Nice little profile of Thomas Merton (AKA “Brother Louis”) in the current New Yorker. You can read it all, here. The author of the article, Alan Jacobs, is a distinguished professor of humanities at Baylor University. He calls Merton “the proper patron saint of our information-saturated age.” I think that is just about right.
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Thomas Merton was born in 1915 in the French Pyrenees to a Quaker (American) mother and a father from New Zealand. Both his parents were artists. Young Tom was baptized into the Church of England. But like a lot of future monks, he spent much of his youth “drinking and bumming around the Continent” rather than studying at Cambridge where he had been admitted in 1933. Says Jacobs:
“He was frequently in legal trouble, and, worst of all, fathered a child outside of marriage—a child he never met.”
After moving to New York and re-starting his academic career at Columbia in 1935, Merton seemingly found his calling by studying The Great Books – specifically, Medieval Philosophy. He embraced Catholicism, but also retained an avid interest in Eastern mystical traditions along with an activist Left-leaning political bent. By 1941 he had joined the Trappist monastery known as the Abbey of Gethsemani, in Kentucky, where he spent the rest of his life. According to Jacobs:
“He entered the monastery three days after Pearl Harbor. He died a month after Richard Nixon’s election to his first term as President. It had been an eventful time.”
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Most famous of Merton’s literary works was his best-selling autobiography, “The Seven Storey Mountain,” written in 1948. Of it, Jacobs has this to say:
(It was) a magnificent advertisement for Catholicism in general and for monastic life in particular. Almost every monastery in America saw a massive upsurge in postulants in the years following the book’s publication, and all of the book’s considerable royalties went straight into the bank account of the abbey.
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Merton’s too-short life came to an improbable close in 1968 in a Bangkok hotel room. He went there at the request of his superiors to meet with monastic practitioners of various Eastern religious traditions. He was electrocuted after stepping out of the shower, slipping on a tiled floor, and grabbing onto a nearby electric fan. But before he died – again from Jacobs – he aspired to…
“…a certain convergence of commitments, a potentially harmonious joining of beliefs and practices that most people thought irreconcilable or, at best, inevitably separate. Perhaps the central question for him was: What contribution can the contemplative make to peacemaking, especially in a bellicose age?”
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Rest In Peace, Brother Louis.
Merton was the person in motion who seeks stillness; the monk who wants to belong to the world; the famous person who wants to be unknown.
Flipping through the channels the other night during half time of some NFL contest, we came across “The Wizard of Oz” on TNT. It had been a while since we’d watched the movie version of L. Frank Baum’s tale – starring Judy Garland, Bert Lahr & company – following the Yellow Brick Road all the way to the Emerald City. So – what the heck? – we stayed until the end. And were glad we did. From “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” to “There’s no place like home” – few movies are more iconically American.
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Imagine my surprise this morning when I came across this piece on biography.com about changes Judy Garland wrought to the holiday classic “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” You have to read it all to get the full gist, but compare the following original lyrics of Martin and Blaine…
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas / It may be your last / Next year we may all be living in the past / Have yourself a merry little Christmas / Pop that champagne cork / Next year we may all be living in New York… No good times like the olden days / Happy golden days of yore / Faithful friends who were dear to us / Will be near to us no more…”
…with the post-Garland “Meet Me in St. Louis” version we’ve come to know and love:
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas / Let your heart be light / From now on your troubles will be out of sight / Have yourself a merry little Christmas / Make the Yuletide gay / From now on your troubles will be miles away / Here we are as in olden days / Happy golden days of yore / Faithful friends who are dear to us / Gather near to us once more…”
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Amazing what a difference the stamping of one ruby slippered foot can make, eh?
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Today being Christmas Eve, all of this set me to thinking about differences between the four Gospels. Not only differences in birth accounts, but differences in overall tone, tenor, and stylistic choices. Which details are emphasized, and which are left out? Biblical scholars, bear with me here as I lay a little historical groundwork…
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Mark’s was the earliest of the four Gospels. It was written in a kind of street Greek that emphasized action without much in the way of stylistic flourishes. Its main transition word is often translated as “immediately!” and gives the sense of things happening all of a sudden, without warning. As for Christmas stories, in Mark’s version there isn’t one. Mark’s Jesus appears first at around age 30, at his baptism by John in the River Jordan. He then goes directly into his public ministry. Or “Immediately!” as Mark might say.
