From Lars over at Brandywine Books:

In their way, these last weeks were not unhappy. Joy had left us, and once again-as in the earliest days-we could turn for comfort only to each other. The wheel had come full circle: once again we were together in the little end room at home, shutting out from our talk the ever-present knowledge that the holidays were ending, that a new term fraught with unknown possibilities awaited us both.

(Warren Lewis, on the last days of his brother C. S. Lewis, from his Memoir published in The Letters of C. S. Lewis [1966].)

Every year at this time I note the anniversary of the death of C. S. Lewis in 1963. There's been a lot of speculation in recent years as to exactly when it was that Western Civilization began to collapse. Some choose the year 1968, the year the Counterculture came into its own in America, but others fix the date in 1963, when Kennedy was assassinated. I tend to go with 1963, but because that was the year we lost Lewis, not Kennedy.

One way or the other, it's been downhill ever since.

Amen.

Lars' words have me reminiscing about one of the highlights of my life: Tea at the Kilns.

On this day in 1963 the world lost C.S. Lewis. (Aldous Huxley also died the same day, but both deaths were overshadowed by the assassination of President John Kennedy.) Every year on this date, I've run some variation of a tribute to the greatest Christian writer of the twentieth century, but this year a little something different. A list of what Lewis has taught me over the years:

1. Wonder. My first introduction to Lewis was not the Chronicles of Narnia, actually, but as a child, Out of the Silent Planet. It was completely weird and wonderful. When I got to Narnia shortly thereafter -- I was about 8 or so, probably -- I consumed each book one after another lustily, like a compendium of Turkish delight. Lewis' space capsules and English manses and wardrobes and attic spaces grabbed ahold of me, broadcasting where my neurons were tuned, man. I was the kid who saw a treasure map on the back of a box of Cap'n Crunch cereal and was convinced it led to buried valuables in my Brownsville, Texas neighborhood. Reading the Space Trilogy (well, the first two books when I was little, the third well into high school) and Narnia was like warp speed.

2. Reason. Even Lewis's fiction is chock-full of logic. "Don't they teach that in schools any more?" the Professor says to the Pevensies when they don't believe Lucy's fantastic story. Lewis's faith was full of wonder but was, also, entirely reasonable, and in the 80's when the apologetic industry was dominated by Josh McDowell and burgeoning creation science (Lee Strobel hadn't hit the scene just yet), I was ingesting The Abolition of Man and Mere Christianity. And probably the most influential non-fiction work of his for me is his collection of essays named after "God in the Dock." The article "Myth Became Fact" is one of my all-time favorite short pieces, fiction or non, and offered a complementary weight to one of my favorite lines in Perelandra, which I quote probably way too much in all the stuff I write. (Ransom understood that myth is "gleams of celestial beauty and strength falling on a jungle of filth and imbecility.") Lewis helped me make sense of this polytheistic, pluralistic world. His classic trilemma in Mere Christianity just made sense. His own logic and reason is not airtight of course, but he approached Christianity not just as a worshiper but as a thinking worshiper, and he therefore becomes an invaluable asset for relentlessly scrutinizing young men and women who are sorting out their faith.

3. Artistry. Homeboy could flat-out write. And when he wrote, he exulted. In his own words:

"when the old poets made some virtue their theme, they were not teaching but adoring, and . . . what we take for the didactic is often the enchanted."

When I was in the first grade, my class filled out these little booklets that chronicled our favorite subjects, foods, games, etc. and one of the questions was "What do you want to be when you grow up?" My six year old hand wrote Author in that blank, and through a series of adolescent aspirations and a call to vocational ministry I have never not wanted to be a writer of books. Lewis threw gasoline on that childish ambitious fire, and he showed me over and over again what words can do. His writing was show and tell for me, displaying in so many beautiful, confident ways how literary pursuit is worship.

I lifted this verbatim from the excellent Inklings blog. This was written by C.S. Lewis' brother, Warnie, following the death of their friend and fellow Inkling Charles Williams.

[The King's Arms on the junction of Parks Road & Holywell Street, Oxford]

Tuesday 15th May, 1945.

At 12.50 this morning… the telephone rang, and a woman's voice asked if I would take a message for J — "Mr. Charles Williams died in the Acland this morning". One often reads of people being "stunned" by bad news, and reflects idly on the absurdity of the expression; but there is more than a little truth in it. I felt just as if I had slipped and come down on my head on the pavement. J had told me when I came into College that Charles was ill, and it would mean a serious operation: and then went off to see him: I haven't seen him since. I felt dazed and restless, and went out to get a drink: choosing unfortunately the King's Arms, where during the winter Charles and I more than once drank a pint after leaving Tollers at the Mitre, with much glee at "clearing one throats of varnish with good honest beer": as Charles used to say.

