Arts and Culture


Looky! Three posts in one day. Pace yourself– they have to last all week since we (yes, that’s the royal we, plus Dr. G) will be on vacation. We will be near jungles, volcanoes, reefs, and beaches. We will also be near ceviche and coffee plantations and bad roads. If you guess the location, I will bring you some cooled lava for a prize.

This post is devoted to strange yet wonderful out-of-print Christian-themed music from the 70′s. Our first entry is from a band called Daniel Amos. It’s the title song from their 1977 album, Shotgun Angel. It’s a country tune about a lonely trucker. Jesus talks to him through the CB radio and makes his truck fly through the air instead of driving on the road like regular trucks.

The second is from a family band called the 2nd Chapter of Acts. The start of their musical career is very sad– their parents died and they sang around the piano to share their grief. This song from 1975, “The Devil’s Lost Again,” ROCKS. And the women make chicken sounds repeatedly in the bridge and the fade-out.

I don’t think you’d get either of these beauties on Family Life radio today.

Shotgun Angel

The Devil’s Lost Again

The Weasely Twins join the Death Eaters, Snape abandons wizardry to open a goth-inflected haberdashery shop for Muggles, and, in keeping with the twins theme, it turns out that Harry and Voldemort were originally conjoined at the forehead but magically separated after the birth and raised apart, their brotherhood kept secret until the final climactic scene in which their mother returns to make them shake hands and say three nice things. Flowers bloom as expected in the spring.

Just kidding.  I have no idea what happens in the new book. But the general H. P. hoopla is getting to be a bit much, is it not?

It’s the 20th anniversary of the Princess Bride and you can check out how the cast has aged on ABC News. For previously mentioned reasons, I’m not having people over, but if I were, it would be a good time for a Princess Bride movie-watching theme party.

Decorations: Leading up to the front door, stake a sign that says “fire swamp.” Then line the walk with tiki torches, pools of sand, and fake rats. Inside, small vases of yellow flowers the color of buttercups, after princess buttercup. If you want to get fancy, go for a mix of pirate plates and plates with flowers on them. The tablecloth could be butcher paper or vinyl on which you draw a simple map of the kingdom, including the castle, the Pit of Despair, the forest, the fire swamp, the cliffs of insanity, the sea where the Dread Pirate Roberts roams, and the farm.

Food: Serve Iocane Powder Punch in plastic goblets. Any punch mix will do; it’s the name that makes it. It might be fun, depending on the crowd, to selectively add food coloring to some of the goblets’ contents so a few people with stained mouths turn up “poisoned.” Then you’d also have to have “Ressurection” Chocolate Truffles, round ones that look like the medicine Miracle Max used to revive the mostly-dead Westley. Also, since it’s movie time, popcorn, but maybe do something out of the ordinary with it. Add bowls of peanuts scattered around with signs that say, “No more rhymes now, I mean it! Anybody want a peanut?” Some salted, some candied, some otherwise flavored. If you want more substantial food, add items from the wedding feast (in the room where Inigo Montoya confronts the six-fingered man), including roasted chicken, grapes, and a wedding cake.

Activities: Watch the movie, of course. If your friends are diehard fans, you could turn the sound off for specific scenes and have a contest to see who can quote it best. “Spot the goofs” could be fun too. You could also do a Princess Bride Trivia Quiz, with a T-Shirt or Messenger Bag as a prize. You could optionally make it a costume party, though I find that most guests resent being asked to go to the trouble of finding costumes. But maybe that’s just my group of friends.

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We are just finishing up the documentary series Life of Birds, created and presented by David Attenborough, a charming old British dude with a comb-over and a windbreaker, and one of the best nature documentarists ever. He’ll be sweating in the Sahara in one frame and walking through the English countryside in the next. He sits down in the mud and climbs trees and sneaks up on large animals even though he is eighty years old. Though he is interesting, he is not so interesting as the animals he introduces, such as the cuckoo bird. Apparently this is common knowledge, but it is a parasite bird that waits for a smaller bird to leave its nest. Then it sneaks over, eat one or two of the eggs, and replace them with its own slightly larger egg. The unsuspecting mother bird will incubate the cuckoo egg along with her own. As soon as it hatches, while it is still a blind pink embryonic thing, it systematically pushes all the other eggs out of the nest. Still, the host bird cares for it and feeds it to adulthood. It’s song sounds like that of a hungry brood, and she feels compelled to feed it though it is larger than her, in fact so large it doesn’t even fit in the nest. Craziness!


photo still from pbs.com
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photo still from peacockshock.com

A few new things on the web related  to me:

First, announcing Unsplendid, an online poetry journal where those of you who are fond of the occasional metrical or rhyming poem can find any number of interesting examples.  I’m an editor, which primarily means I get to vote on which poems get published.  We plan to put up new  material every four months or so. 