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Chronologically speaking, Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels were written next and they are very different from Mark’s version. Much more polished in their Greek and borrowing more from traditional biographical narratives of the time, these two writers clearly repeat some of Mark’s material about Jesus’ parables and so forth. But they also have another independent source that is referred to by those who study such things as “Q.” In Matthew and Luke we get Wise Men and the Star of the East. We get shepherds and the manger and the Bethlehem trek resulting from Caesar Augustus’ “enrollment” edict – thus explaining how an unwed couple from Galilee ended up so far from home in the City of David for the birth of their son. In the Hamilton musical version (Luke), we also get the Songs of Simeon, Mary and Zechariah – along with Angels We Have Heard on High. You know, all of the traditional trappings of creches and pageants we’ve handed down to our kids from time immemorial.
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Bringing up the rear, there’s John. “In the beginning was the Logos, and the Logos was with God, and the Logos was God.” For believers, there can be few more stirring words than this opening salvo from John’s Gospel. He takes the discussion about Jesus off the street (Mark), moves past the literary touches of the Q-inspired Matthew and Luke, and places us squarely in the realm of the cosmic and the eternal. John solves the age-old Trinitarian conundrum by saying “Jesus = God” – not from the time of his baptism forward (Mark), and not from the time of his birth forward (Matthew and Luke), but from the time of creation forward. In so doing, John changes the grounds of theological debate over Christology forever – for better or for worse.
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So, what’s Judy Garland got to do with it anyway? Well, I can’t help thinking that original Martin and Blaine version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” sounds an awful lot like Mark: Blunt, unpolished, and tramping on a few toes. Lacking the feel-good beginning (and end) that Hollywood stars like Garland demand. A first draft, subject to later revision, the better to cater to a public that prefers Meet Me in St. Louis and The Wizard of Oz as upbeat stories of redemption – complete with catchy show-tunes, rather than a grittier account – whether of rural Great Depression life in Tornado Alley, or of unwilling transplants from the Midwest to The Big Apple.
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Can you guess how the Gospel of Mark ends? Scholars pretty much agree that the snake-handling / poison-drinking / speaking-in-tongues section at the end was an appendage, a late addition. See post on this here, excerpt below.
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What is most striking to me as a scholar of the NT is that the passage in which Jesus’ words about handling snakes are contained was not originally part of the Gospel of Mark. Or of any other book of the NT. The oldest form of the Gospel of Mark that we can reconstruct ended with 16:8. Jesus has been dead and buried. On the third day some women go to the tomb. Jesus is not there. A young man who *is* there tells them that he has been raised and that they are to tell the disciples that Jesus will meet them in Galilee. Then – the climax of the scene, and arguably of the Gospel – the women “fled from the tomb and didn’t say anything to anyone, for they were afraid.” Period. That’s it. That’s where the Gospel ends.
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I suppose there are those who will discount this analysis based on some ad hominem attack on the author. Believe what you will. As for me, I know the difference between The Wizard of Oz and real life. Not to mention the public pressures exerted on lyricists and gospel-writers from the beginning, even until the present day.
Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, meaning it was the shortest day of the year. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna go all Wiccan on you, but please do note the following…
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Also this, from xkcd.com – my go-to web-source for “romance, sarcasm, math, and language.” Hey, don’t blame me – their words, not mine.
Kudos to Randall Munroe for the comic
And just in case you were really Really REALLY wondering:
What does XKCD stand for?
It’s not actually an acronym. It’s just a word with no phonetic pronunciation — a treasured and carefully-guarded point in the space of four-character strings.
If you are a college hockey fan – or a Princeton alum – you may have heard of Hobey Baker. If not, you can read all about him here.
On this day in history, December 21st in 1918, 26-year-old collegiate and amateur ice hockey star Hobey Baker is killed in a plane crash in Toul, France, just after the end of WW 1.
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In 1945, Baker became one of the inaugural inductees into the U.S. Hockey Hall of Fame. The Hobey Baker Memorial Award is presented annually to the best college hockey player in the country. It is the equivalent of college football’s Heisman Trophy.
