“Grace Reformed was a small Reformed Baptist church, and Pastor Mitchell had been there for twelve years, which was something of a record for Reformed Baptist churches in that region. The previous three pastors had been there for about a year and a half each, and the last of the three had been the kind of fellow who typed long doctrinal screeds to errant fellow ministers, single-spaced, and with typing up the sides of the margins. Some thought that he had mastered the art of typing with his fists, and sometimes with his knees. Anyhow, his pulpit ministrations had left the congregation in an exhausted frame of mind, and parishioners would go home after the message, recline on the sofa, and pant. The sermons were of the ‘all grace, no slack’ variety, and more than a few worshippers were concerned about just how much more grace their families could take. But after the last of these three gentlemen imploded one Sunday in the pulpit, trying to fit infinite predestination into his thimblebrain and from thence into the sermon, the search committee decided to try something a little different, and went on the recommendation of a parishioner’s cousin instead of the recommendation of the bishop. Now, Baptists don’t have bishops—at least not that anybody admits to—but at any rate, the bishop was very angry and Grace Reformed was drummed out of the elite corps of regional churches.”
Where’d the Letters Go?
Andrew Marvell once eloquently spoke of “time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near,” and sometimes in the hurly burly of life hurtling by, time’s wingèd chariot overtakes one, and runs one clean over. I mention this merely as a way of explaining why there will be no letters section this morning.
Like That
“The moment of resumed clarity was, for the detectives, not unlike that time when Wormtongue pitched the Palantir off the tower of Orthanc.”
A Word in Defense of Rosaria, If I May
Introduction: So the first order of business is perhaps a bit of background. Rosaria Butterfield recently gave an interview here, and in the course of that talk she gave us all an insight, and ...
Audio Reading of Post
Oleaginous Puddles
“The two policemen had thought Lester was smooth when they were talking with him in his office earlier that day. But now—his voice was mellifluous and constant. Whenever he paused, always at just the right moment, sincerity oozed out of the silences and puddled on the floor.”
Hard to Argue With
When the Wall of Sound Falls Over On You
“The assembled congregation began to sing, or so the two men guessed from the fact that words were on the screen, and people’s mouths were moving, but the amplified music from up front had all of them buried. Bradford had been one or two concerts like this in his life before, but Rourke felt like he was under an acoustical rock pile. There was no break between songs, each one moving aside when its time was done, and allowing another to merge flawlessly to take its place. The whole thing was like a superbly engineered six-lane highway with two lanes merging from the right. But after four songs, the screens suddenly changed, and the band fell suddenly silent.”
News Babe
“Every high profile case, there [News Babe] was with the truck, getting underfoot like a toddler on a rainy day . . . She walked briskly up to them, her blouse bouncing provocatively, as much as to say in stereo that we dare you to do anything but look at our forehead. She had a small microphone and tape recorder in a bag over her shoulder”
Restoring Sexism: The Lost Virtue
Introduction: So the Bible is a sexist book, and that fact alone should make Christians want to acknowledge that sexism has to be a virtue. And because the Bible has been assiduously ignored ...
Audio Reading of Post
You’ve Seen Them Like That
“The sunset was beautifully understated, and spread out over the western sky like the pale, pastel inside of an oyster shell. But it had been quite a day, and the oyster was a little annoyed.”