tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58480389562185149152012-01-05T15:52:15.181-08:00Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1841100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-62233273889309906062012-01-05T15:52:00.000-08:002012-01-05T15:52:15.190-08:00

by Zach Kincaid on the last of the 12 days of Christmas Sometimes pastors shouldn't use their imagination to embellish Scripture. There are certainly some passages that need a little nudge. The spies hiding on Rahab's roof, little David and big, giant Goliath, even Peter's magic shadow might be candidates. I remember reading Sarah Hadas's great take on Abraham from the perspective of his wife

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-89361069744779602712011-12-18T22:46:00.000-08:002011-12-18T22:46:07.342-08:00

The Christmas season poses a heightened challenge to us: can we look beyond ourselves and into the divinity that has come down from heaven in the person of Jesus? Not that alone, but can we embrace the uncertainty that comes from total surrender? Lewis: The natural life in each of us is something self-centered, something that wants to be petted and admired, to take advantage of other lives, to

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-72100723333472073192011-12-11T20:35:00.000-08:002011-12-11T20:37:11.763-08:00

by Zach Kincaid It seems to me that the Christmas season is not a time of hope, peace, joy, or love - not in the expectant sense of advent promise. C.S. Lewis says that he sent no cards out and gave no presents (except to children) because of the "commercial racket" that is Christmas. In another letter Lewis qualifies the season as a nightmare. Yes, Father Christmas does show up in Narnia to

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-51445585081474104552011-12-05T21:29:00.000-08:002011-12-07T19:29:51.668-08:00

by Zach Kincaid don't be afraid. this must be amazing grace, electricity in the air, a galvanic presence from beyond, brought down and tangled up in chalcedon blessing; son of God, son of man. a passageway for angels to crowd the skies, trumpeting a new song to terrified shepherds, “don’t be afraid, we bring a word of great joy,” an echo from creation's start when GOD defines the good, and

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-70596006249903178992011-12-05T05:04:00.000-08:002011-12-05T21:22:57.964-08:00

Reviewed by Rupert M. Loydell Marbles, drinks coasters, scarves, glossy picture books, t-shirts, CDs of rehearsals, rough or alternate mixes & live tracks, DVDs that play as DVDs on your television or computer, and DVDs that play as audio in certain hi-fi systems, are just some of the constituents of Pink Floyd’s current re-releases and remastering programme, available in various packages from

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-10466769472085463362011-12-05T04:59:00.000-08:002011-12-08T10:37:24.628-08:00

by Zach Kincaid Perhaps, church life is running in a kyklos. The kyklos is how the Greeks viewed government -- in a cycle -- always turning in on itself as regimes are formed and dismantled, models made and then splintered. It goes round and round. Monarchy turns to despots turn to tyranny turns to oligarchy turns to democracy turns back to anarchy. We see a similar turning in the church:

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-36899748576610099052011-11-28T06:29:00.000-08:002011-11-28T19:29:47.133-08:00

by Rupert M. Loydell Here is the ‘Introduction’ to David Almond’s book Counting Stars: These stories are about my childhood. They’re about the people I grew up with, our hopes and fears, our tragedies and joys. They explore a time that has disappeared and a place that has changed. They bring back those who have gone and allow them to walk and speak again within the pages of a book. Like all

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-79608499901062996302011-08-29T19:03:00.000-07:002011-08-29T19:09:11.118-07:00

by Ed Derby If you read Lewis, the idea of imagination leading to faith is richly woven into nearly all his work. He certainly imagines Heaven in The Great Divorce and hellish battles in Screwtape Letters. The idea of holding at bay all you know in order to believe afresh could be, in some ways, the Twitter line for the entire Narnia series. But I was struck again by the obvious. The Weight of

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-39072566489924041562011-07-16T07:27:00.000-07:002011-07-16T07:27:34.092-07:00

by Zach Kincaid According to the Greeks liberty eats itself. That's Paul too - everything is permissible but not beneficial. There are definite ends to it, and, at the end of things, it's not pretty. It's usually not worth much at the start either, since liberty most often begins with war. For the Christian that war is within the soul, the wrestling match with God himself and his word. Then, he

