed more than merely my recreation. I joined the military during the Gulf War because I didn’t want to miss the chance to participate in something rare, something bigger than myself (foolish as that might have been). And when Roy accepts the ultimate invitation at the end of Encounters, I find myself wanting to duck my head to follow him up the ramp, to see what he sees. I’d go with him if I could. Right now. When I examine the stories I write, I see they are marked by a series of characters who find resolution when they encounter an inscrutable mystery that invites them into a reality bigger than the one they’ve known. Whether it’s Fin Button wrestling a song with her fiddle, Barnabas Bead following a star, John Thurston staring into the magnanimous eye of a whale, Podo Helmer coming face to face with a sea dragon, or Mint Julep’s whorl of apocalyptic vision, they are all in some measure the children of close encounters (and Close Encounters). They are all marked by moments of otherworldly revelation and awe. This means something. This is important. When I was ten years old, on the last night of church camp, we sat in the orange light of the bonfire and sang until we’d exhausted our kumbayas. An invitation hymn rose up and one by one kids went forward to commit their lives to greatest mystery of all, and I was one of them. I have to go. I can’t miss this. Inscrutable wonder is at the heart of the gospel. Just like Roy, I was called out of the cacophony of my brown and grey life and into a terrifying encounter with light and mystery and music that invites me into ever greater revelation. What is the Incarnation if not an inscrutable wonder? What is the Trinity if not a mystery? And what is the Resurrection if not an invitation to vaster wonders yet unseen? In the final act of the story, we all shall enter the darkened room and wait with anticipation to be bathed in the presence of an uncreated light. We shall rise to stand amid the symphonic music of the spheres and know that something beyond our comprehension has been calling to us across eternity. We shall lose ourselves in awe as we are welcomed into wonder that surpasses all understanding. Forty years ago, Steven Spielberg followed a mystery and created a cinematic vision of light and sound and gave it to my young mind. Is it possible that through such an experience the Maker of Time and Space might have instilled in me a longing not only for that same vision but for the source of it? I think so. I hope so. Isn’t that what art is for? To wake us up and give us words and sounds and images with which we might reach out and brush up against the unknowable? I’ve been all my life on the heels of an encounter scarcely remembered. I intend to follow it into the light. With Roy’s beatific look of childlike awe, I intend one day to leave everything behind and step into the revelation that awaits me. This is important. I can’t miss this. This means everything.

Beginning next Tuesday, September 5th, The Local Show returns for its fall season. We’ve got a stellar line-up for the first show with Eric Peters, Scott Mulvahill, The Arcadian Wild, and Andrew Peterson. Tickets for all shows are now on sale, with complete line-ups soon to be announced. Admission is $10 in advance, $15 at the door, and just $5 for Rabbit Room Members (show your card at the door).

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

For fans of Andrew Peterson’s The Warden And The Wolf King, I now have a slew of fun, official Wolf King clothing and accessory items available for purchase. You can purchase various styles of men’s and women’s t-shirts, hoodies, sweatshirts and more, as well as an entire line of children’s apparel. Each item is printed with variations of my Wolf King logo and icon, used in The Warden And The Wolf King. Also available are clothing items printed with variations of my personal Little Artist Mouse logo. Ceramic artist Eddy Efaw and I received a tremendous response to our Little Artists Mouse-themed mugs and inkwells, so I decided to try out some other items with the theme. Take a look!

Tickets to this years Behold the Lamb of God show at the Ryman just went on sale this morning. This show will sell out. Get your tickets while they last. Click here for the ticketing page.

Sandra McCracken’s new album (and DVD), Steadfast Live, is coming out next week. The album includes live performances of past favorites and five new songs. Here’s the video for the title track. “In the last few years, there has been such a stirring and a change in my process as a songwriter. It becomes less about my own feelings and more about experiencing God’s presence, and wanting to make space for other people to experience God’s presence. And so, the songs are coming more like gospel songs these days. There’s so much more of an exchange of energy, love, and community that happens when we sing together. Gospel songs do that, they pull us up out of the moment we’re in and they promise that the morning is coming.” —Sandra McCracken

The world is only falling apart, so we know you need some humor in your day. Cue this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

A moving glimpse into the mind of a painter and his ever expanding vision, even in the face of going blind. Peripheral asks how the loss of vision has altered his life, work and artistic habit for the worse and the better. Premiered at Third Man Records in Nashville, Tennessee – this documentary explores the struggles of Jimmy Abegg, forced to adapt his craft in light of a disease that will rob him of his sight.