There will be no more pints with Charles: no more "Bird and Baby": the blackout has fallen, and the Inklings can never be the same again. I knew him better than any of the others, by virtue of his being the most constant attendant. I hear his voice as I write, and can see his thin form in his blue suit, opening his cigarette box with trembling hands. These rooms will always hold his ghost for me. There is something horrible, something unfair about death, which no religious conviction can overcome. "Well, goodbye, see you on Tuesday Charles" one says — and you have in fact though you don't know it, said goodbye for ever. He passes up the lamplit street, and passes out of your life for ever.

There is a good deal of stuff talked about the horrors of a lonely old age; I'm not sure that the wise man — the wise materialist at any rate — isn't the man who has no friends. And so vanishes one of the best and nicest men it has ever been my good fortune to meet. May God receive him into His everlasting happiness.

Warren (Warnie) Lewis
Brothers & Friends (Harper & Row 1982)

I'm intrigued by Charles Williams, who is often left in the shadow of C.S. "Jack" Lewis (the "J" written about above, I'm pretty sure) and "Tollers", better known as J.R.R. Tolkien. Recently I read the novel Looking for the King, by David C. Downing, which is a piece of historical fiction featuring the Inklings. Downing's portrayal of Charles Williams and his grail-lore is fascinating, and I think it's time I picked up something written by Williams. Any suggestions?

As a side note, the Kings Arms, pictured above, is still in business. I had some fabulous bangers and mash there last year when I visited Oxford. What I wouldn't give to be enjoying a day in that amazing town right now.

At first we didn't know what to call it, so we called it what happened. "Do you believe what happened?" "They think he died in what happened." It was weeks before we called it 9/11. Sometimes tragedy takes time to find a name.

We were half crazy those days. We were half nuts and didn't know it. The trauma on Tuesday was followed in the middle of Thursday night by a storm, a howling banshee that shook buildings—thunder like a cannonade, lightning tearing through the sky. And then there were the stories. We kept hearing about guys who dug themselves out of the rubble. We'd hear a guy came out of the rubble and said, "There's 20 firemen down there in an air pocket," and we'd all put on the news and it was never true. I will never forget this one: As the first tower went down some guy on the 50th floor grabbed a steel girder that was flying by, and he held on for dear life and it landed on a pile of rubble 30 floors below and he got up, brushed himself off, and walked away. That wasn't true either. The stories whipped through the town like the wind, and people grabbed onto them.

And there were the firemen. They were the heart of it all, the guys who went up the stairs with 50 to 75 pounds of gear and tools on their back. The other people who were there in the towers, they were innocent victims, they went to work that morning and wound up in the middle of a disaster. But the firemen saw the disaster before they went into it, they knew what they were getting into, they made a decision. And a lot of them were scared, you can see it on their faces on the pictures people took in the stairwells. The firemen would be going up one side of the stairs, and the fleeing workers would be going down on the other, right next to them, and they'd call out, "Good luck, son," and, "Thank you, boys."

They were tough men from Queens and Brooklyn and Staten Island, and they had families, wives and kids, and they went up those stairs. Captain Terry Hatton of Rescue 1 got as high as the 83rd floor. That's the last time he was seen.

Three hundred forty-three firemen gave their lives that day. Three hundred forty-three! It was impossible, like everything else.

Many heartbreaking things happened after 9/11 and maybe the worst is that there's no heroic statue to them, no big marking of what they were and what they gave, at the new World Trade Center memorial.

But New York will never get over what they did. They live in a lot of hearts.

They tell us to get over it, they say to move on, and they mean it well: We can't bring an air of tragedy into the future. But I will never get over it. To get over it is to get over the guy who stayed behind on a high floor with his friend who was in a wheelchair. To get over it is to get over the woman by herself with the sign in the darkness: "America You Are Not Alone." To get over it is to get over the guys who ran into the fire and not away from the fire.

You've got to be loyal to pain sometimes to be loyal to the glory that came out of it.

From Peggy Noonan's 9/11 Remembrance.

May God provide special comfort and peace today to those who lost friends and loved ones ten years ago.

Another of evangelicalism's towering figures has passed on to his eternal reward. John Stott died July 27, 2011 essentially of old age. What a legacy he leaves.