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-41225034556774976702011-05-30T09:02:00.000-07:002011-05-30T18:42:47.063-07:00

by Zach Kincaid "I know that many wiser and better Christians than I in these days do not like to mention Heaven and hell even in a pulpit," says Lewis (The Weight of Glory). He goes on to say that nearly all the references in the New Testament about both destinations come from Jesus himself, and, "If we do not believe them, our presence in this church is great tom-foolery. If we do, we

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-46034863275145675982011-04-23T05:50:00.000-07:002011-04-23T05:50:32.457-07:00

by Zach Kincaid It’s heavy; I don’t know if I can bear it; the whips are driving into my back; my feet are sore; beneath me the riveting rocks press in; my eyes sting from the sweat; I am hot; I am cold. “Why don’t you save yourself?” jeers someone close to me from the lynch mob that has surrounded me. Father even now forgive them. May this, even this mess, fulfill your justice and call your own

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-59951570413202505922011-04-23T05:47:00.001-07:002011-04-23T05:47:31.568-07:00

by Zach Kincaid The streets swallowed in the dark and carried a load of weariness. The hour was late. A warm breeze shuffled lazily around the walls of Jerusalem and through its dusty summer houses. Why was this night different from any other? The question lingered until midnight almost greeted early morning. Then, a torch could be seen. It wound here and there lighting up back alleys for quick

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-68001079563369375522011-04-16T19:03:00.000-07:002011-04-16T19:09:24.075-07:00

by Zach Kincaid The moon rests just the same over New Orleans and Indonesia. The gutters of Japan bucket out the last of their dead onto a radio active ocean. The tsunami heaps onto its record - a prized fighter finding punching his opponents down for count after count. Africa is baked in tyranny as children are fatherless due to years of civil war and bombs burst all over the air. "This is my

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-57556544992365687132011-03-29T20:37:00.000-07:002011-03-30T05:11:19.991-07:00

by Zach Kincaid A pastor friend of mine wrote something the other day that's worrisome. He said, "The natural disaster that struck Japan is not God’s doing, but the result of the earth’s crust shifting and realigning." The idea that God hasn't the will to control weather patterns or the cruelty of humankind isn't new. Rather, as this minister might say, to the first, it's the rules that God

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-29652252819581685582011-03-18T22:21:00.001-07:002011-03-18T22:26:47.091-07:00

by Ed Derby Resurrection is a subject that is central to the Christian narrative. Lewis addresses the idea of resurrection in his stories (Aslan and Eustace come to mind, for example), in his theological works, and in his letters. In this simple series of articles during Lent, I want to point out several occasions where Lewis discusses resurrection with hopes that his take on the subject might

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-31603288034282756132011-03-18T22:19:00.000-07:002011-03-18T22:27:16.745-07:00

by Zach Kincaid (I originally wrote this in January 2005 when a tsunami devastated so many lives in Indonesia and the surrounding area. I think it's applicable to the current Japanese crisis, nuclear power and the supposed careless winds to boot.) Tsunami. A word half a world away. A discussion point at the local dive. “Did you hear the latest?” A travesty my googlized eyes blur. Tsunami. 27

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-27132442663957227822011-03-07T18:54:00.000-08:002011-03-18T22:26:22.745-07:00

by Zach Kincaid It's not grace, but it's like it - the gap that occurs between intentions and needed rest or worship and debauchery or hatred and love. I've been in the gap of "hiatus" for about 12 months. The gap is no gaping wound or something beyond commonplace busyness, but time builds up a void like hornets on a summer porch. By the time you get back at something, the days are weeks and

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-84053241121901338222011-02-03T19:47:00.000-08:002011-03-18T22:27:48.845-07:00

by Zach Kincaid Make me your Bethlehem humble and waiting for Israel's prophet who sows the root of Jesse to reap the very Son of God. She means a house of bread and from her table falls a trail of crumbs that leads to a broken-last-supper king of the Jews. If I should stand as a city on a hill, make me your Bethlehem, lowly and without pretense. She has no moses glows or sinai camps,

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-5931243381840297192010-07-11T07:29:00.001-07:002011-03-07T18:55:56.430-08:00

by Rupert M. Loydell Fits of apoplectic statistics punctuated by intervals of hellfire rhetoric.