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

And out of left field, here’s a great reflection on art from Jim Carrey. Seriously.

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

A couple of days ago, we announced that we were actively seeking sponsors for Hutchmoot 2017, and while this isn’t anything new, it took some folks by surprise and sparked a few worries about the evolving nature of Hutchmoot and the Rabbit Room. Let me take a few minutes to explain why we welcome sponsors and why it’s a good thing. The Rabbit Room is a non-profit organization. One of the reasons we elected to operate as a non-profit is that we are a missional organization guided by our vision for art, music, story, and community. This means that we often say yes to the creation of books or music or events because we believe in their intrinsic value even though we don’t expect them to earn a profit. The Local Show falls into this category. Rabbit Room Press falls into this category. We operate on a razor-thin margin that only makes sense when donors are willing to support the work we do. What about Hutchmoot? For this four-day conference, we have around 50 speakers and artists and nearly two dozen musicians involved, most of whom are paid for their work, and many of whom are flown in from the far corners of the country and lodged while in town. On top of that, we feed three delicious meals to 400 guests and staff. And there are a legion of behind the scenes details and expenses that most people never imagine. Hutchmoot is a lot of work. And a lot of fun too. And Hutchmoot does pay for itself, and therefore, in a very real way, it’s the means by which things like The Local Show and Rabbit Room Press continue to exist. Hutchmoot is also our most highly visible and influential event. As stewards of the Rabbit Room and its limited resources, we understand that Hutchmoot is an opportunity to allow folks who believe in what we do to partner with us and our audience in order to maintain the health of the entire organization. Last year we were proud to be sponsored by Belmont University, Johnson University, and  Centricity Music. And because of those sponsorships, we had students from those schools coming Hutchmoot, students who otherwise could not have afforded to attend. And Centricity generously gave every single guest a free collection of music because they believe in the community we’ve built and they want to share their community with ours. Admission for students, gifts of music, continuance of The Local Show and other programs and events—we believe these are all good fruits. You may recall that when you attend a performance at the symphony or at your local theater, those events include a program filled with dozens, if not hundreds, of ads that help pay for the performance you came to see. We won’t be filling anything with ads. Don’t worry. And there won’t ever be a McDonalds commercial during a session at Hutchmoot. But we want to invite universities and local businesses and churches and other like-minded organizations and individuals to join the fun, to share their stories, and to get to know you (and vice versa). We’ve got books in the works, and events, and ideas, and programs that we’re anxious bring to fruition, and sponsorship at Hutchmoot is one important way in which we realize those things. The end result is that we get to build a better Rabbit Room for the coming year, and we’re grateful for all the ways in which you, our donors and supporters and, yes, our sponsors, help us make that happen. Hutchmoot 2017 is going to be a great weekend. We hope to see you there, and stay-tuned—even if you didn’t get tickets, you’ll be able to join in some of the fun in other ways yet to be announced. [For more information about Hutchmoot Sponsorship, click here.]

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

Hutchmoot 2017 is actively seeking sponsors who share our vision for building community by drawing people together around art, music, story, and the Gospel. When you become a sponsor, you enable the Rabbit Room to build a better Hutchmoot, but you also join ranks with us as we welcome guests from all over the world to constitute a unique and vibrant community. We believe that community is made up, not only of individuals, but also of likeminded organizations, businesses, and institutions with the aim of ushering in the Kingdom. Sponsorship comes in a variety of forms: Personal Sponsorship: Friends of Hutchmoot If you believe in our mission and want to support Hutchmoot on a personal level, the“Friends of Hutchmoot” program might be right for you, and we’d love to welcome you to the table this October. Click here for more information. Organizational Sponsorship If you’d like to involve your organization or business at Hutchmoot, an Organizational Sponsorship can provide you with an informational table, logo placement, free and discounted admissions, and even the opportunity to speak to our guests directly about your business or organization. Click here for more information. Educational Sponsorship If you work with an educational institution, the Educational Sponsorship is built to provide you with opportunities to spread the word about your institution, as well as the opportunity for your students to experience Hutchmoot firsthand. Click here for more information. If you would like to partner with Hutchmoot this year, we’d like to talk with you in more depth about one of these sponsorship programs. Contact us at info@rabbitroom.com and we’ll be in touch to answer your questions.

