I'd like to broach the topic at hand by pointing to a poem that articulates the deep sorrow and ache of the Modern Man: William Wordsworth's critique of the world caused by the Scientific Revolution, "The World is Too Much With Us.”
Amidst the whirling weeks of the year, Good Friday dawns and demands attention. Christ’s words—“do this in remembrance of Me”—ring still in our ears from their reading Maundy Thursday, and we feel the struggle of slowing to remember anything when days are packed so full and pass so swiftly; even the long discipline of Lent may not have fully quieted our hearts. We want to remember, we long to grieve so that we may rejoice come Sunday—but how?
For part one of this dialogue please click here. This is part two. It’s been edited slightly for clarity and length.
According to Rod Dreher an end is nigh. A flood is coming in the form of a new secular Dark Age, “There are people alive today,” he writes in his new book, The Benedict Option: A Strategy for Christians in a Post-Christian Nation, “who may live to see the effective death of Christianity within our civilization.”
Editor's Note: Created and written by Peter Morgan (the award-winning screenwriter of The Queen), The Crown, an original drama from Netflix about the life and times of Queen Elisabeth II, has become something of a smash-hit, a success with critics and viewers alike. Rich with resplendent detail, magnificent performances, and the pathos offered by real-life, it's a moving tribute to one of the seminal figures of our times. It's respectful but avoids pandering, honest without being indulgent, and dramatic while avoiding undue embellishment.
From its first drenching wave of sound, Max Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy sweeps the listener into the brooding, lonely landscape of E flat minor, and to a musical world in which the seeming exaggerations of dramatic melody unfurl a clearer picture of reality.
What’s the difference between a violin and a fiddle? That’s one of the most frequently-asked questions about my instrument, and the answer is: not much, and a whole lot. Once upon a time, the instruments differed slightly in form. But nowadays, the difference lies in the sound and the culture, as Jem Finch, from To Kill a Mockingbird, knew well, and as I’ve discovered:
It is not hard to sympathize with Simone Weil’s famous claim that “the true hero . . . of the Iliad is force.” The Prologue announces the action of the poem to be Achilles’s “wrath” and its repercussions, which include myriad d’algea—a “myriad of pains”—heaped on the heroes. And there are, indeed, a myriad of ways to die in the Iliad. You can be eviscerated, brained, decapitated, or crushed. You can get stabbed, sliced, shot, or rock-pounded from any angle.
With 2016 behind us, now is a good time to reflect. So we asked several of our staff members and contributing writers to share their favorite book that they read for the first time last year. Here are choices from Josh Gibbs, Brian Phillips, Lindsey Brigham, Matt Bianco, Brian Phillips, and David Kern.
It is nearly Christmas. Has any drama of history stirred as much music and poetry, art and imagination, as the stable-birth we celebrate this day? The ancient world could never stop chanting of the battles of Troy; but it is the Incarnation that has filled the mouths and hands of artists ever since Christ’s birth. Of all this abundance, Benjamin Britten’s “This Little Babe” occupies a mere minute-and-a-half. Yet in that breath of time, it offers musical and poetic metaphors of the Nativity that press listeners to wonder and worship at the paradoxes of the Incarnation.