Next, I have an article on blasphemy and imagination up at Salt Magazine.  As usual, I feel I should caveat it to death, but fuggedabout it.  I’m goingto leave it alone.

I just stayed up really extra late to see Stephen Colbert take on Sean Penn in a duel of metaphors.  Completely worth it.  A few weeks ago, apparently, Stephen Colbert made fun of him for trotting out some mangled doofus excuse for a metaphor about George Bush.  It involved underwear and we’ll leave it at that.  Colbert challenged Sean Penn to a metaphor duel, which the actor accepted. Tonight they each had a metaphorical buzzer (an apple and a squirt gun) and there was an official moderator:  Robert Pinsky, former poet laureate.  There was a screen with categories, sound effects, and prompts.   Pinsky announced the category and they would each give it their best shot.  There was Robert Frost going up in flames.  There were rhymes, tears, and a fistfight; references to Shakespeare and Oprah; and correct and incorrect answers.  Also a complete Pinsky poem, though it was only onscreen for a few seconds and seemed to be on vellum.  Funny as all get out, if you like that sort of thing, which I do.  You can probably catch it on a Friday evening re-run or on YouTube or on iTunes.  Best TV comedy segment of the year.

I’ve temporarily reached my saturation point for visual arts. Friday we did the Phoenix art-walk; Saturday, we checked out Jerome, a mining boom town-turned ghost town-turned hippie artist hang out- turned Sausalito-esque gallery tourist trap. Then we headed over Mingus Mountain to Prescott. Today was church and Superbowl festivities. Usually we just stay home or hike in the park behind our condo.

Our Friday night date got off to an exciting start when the guy at the gas pump next to us guzzled an entire beer while his tank was filling. Dr. G. was in the store and I was trying not to make eye contact. I’m not totally sure it was a beer, but it was definitely a dark glass bottle. And the guy was making occasional dry-heave noises and trying to get my attention. Some cops pulled up in the parking lot, and I reported him before we drove away. I felt like a tattletale. What if it was just fancy rootbeer? But I figured I’d better err on the side of caution. Maybe he needed help or maybe he would have accidentally killed someone.

The arts scene in Phoenix is of the down-at-the-heels, trying-really-hard variety. There are a lot of people in ripped tights and spiked dog collars hanging around. I’m always startled by the variety of creative visions and their execution. My favorite show was textile art– quilting with various natural elements incorporated into the stitching: cicada husks, eggshells, bird beaks, beetles, hair. Wow. Visual arts tend to inspire my poetry more than literature or music, and after a few hours of wandering in and out of galleries and studios I felt wired and expansive. And sad. There’s a lot of loneliness and alienation in the world and it tends to show itself in art.

Jerome was more upscale and crafts-based. There was one whole store devoted to fancy kaleidoscopes, and I got dizzy on fake flowers and glass cabochons twirling beneath my gaze. I got dizzy from the town, which zigzags up the face of a mountain; there are views of the red rocks from almost every building, and we were up high enough to be in the snow and pines. Nice!

One bad thing about seeing lots of beautiful ceramic dishes and funky handmade furniture is that it makes me unhappy with what I’ve got. Granted, our furniture is still 90% low-end, beat-up Ikea stuff, but I do love nice, interesting things. I wish I could afford to support artists and craftspeople more. there are just too many other things that are a priority. I’d love to have a big meandering house where one space is devoted to artwork related to doors and windows; another space devoted to the natural world; and a third devoted to non-representational art. And of course someone else to come and clean it.

I’ve been wanting to see the movie Jesus Camp ever since it came out this summer– the responses to it were so passionate and varied. On one end of the spectrum, you had people who were utterly stunned by what they saw, calling for someone to rescue those children from the fascists. On the other end you had people praising the summer camp to the skies and calling for all Christians to similarly train their children.