From Charles Marnham's appreciation:

The last time I saw John Stott was at the funeral of Liz Bewes, the wife of Richard Bewes. Richard had followed Michael Baughen, who succeeded John Stott as Rector of All Souls Langham Place in London. Liz had died all too soon after their retirement and there was a very long queue of people waiting patiently to go into the church. Suddenly round the corner came John, rather frail, walking with the aid of a stick. He made to go to the end of the queue and of course he was immediately thrust to the front by all those who were waiting. It was characteristic of the man who had served that church as curate, rector and rector emeritus for over fifty years that on such an occasion he would instinctively want to creep to the back, away from the limelight. Humility was his hallmark.

It might make you feel better. Don't believe me? How about NFL Defensive Lineman Rosey Grier.



FYI - Grier played with the Giants from 1955 to 1962, during which he led the team to a NFL Championship in 1956 and the Eastern Conference Championship in 1958, 1959, 1961 and 1962. Grier was selected for the Pro Bowl in 1956 and 1960, and was named All-Pro at the defensive tackle position in 1956 and 1958–1962. Grier was traded in 1963 to the Los Angeles Rams. He was part of the "Fearsome Foursome", along with Deacon Jones, Merlin Olsen, and Lamar Lundy,often considered one of the best defensive lines in football history.
(Oh, and he also tackled Robert F. Kennedy's assassin. Now if that don't qualify you for the man card, I don't know what does.)


Still don't believe me AND Rosey Grier? Read the post below. If that won't convince you, nothing will. :gcryingsmiley:

Thomas. You are not from New England, but you are of it preternaturally, born of primeval Americana. It suits you so perfectly, it is you so perfectly. With your golden grin and Tom Sawyer locks, you are matched for fields of lush Narnian grass. You are football's last superhero, American sports' last mythic figure. You are Joe DiMaggio and Bazooka Joe and Spartacus rolled into one, standing head and shoulders above lesser gladiators, brutish oxen, preening showboats, and loutish manboys, you the boy-man, deceptively awkward off-season in jorts on a dad-bike, laying low, calculating in your Terminator brain surpassing domination to come on the field of glory. You are tricksy, preciouss.

Has red, white, and blue armor ever more befitted an athlete? Most Venerated Player, Super Bowl general, record destroyer, field commander, laser-gunner. Interceptions? What are those? They are for people whose passes don't obey. But you are the pigskin's boss. You are the quarterback who does his job; everyone else is the other guy.

Your peers recently voted you the best player in the NFL. They are making an offering to you, their priest and overlord, acknowledging your brilliant benevolence in sharing the battlefield with them, "Thank you, sir, may we have another?"-ing your intention to bless them with a future "I got smoked by the best there ever was" story. Do you ride to Foxborough via the River Styx? Do you ride in a cloud? A chariot pulled by winged Pegasuses?

You hold records like Atlas holds the globe, spinning metal plates and juggling multitudinous awesomenesses while you wink at your wife -- a Brazilian supermodel? holla, sir -- and it will all come crashing down the day -- far in the future, please, good sir -- you announce football has outlived its usefulness to you.

Brilliant, beaming, bionic. Brady. Godspeed the negotiations to discard this lockout business. Training camp looms. Then opening day, when our Deus ex Bradychina shall descend once more, bringing football's rebirth with him for yet another year, and conquer.

Though they may not know it, thousands of people today are celebrating the man who brought Christianity to Ireland. It's the only national holiday that celebrates a missionary.

In honor of St. Patrick, celebrate him today by praying for (and supporting) missions.

Cool Footwear....you may have to explain why it's funny to some people...but in this case I think that explaining the joke will only add to the enjoyment.



Hint...click the link or right mouse click and view image info if you haven't gotten the joke yet...

Oh and as a bonus, when you wiggle your toes, his tongue wags.

[Bill lifts a frosty glass of diet coke]

The Professor!

[Swigs]

Happy Birthday, Professor Tolkien. Thanks for the tales.

[Inspired by the Tolkien Society, H/T Phil]

Happy Birthday to Inkling J.R.R. Tolkien, who was born this day in 1892 (deceased September 2, 1973).

“You can only come to the morning through the shadows," quoth he.

Do you have a favorite Tolkien line, passage, or reflection?

Tomorrow, November 1, is Jared's birthday. I've known him since he was a junior in high school - although I'm not sure if he knew me then. I was just a student-ministry worker observing this charismatic, intelligent leader who stood out from the crowd.

I think tomorrow rings in birthday #thirty-five. Still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enough to have that young, restless and reformed, pastor-author street-cred. :-)

You've come a long way, brother. Happy birthday!

Today is Thinkling Phil's birthday. I think he's 19 today. ;-)

Happy birthday, Shrode! Love ya, buddy.