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

It may come as a surprise to you, but our new song, “Violet,” (available here) is about a mermaid–or, rather, the existential grappling of a mermaid. Perhaps it isn’t at all surprising that a folk band composed of millennials born and bred during Disney’s golden age would write a song about a mermaid’s inner world, but I feel I should offer an explanation nonetheless. After surviving my sophomore year of college, I bequeathed an intensive summer reading syllabus to my friend, Drew, whose writing you’ve probably seen here at The Rabbit Room (if not, definitely check it out because he’s very good at words). Drew’s assignments for me doled out more nonfiction than I’ve ever ingested within a two-and-a-half-month period, and my curriculum for him exclusively covered fiction, most of which was about death, a minor detail that escaped me at the time (still sorry about that, Drew). Among the pieces I instructed him to read was Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid. Hailing it as superior to the Disney film and an exquisitely written fairytale, I was admittedly a little miffed when Drew informed me that the protagonist, a teenage mermaid without a name, was melodramatic. I had hoped he might be touched by her sensitivity and insightfulness, but it was her wistful sighing and her longing for everything she couldn’t have that he noticed. Consequently, he wrote “Violet” and captured the plight of the emotionally-driven dreamer, whose world is sweetest when it’s sad, whose gifts will never be as precious as their losses. Any dissatisfaction I felt at Drew’s initial response to The Little Mermaid dissolved when I heard “Violet,” because I realized he glimpsed in Andersen’s story a manifestation of fallen humanness that I had never considered before. Violet is so dependent on the safety of unfulfilled hope that she wouldn’t know what to do with a dream come true. It would make her world too big, her adventures too real, her choices more meaningful. She would rather remain short-sighted in her lamenting, because redefining her definitions of joy would require her to grow in ways rewarding albeit none too pleasant. This is exactly the sort of self-indulgent, fearful complacency that keeps us from immersing ourselves in the promises of God and living accordingly, and I say this as someone who has spent ample time being stubbornly sad and decidedly hopeless, so please receive it as a caution rather than an accusation. When we are presented with hope worth believing in, we have to live and act and speak like we aren’t just sad, just aching. That’s not to say all our dreams will come true if we just hope they will and smile a little bit more. Embracing suffering plays an undeniable role in living any life at all, Christian or otherwise. But welcoming pain to the point of forgetting its function in a reality demarcated by Christ’s resurrection is a dangerous and slippery slope. “Violet” is a tongue-in-cheek warning against this, as well as an encouragement to all sadness-savoring, lamenting dreamers who have not yet discovered the richness of giving their dreams and themselves room to grow. The character you encounter in “Violet” may not be an exact interpretation of Andersen’s mermaid, but it is a keen portrait of people. I invite you to give it a listen and a laugh, if the humor tickles you like it does me. I also highly recommend Andersen’s original story, which–on its own and without any additional ranting from me–says plenty about hope and love and suffering, if that sort of thing strikes your fancy. [Download “Violet” here for just 99 cents.]

My good friend Eddy Efaw and I have teamed up to design some custom “signature” coffee mugs and inkwells with my mouse logo on them. Eddy is a talented woodcarver and ceramic artist, and is best known for his amazing Story Warren/Green Ember mugs. Each Sutphin Signature Mug and Inkwell is totally unique, because they are hand thrown. My art has been applied as a print and fired onto the mug permanently. Each inkwell comes with a cork fitted into the opening. We plan to list about 20 mugs and 15 inkwells on Eddy’s Etsy store on Friday 7/14 at 1:00pm Central time. As a word of advice to anyone hoping to purchase something, Eddy’s ceramics typically sell very fast, and we have had a great deal of interest on Instagram, so if you don’t happen to get what you were hoping for, stay tuned. We have plans in place to restock and to list some other designs as well. Thanks! —Joe and Eddy

Click through for this week’s Getting Ethan comics. Follow Getting Ethan on Patreon, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter!