Now I hear it’s up for an Oscar. It’s a good movie. I’d recommend it to anyone who is interested in American sub-cultures or Christian life or childhood/coming of age stories. The filmmakers, who incidentally are not quite as even-handed as they would like us to believe (I noticed the ominous music undergirding certain scenes), follow a handful of children from Missouri to the Kids on Fire summer camp. Before they go, we meet their families and get a peek at their lives. They are all homeschooled and attend a pentecostal church. One girl prays over her bowling ball on a group outing; another dances to Christian rock in front of her mirror and explains the difficulty of dancing always for God, and never in “the flesh.” A boy laughs at Veggie Tales with his brother and discusses with his mom the “bad reasoning” surrounding global warming.

The kids the filmmakers chose to highlight are great. They are articulate, loving, and passionate. They are creative and silly and secure. Any parent would be proud of kids like these. I know a lot of families who are raising their kids in a very similar way: sheltered, homeschooled, and family- and church- focused. My church teaches children to do some of the same things the summer camp does: pray, prophesy, evangelize, worship.

The children’s pastor who runs the camp, Becky Fisher, is also great in many ways. She has a sense of humor and a wild closet full of props (brains, goo, etc) that she uses for object lessons. I’m totally stealing her balloon idea. She takes children seriously and treats them (for the most part) lovingly, and she never forgets that they are children. The kids, after their time in her camp, leave with a sense of their importance to her, to God, to each other, and the world. All good.

So I can see why many parents and people who work with children feel inspired by the movie. I can also see why it makes some people feel worried. First of all, Becky and the children’s families seem to come from a standpoint labeled by its critics as “dominionist”. From what I understand, that perspective is characterized by a sense of the inevitability of truth: we have the truth, truth is slowly marching over the land, and it is only a matter of time before all of America and the world recognize the Lordship of Christ. To hasten the coming of that day, Christians should move to take power in every domain, spiritual and worldy, and thereby further the cause of Christ. Every sphere of life, from government to education to medicine to entertainment to the free market, should come under the dominion of the Kingdom of God, and it is our job to make that happen through prayer and obedience and allegiance to truth. (If I have mischaracterized dominionist thinking in any way, please offer an alternative description or clarification).

The way this works out practically is in comments like one boy’s mother made, that there was no other possible explanation for the natural world than a six day creation: it was the only thing that made sense. It results in intercessory prayer meetings which become very passionate, often with people crying, yelling, and clapping; or in prayer walks, where people lay spiritual claim to a specific area. It means organizing protests and political action on issues that are seen as especially Christian, such as pro-life activities. It means training to join fields and industries where Christian influence is seen as being in short supply. There’s something of a “beat them at their own game” vibe involved. The Christian entertainment company that produces the Veggie Tales cartoons was hailed for many years as a light in a dark industry, though recently it received criticism for agreeing to tone down its religious message for afternoon network cartoons. A lot of people saw that as a step backwards and a compromise of truth.

At any rate, the kids at camp cry. A lot. They are moved to tears in worship, in repentance of sin, and in intercession for their country. For people not familiar with this type of Christian expression, it can seem a little freaky to hear a group of children crying and screaming to, for instance, “take back the land.” During one strange moment, they all extend their hands to pray over a cardboard cutout of George Bush. Though they were praying generically for him to govern with godly wisdom, it is darn hard to imagine that they would have done the same over a cut-out of Bill Clinton or John Kerry.

It’s unfortunate that war metaphors and comparisons to terrorist camps are made so often by Becky and others in the film. She positions her camp as the Christian alternative to jihadist schools in Palestine and elsewhere, whose fanatical dedication she seems to admire. Neither she nor anyone else in the film intended to convey that Christians should actually pick up weapons and storm the ramparts of the secular world, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some people took it that way.

I myself have participated in many of the same activities at different points in my life. They’re not quite as freaky as they appear. Some of them– especially prayer– still form an important part of my response to my culture. Others, I have stepped away from entirely. I’m not a dominionist; I don’t share the same dream of an ideal American culture, and though I want to add love and goodness to the world around me, I feel no need to seek positions of power to do so.

I have two concerns with the way the children in the movie were being taught. First, scripture was almost never read, referenced or quoted. The power and persuasiveness seemed almost entirely experiential. Of course, this could have been a choice of the filmmakers to focus only on the most intense moments; the kids did seem to carry their bibles around a lot.

Second, the children were being raised in what appears to be an entirely closed, self-referential system. They go from home to church to camp and back again. Any encounter with outsiders appears to be mainly an opportunity for evangelism (there’s a great moment when a little girl approaches a group of elderly black men hanging out on the Capitol Mall in D.C.). They are told that every part of their worldview is equally, unquestionably true, from learning to love each other to politically conservative positions on global warming. They are urged to have absolute confidence in what they have been taught.