Leonard Skinner, the former gym coach, disliker of both long hair and rock music, and namesake of the famous 1970s southern rock band, has died

Rest in peace, coach Skinner.

It's been nine years . . . Remembering . . .

[H/T Instapundit]

My wife’s grandmother has long been a model for me. Actually, this lady had many qualities to admire, but there is one in particular that was a stand-out: the woman never complained. She liked everything.

Take her to any restaurant, serve her anything, and she’d like it. Take her to a play, a concert or a church service and she'd like it all. But more than just liking it, she really enjoyed it, whatever it was. She liked anything and everything. She was happy with whatever she had or experienced. It was amazing.

I remember taking her to the Praisefest sponsored by area churches held here annually in our community to benefit the local Food Pantry. There has always been a great deal of variety: loud songs and quiet songs; rock and southern gospel; pianos, drums and everything in between. She liked it all. I loved watching her smile and genuinely enjoy every person and every song.

Ever since I realized this about her, I’ve watched to see how she responds to things. I still to this day don’t know what she ever disliked. (I’m sure there had to be something but I could never figure out what it was.) Every chance I got, about anything and everything I’d ask, “How was it, Grandma?,” not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I loved hearing it. “Good,” she’d say every time with genuine smile. “I really liked it.”

There are plenty of complainers in the world, but not enough of us are like her. She seemed to me to be a happier person because she liked everything. I don’t know if she had to work at it, but it seemed to come naturally to her. I want to be like that. I want to be the sort of person that likes everything and everybody. The world doesn’t need any more grumps. (I hope I'm like her when I'm an old man. I want to be the happy old man everyone likes to be around, not the grumpy kind. And you all know exactly what I'm talking about.)

I think the key in finding good in everything is being content with whatever you are given. “But godliness with contentment is great gain” (I Timothy 6:6).

“Be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’” (Hebrews 13:5) When we trust God we are better able to appreciate everything as a gift from him.

The dear lady I'm talking about went home to be with Jesus yesterday. I will miss her a lot.

The Bible says, “Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe” (Philippians 2:14-15).

Evelyn shone brightly. May we all follow her example.

I did not know that. I'm glad. Yaaaay! I love that guy. (Just saw that he had a bit part in "Did you hear about the Morgans?")

Who else is still alive that you ummmmm, might not expect to be?

Helmut Thielicke was one of the most influential pastor/preacher/theologians of his time. I know, you're thinking, "Who?" Thielicke was a German theologian and preacher extraordinairre.

My first introduction to him was through the little book "A little exercise for young theologians", which is not for kindergartners, like it might sound. It's for anyone who is on the threshold of studying, really studying, theology.

But Thielicke did so much more than that.

When he spoke out against the Third Reich, he lost his teaching post and went to the German countryside to be a pastor.

After WW2, the world discovered him. He wrote the three-volume systematic theology, "The Evangelical Faith." He continued to teach, and on the weekends preached to thousands. He wrote an important book on Charles Spurgeon. He is said to have said, "Sell all you have and buy Spurgeon."

Many of his sermons were translated into English and were published here in the States. Thousands used to flock to hear him preach. If you can find anything by him, buy him. You won't be disappointed.

I can't tell you how much he has had an impact on me personally. My church members probably get tired of hearing about him...

I have learned more from him about the importance of the balance between head and heart when being a pastor-teacher than anyone else who has ever lived. (Yes, even more than D.A. Carson and John Piper. His autobiography, "Notes from a Wayfarer" should be required reading. In fact, it is. From now on, you are required to read it, because I said so;-) The story of him going to a little church in the German countryside during the war, is a story of a theologian learning how to be a pastor. It's powerful stuff. When he eventually regains a teaching post, he never forgets the lessons he learned about the importance of connecting God and people. The dude was real and he's my hero.

By the way, if you're going to start reading him, you better know how to pronounce his name. tea-LICK-eee. Practice it, because I plan to start telling you more about him... :-)

Back in Billy Graham's hay-day, not everyone was thrilled about him. Theologians in particular were not so sure about his approach.

From this blog:

“The great Swiss theologian Karl Barth once stood in the rain to hear Graham preach in Basel. When he told Graham that the sermon from John 3:3 was good but should not have stressed the must in ‘you must be born again,’ Graham begged to differ (and was soon gratified to hear another great theologian, Emil Brunner, affirm his position). But then Graham closes this account concerning Barth with these words: ‘In spite of our theological differences, we remained good friends.’” (Mark Noll, American Evangelical Christianity: An Introduction, Blackwell 2001, p. 47)

Another important theologian, Helmut Thielicke, also attended a Billy Graham crusade, but with certain preconceived notions which put Thielicke in an ill disposition toward the popular preacher. However, after coming under the preaching of Graham, Thielicke experienced an awakening of sort...