‘Tis the season for annual “Best of…” lists of all kinds, from Pix to Flix.
The Denver Post has a Year in Pictures feature on its website, here.
Some of my favorites, below.
Thousands of geese fly from Aurora Reservoir as a group of local birders watch on Jan. 9, 2018, in Aurora.
Over 40 Longhorn cattle pile together to be loaded into trailers after the National Western Stock Show kick-off parade on Jan. 4, 2018, in Denver.
Hunter Brown, 4, takes a peek at bison bull calves in a pen during a preview session at the 33rd annual bison auction at the Denver Mountain Park’s Genesee Bison Ranch March 2, 2018.
A pelican relaxes at Windsor Lake after spending the winter farther south, on April 2, 2018, in Windsor.
Crop circles are seen from the air near Alamosa, Colorado on June 13, 2018.
Coty Newby, a firefighter with a Type II hand crew from the Idaho Department of Lands, prepares his gear with his crew before heading out for the day on the fire line of the 416 Fire on June 14, 2018, in Hermosa.
Miauaxochitl “Mia” Haskie makes her way to the top of a rock climb at White Cliff on July 23, 2018, in Frisco, Colorado.
An old school house is flooded after Hurricane Florence on Sept. 17, 2018, in Lumberton, North Carolina.
Ernest Montoya, left, helps his daughter Adalynn, 5, hold flowers before putting them onto headstones of family members after the Veterans Day Ceremony at Fort Logan National Cemetery on Nov. 11, 2018, in Denver Colorado.
Temperatures drop below freezing causing frost and ice to form on Oct. 15, 2018, in Lakewood.
I’ve posted about Castlewood Canyon before and you can read all about it here. Every time I go back there I find something new. This time I found the Lucas Homestead, perhaps one of the greatest Real Estate deals of the early 20th century. Read on for details.
*** The Hike ***
You can park in the Homestead parking lot after entering Castlewood Canyon State Park from the North Entrance near Franktown (not the Main Entrance off Highway 83). The short Homestead Trail connects to the Creek Bottom Trail which will take you all the way upstream to The Dam, about 3 miles. There you can cross over the trickle of Cherry Creek and return 3 miles along the other side on the Rim Rock Trail. It’s about a 2 hour hike overall. Even on a winter’s day like yesterday (Dec 18th) it can be warm and sunny with highs in the upper 50’s. Still, in the shady spots the trail stays icy, so Yak Trax or Micro Spikes or any appropriate footwear is highly recommended.
Micro Spikes
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What remains of the Head place in Rox Park.
With the help of Shaun Boyd at the Douglas County Library I have researched a few of the old Land Grants in the area. I was curious because I pass these tumble down ruins regularly on the walks I take around our Roxborough place.
There is an abandoned log house (and outbuilding that looks like it housed livestock) nearby where I live. It’s at the junction of the Elk Valley Trail with Iron Bark Drive in Roxborough State Park. My search for a name or historical info on this site so far remains fruitless. Can you assist? Photos attached.
Thanks!
*** Reply ***
I think, according to the census records at http://glorecords.blm.gov that is the homestead of Melvin (Mel) Head. The certificate was issued August 12, 1915.
I don’t have much on Mr. Head, but if you want to come down to the library in Castle Rock, we can look.
— Shaun
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Of course what remains of the Lucas Homestead in Castlewood Canyon is much more complete than what remains of the old Head place in Roxborough. That is most likely because the Lucas family chose poured concrete (very unusual for the time – somewhere between 1894 and 1901) over wood for their primary construction material.
Like a lot of things in the Information Age, Seasons Greetings have changed.
I used to do an annual End-of-Year/Christmas/Hannukah letter in hard copy. It detailed news of our far-flung family (Colorado! California! China! Chile! Portlandia!) along with my own special brand of wry observation on human nature, usually with a punch line that was either slyly political – or sometimes frankly Freudian. I’d print it off, fold it in 4, and stuff it inside a traditional greeting card. And not just a card from Hallmark, mind you; but rather, from one of the more-or-less progressive charities we support like Habitat for Humanity, Heifer Project, The Nature Conservancy, Planned Parenthood, or The American Heart Association. Then I’d hand-address the envelopes, stick a seasonal stamp on there, and – most importantly – I’d affix a pre-printed return address label for the convenience of all those who’d wait to see who sent THEM a card before mailing one back at the very last minute – the sneaky buggers.