The claustrophobia of this closed circle came home to me especially when one girl started explaining that there are some churches where God will not visit, because the people just sit there and mouth the words of songs during the service. Even fellow Christians, she seemed to be saying, can be outside the circle. Another moment that this point was pressed home was when the filmmakers contrived to have Becky call a progressive Christian radio show. At the host’s questions, she became flustered, lost her usual articulate poise, and ended up saying silly things, though the other guy’s challenge was not a particularly good one. She wasn’t used to being confronted with other opinions.

I worry for these children because as they grow up they will encounter many other views and ideas. They may not know how to interact with people who don’t share their basic values. They may never learn to reach out beyond superficial contacts or conversion efforts. Alternatively, they may realize that some parts of their closed circle of truth are open to credible challenge or multiple interpretations, even among Christians. They may, upon finding these vulnerabilities, lose faith in the whole package and entirely abandon the way of the cross. That would be sad indeed.

I want to clarify that my comments here are confined to particular children as they and their families and teachers are portrayed in the film– not Christian homeschooling families in general, which come in many shapes and sizes.

I also had a few problems with the film itself. As I mentioned earlier, the music sometimes sent a certain message. There was some artificial cutting and pasting designed to marry the confirmation of Judge Alito and the intercessory prayer at the summer camp, even though they took place during completely different times of year. The directors also staged some scenes after the camp was over– first, the kids meet withan awkward, un-funny Ted Haggard at New Life Church in Colorado Springs; then, they suddenly appear in a pro-life protest in front of the U.S. Supreme Court. These scenes are so contrived that they fail to demonstrate the themes presented earlier in the film. But the patient attention shown to the small moments of their lives at home and their spiritual awakening at camp make it all worthwhile.

I regularly visit scienceblogs.com, and there I sometimes have occasion to witness battles between intelligent design apologists and evolutionary scientists and science writers. I feel sort of sorry for the I.D. folks, because they always lose. On the other hand, I sort of don’t feel sorry for them because they make a lot of enemies unnecessarily and confirm people’s prejudices about religious folk.

I myself am a creationist, in the sense that I believe God makes all the stuff. On the other hand, I don’t see much in the Bible explaining exactly how it all gets made, so I’m content to go with the mainstream scientific explanations on the nitty gritty. It doesn’t seem anathema to God’s character to work through processes of transformation and change. (If it is, boy, is my soul in trouble.)

So I wish the I.D. people would just change tactics. I sometimes get the feeling that they think scientists are obstinately clinging to evolution in a perverse desire to thwart their creator. I think scientists like evolution because it is an useful paradigm for both predicting outcomes and designing research projects that will produce interesting results. To compete with evolution, I.D. apologists will have to show that they have an alternate theory that is equally robust. My recommendation, O passionate Intelligent Design defenders? Go get your biology PhD’s and your research grants, formulate your theory, and test it as many ways as you can, publishing your results in peer-reviewed journals. You’re going to have a lot of work to do since people have been testing and refining evolution for about 100 years. But if the evidence is there, it’s there, and the truth will out.
Let’s say this is the theory: A supreme being or beings made all life on earth, and he/she/it/they made it in a specific period of time, and he/she/it/they got it right the first time.

Example interesting research project: Given: species go extinct. Given: All species were created at the same time. Therefore: the further you go back in the past, the more species diversity you should find. (the opposite of what evolution predicts) Ergo: Go to some fertile area, dig around, and compare evidence of species diversity from different eras. Make sure you proceed in a rigorous, repeatable, way, and that your results are verifiable.

Won’t that be so much better than arguing a lot?

Merriam-Webster has posted its top ten words, which are only slightly less dour than the previous year’s words.  “Quagmire” makes a repeat appearance from a few years ago.  A la elementary school, I will now attempt to use them all in one sentence without cheating with a semi-colon or dash.  Consider yourself challenged to do the same.

  1. truthiness
  2. google
  3. decider
  4. war
  5. insurgent
  6. terrorism
  7. vendetta
  8. sectarian
  9. quagmire
  10. corruption

Insurgent scorpions, drawn by piled dishes and the corruption of food scraps, have launched a terrorism campaign in my quagmire of a kitchen, leaving the decider no choice but to declare war and google anti-scorpion tactics for my sectarian vendetta, because in all truthiness, scorpions in the house are against my religion.

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