In Thielicke’s autobiography, Notes from a Wayfarer, he recounts the situation:

My meeting with Billy Graham, who was at that time holding his huge evangelization crusades in Los Angeles stadium, was of great importance to me. I at first had reservations about accepting his invitation to sit next to him on the balustrade.

When I then did indeed do so on the insistence of my friends, I kept my eyes wide open critically. As the people came forward in their thousands to confess their faith, however, I was aware only of calm meditation on the part of his crew and detected no expressions of triumph. His message was good solid stuff. His warmhearted, unpretentious humanity made a great impression on me.

Afterwards I wrote him a thank you letter in which I confessed that whenever I had previously been asked for my opinion of him I had said that I felt that many essential elements were lacking in his proclamation of the Gospel; he advocated an individualistic doctrine of salvation, and even this took place only in relation to the initial stages of faith. Although I had now personally experienced his message, I did not feel compelled to revise the objective side of this criticism, but I had resolved to modify the question in which I raised my criticism; it now ran: “What is lacking in my and the conventional Christian proclamation of the Gospel that makes Billy Graham necessary?”

I found the answer he gave me extremely significant. I was, he said, completely right in my criticism. What he was doing was certainly the most dubious form of evangelization. But what other alternative did he have if the flocks that had no shepherds would not otherwise be served? This answer gave him credibility in my eyes and convinced me of his spiritual substance.

Graham would take Thielicke’s constructive criticism to heart, as exhibited in his later emphasis on continuing discipleship and the importance of the local church, the latter which caused him much criticism (from fundamentalists) as he worked with local mainline Protestant churches and Roman Catholics whenever his crusade would come to a town.

I don't know if Thielicke really deserves all the credit for Graham's later emphasis on continuing discipleship and follow-up, but I think we should give him some... :-)

Every generation has preachers that rise to the top. Their sermons are listened to (or read) by people far and wide. Other pastors listen too. Every pastor needs a pastor, and some of these influential preachers serve that function. There are many that I am personally so thankful for, both past and present. (I won't list them all here, maybe under comments...)

Now I know that not every influential preacher is good, and not every celebrity pastor even deserves a pulpit, (we all had the same name pop into our heads right there, so I don't need to say his name), but there are many that have been used by God to train, rebuke, encourage, teach and challenge us.

There are many who have helped you and I personally. Thank God for them.

Blog posts have been dedicated to criticizing these guys. (and gal, if you count Joyce Meyers) And some of them deserve it (and I definitely count Joyce Meyers)

But sometimes we forget to be grateful for the gifts God has given us. (Ephesians 4:11-13) I wonder if the John Piper's, Charles Spurgeon's, Rick Warren's, Helmut Thielicke's, Bonhoeffer's, Mark Driscoll's etc...are at least a partial fulfillment of that passage.

I don't know if you'd call them "apostle"-types or what, but in many ways they have become pastors to pastors, and God has blessed their faithfulness by spreading their influence.

Peter Mead says:

I just read an article from Preaching magazine -25 Most Influential Pastors of the Past 25 Years. ...What struck me was how many of these preachers have blessed me in recent years (and I don’t spend much time listing to famous preachers).

I would encourage you to read the article and give thanks for these and other well-known preachers who have faithfully sought to serve God through their ministries. It is easy to critique the famous, but actually it must be hard to be in their positions, perhaps facing some unique stresses that most of us don’t face.

Perhaps the list might suggest some names that you haven’t heard before, leading you to trawl the web for a sermon by E.K.Bailey, or W.A.Criswell, or Fred Craddock. Or someone who doesn’t fit in your theological or ecclesiological comfort zone . . . anyone from Adrian Rogers, to Bill Hybels, to William Willimon, to Stephen Olford, to Warren Wiersbe, to Rick Warren, to Jack Hayford, to Tim Keller, etc. Have you observed Andy Stanley preach?

Maybe this kind of list has a handful of preachers that you have really been blessed by over the years – stop and give thanks for them. I’m delighted to see Haddon Robinson on there, I know many who would give thanks for the influence of John Piper in their lives, I have friends who have been so blessed by John Stott, and other friends who have faithfully tuned in to Chuck Swindoll, and of course, there are numerous people I know who would count Billy Graham as the preacher God used to reach them with the gospel.

The Preaching Magazine List can be found after the jump.

Who would you add?

Read the rest of this entry . . .