(Like I said: Human nature, donchaknow?)
But as I’ve grown older (I said older, not necessarily wiser), I’ve gotten over all that. Or at least, I’ve gotten over most of it. Oh, never fear, I’ll still send out a few actual cards to our nearest and dearest. But gone is the day of the Long Annual Missive – after all, that’s what a blog is for, right? Instead, I’ll usually just jot a short handwritten note wishing a Merry and/or a Happy without too many details about who in the family had a heart attack this past year, who’s in (or out) of rehab, which jobs/gigs have begun (or ended), and – most importantly – the state of my Hemoglobin A1C. (But for those who are curious, it’s 7.4 – and Thank You Very Much For Asking!)
I have a few friends who now send online animated eGreetings like the ones at jacquielawson.com (shameless plug here) – not only for Christmas, but also for Birthdays and Easter and the 4th of July. (I have to admit, I’m a real sucker for those.) Some do the family portrait with Shutterfly, either with or without brief annual updates on the back. Some just send a tastefully engraved card on heavy stock with the signature done in quill pen. A few hold-outs still do the old style fold-up long-form Holiday Letter. Some of the more OC of these run to multiple pages, with verrrrry skinny margins, and the personalized one-liner squeezed in at the bottom in teensy-tiny handwriting… Oh, go do a blog already fercryinoutloud!
One or two who have for one reason or another run afoul of me over the course of the past year – you know who you are! – I have told specifically that they are “coming off the Christmas card list.” But, not to worry, I don’t send out many of those any more anyway. Besides, anyone and everyone can still read my blog – even unreconstructed Neanderthals – but I digress.
So, anyway, Merry, and Happy to all and sundry. May the New Year bring you peace, prosperity, and above all, good health. If there is one thing getting older has taught me, it is never to take good health for granted. May those you hold dear be near-at-heart even when they are physically far-flung. And above all, remember that updates are both frequent & free @ dewconsulting.net/blog…
The Denver Nuggets just signed a player named Nick Young. As nicknames go, he goes by “Swaggy P.” How did he get this moniker, you ask? It’s hilarious, and you can read all about it here.
Sports nicknames are a curious thing. In real life I never had a nickname – always been just plain “Dan.” But on the basketball floor I’ve had several, most of them borrowed from other players I resemble in some way. Here are a few of them.
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Bryant “Big Country” Reeves
Back before the Grizzlies moved to Memphis they had a center named Bryant Reeves who played his college ball at Oklahoma State and went by the nickname of “Big Country.” He was a “stiff,” meaning that his game was mostly filling up space in the middle of the lane with tough defense and not a lot of flashy moves on offense. Oh, and also? That hairstyle. Yep. You got it. Pure “Big Country.”
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Tim Duncan – “The Big Fundamental”
Before he retired in 2016 after a stellar 19-year pro career that included 5 NBA championships with the San Antonio Spurs, Tim Duncan was known around the league for his no-nonsense, fundamentally sound style of play as “The Big Fundamental.” Never flashy, always solid in the post, and a perennial All Star, Duncan never lost his cool, never thumped his chest or screamed after a thundering dunk, and rarely smiled – at least not on the court.
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As far as I know Kevin McHale never had a nickname, not even after he clothes-lined Kurt Rambis in that notorious NBA Finals incident which turned the tide in favor of the Celtics against the Lakers in 1984. (The full play-by-play here is definitely worth watching.) But the long limbed resemblance was enough to get me labeled “McHale” there for a while… before I put on 40 pounds and became “Big Country,” I guess. I won’t say McHale was a dirty player, exactly. Let’s just say he played “Tenacious-D,” okay? ‘Nuf said.
Kevin “Tenacious-D” McHale clotheslines Kurt Rambis in the 1984 NBA Finals
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Another player without a nickname, but one I’ve been compared to, was George Mikan. He was the NBA’s original Big Man from way back in the 1950’s. I’ve posted on him before, and you can read that post here.