Welcome to The Pivot—stories of people who have made a change. This is the introductory episode in which host Andrew Osenga tells us a bit about the journey that led to the podcast and what you can expect to hear in season one. Upcoming guests include: Dave Barnes, Ellie Holcomb, Dan Haseltine, Bebo Norman, Annie Downs, Steve Taylor, Don Chaffer, Andrew Peterson and Stacia Freeman. You can find out more about this podcast at Andrewosenga.com/podcast

In a very real way, your membership is what makes the Rabbit Room possible. You responded in a big way to our Every Moment Holy campaign during May, and this month we’re saying thank you by sending each of our members a signed copy of Doug McKelvey’s The Angel Knew Papa and the Dog. Doug is the author of the forthcoming Every Moment Holy and we’re delighted to be able to put a copy of his latest (well, oldest…stay with me) book into your hands. The Angel Knew Papa and the Dog was written over 20 years ago and published to wide acclaim. Here’s how Jonathan Rogers’ describes it: In his novella The Angel Knew Papa and the Dog, Doug McKelvey brings the story of Balaam’s donkey (a version of it, anyway) to rural America. Above this folksy story about a farm girl, her father, a dog, and two mules, great cosmic forces swirl. When their quiet life is torn apart by a flood, the mysterious workings of Providence and a shining angel brood over the chaos of the roaring waters. Frontier America may be the other side of the world from the plains of Moab, but still, it’s the same world. The angel that appeared to Balaam and his donkey could just as easily appear to an American farm girl and a mule named Thaddeus Frisco. It became a beloved book to many who read it, but it went out of print well over a decade ago. Earlier this year, Rabbit Room Press reissued this nearly-lost classic in a fresh new edition beautifully illustrated by Zach Franzen (who’s work you may know from the Green Ember series). We’re thrilled to be able to introduce this story to a new generation of families and we’re doubly thrilled to be able to send you, our members, a signed copy. You helped us put this book back into the world. Thank you. As we speak, Doug McKelvey and illustrator Ned Bustard are hard at work putting the finishing touches on Every Moment Holy, our forthcoming book of liturgies for the everyday. Thanks to your help, this book will be issued in leather hardcover with gilded edges, silk bookmark, and decorative red lettering inside. It’s going to be lovely and we can’t wait for folks to read what Doug has created. It’s not only a book of valuable liturgies, it’s a collection of incredible poetry and beauty. We’ve got a lot of exciting stuff planned this fall with the return of the Local Show, Hutchmoot, Rabbit Room Live, the Rich Mullins Ragamuffin Album tribute concert, the Behold the Lamb of God tour, and more. Thank you for help in making what we do possible. We couldn’t do it without you. If you aren’t yet a member, consider joining us with a recurring donation of just $25 per month. You’ll receive an exclusive Rabbit Room Membership mug and membership card, and for each quarter that you remain a member we’ll send you a special gift as a way of showing our gratitude (hint: our 3rd quarter gift will be a copy of Every Moment Holy!).

If you’re a writer and would like a chance to get to know some of your fellow writers, you’re welcome to join us next Saturday afternoon. The Rabbit Room Writers’ Fellowship will meet at North Wind Manor on July 8th @ 2pm. If you’re wondering what this writers’ fellowship business is all about, read this post. If you missed the last meeting, no problem; everyone is welcome. We’ll hold a guided discussion and may even have a special guest to talk with the group. Drinks and snacks will be provided. Just bring yourself and enjoy the company. RSVP to pete@rabbitroom.com if you’d like to come. I’ll respond with the address if you need it.

Never in all my days have I released two novels so close together as Outlaws of Time: The Song of Glory and Ghost (4/18) and The Door Before (6/27). And in between the two, I even managed to squeeze in a brain surgery and a (partial) recovery! It’s been a busy spring. So I am writing you now for two main reasons. First, to thank you all for your support. And second, to ask for even more! But I don’t want to be ungrateful, so here are a few things that I intend to do for you… • I am printing 20 t-shirts with absolutely rad Ashtown Burials insignia on them and will be giving them all away in a drawing. To enter, email a picture of all the NDW novels in your house to contact@ndwilson.com. Or tweet the pic with the hashtag #NDdrawing. You will receive an entry for every novel you own. And…10 entries for every copy of The Door Before. Closes July 25th! The Door Before in their pics will also be entered in a drawing for a personalized hardcover collection of all 11 of my novels and a grand prize of a 1st American edition of C. S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce! So how’s that for a party? School of Fantastical Wordcraft remains open and let the giveaways begin! Remember, the drawings close on July 25th, so don’t hesitate to get your entry in. Thank you for supporting Outlaws and The Door Before! [Outlaws of Time #2: The Song of Glory and Ghost and The Door Before are available in the Rabbit Room Store.]