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-53998976885169876102010-06-21T21:41:00.000-07:002010-06-21T21:43:21.297-07:00

by Ed Derby Lent opens this week and it’s a reminder of suffering and pilgrimage. C. S. Lewis wrote two books on pain, The Problem of Pain in 1940 and A Grief Observed in 1961. In The Problem of Pain Lewis says, like Chekhov, there is “so much mercy, yet still there is Hell.” In other words, no matter how you cut it, hell still exists and in our fallenness pain will always be present. In A

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-24768423038697823712010-06-21T21:30:00.000-07:002010-06-21T21:30:51.005-07:00

by Rupert M. Loydell Observation, engagement, navigational aids. The colour of the sky, the dust in the road, the rainbows in puddles, the smell of oil paint in my empty studio. Mood and melancholy: rain and the distant sound of traffic, birdsong across the creek. Hopeful messages afloat in invisible bottles. I believe in words and language, believe in woods and landscape, worlds and

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-3277268857014211862010-06-15T21:18:00.000-07:002010-06-17T20:31:10.341-07:00

by Zach Kincaid Shel Silverstein’s famous giving tree tale points out the gravity that bends us to the ground… to sit, to retrace our steps, to finally die. If you believe nature is cursed with death, you might likewise find aging as a standard fare, but maybe it’s not. The only difference between death and life is breathing. Nothing more. Yet, lines of experience bring scars, bed sores,

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-90408583903217281132010-01-29T07:01:00.000-08:002010-01-29T07:05:51.818-08:00

by Rupert M. LoydellThe shadow seemed to move, but didn't.What was surprising was that that groupwent away together and managedto get along when here they hardly speak.Adrift in a sea of footnotes and cross-references,everything brings back memories of something else.I wanted to speak my mind, wanted to scream,but nodded instead, let it go. Yes, I wouldlike another drink; no, I am not on the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-38814662228776302892010-01-27T12:22:00.000-08:002010-01-27T12:27:23.809-08:00

by Zach KincaidTrace back. Cain and Abel began the dance with great flare. What follows? The drunkenness of Noah; Abram’s lack of faith; the sin of Lot’s daughters; Isaac and Rebecca playing of favorites; the neglect of Jacob for his other sons; God’s rebuke of Eli for he honored his sons above his faith; the spear that divided Saul from Jonathan; the mess of David that his crafty eye began, that

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-90004234121935089762010-01-06T21:03:00.000-08:002010-01-09T06:04:53.179-08:00

by John F. Deane“Christianity in a thousand ways has shaped the history of Ireland”, (De Paor, 3). This is fact, and it must not be forgotten when the Irish look at themselves in the contemporary world, or look at the state of Christianity today. Liam De Paor was speaking in terms of his study of Ireland around the beginning of the fifth century. He concludes that our St Patrick may indeed not

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-11585892762419117812010-01-05T21:11:00.001-08:002010-01-09T08:57:19.120-08:00

by Rupert M. LoydellA Review of Field Notes from Elsewhere, Mark C Taylor (Columbia University Press, $26.95)If, like me, you know Mark C. Taylor from his brilliant media philosophy or postmodern theology books, then his new book Field Notes from Elsewhere will come as a bit of a shock and a surprise. Instead of taut critical thinking, we get a journal-cum-biography written on the back of Taylor

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-26807355422755599202010-01-02T08:04:00.000-08:002010-01-02T18:47:13.218-08:00

A sketch of a story by Zach KincaidBufford Jones went outside on the steps and sat down. He couldn’t sleep. It was four in the morning. The lights didn’t work. “Storm’s on its way,” he said to himself seeing the dark clouds piled up atop the night sky. “No doubt about it.” Sarah Prather’s trailer next door didn’t have its usual porch light on. Perhaps the whole park lost power. He didn’t know. He

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-83891550906470346082010-01-02T07:52:00.000-08:002010-01-02T18:47:36.165-08:00

by Zach KincaidHe moves into place and pushes off the uterine wall, lodging his head in the cervix. He sinks lower, ready to break out, or in, like a thief. Nine months ago it happened. 46 chromosomes and 30,000 genes gathered inside Mary. At day 14, a heartbeat thumped and 40 days brought fragile brain waves. All appeared normal. Arms and legs, fingers and toes replaced buds as he was woven

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-14545945738318783742010-01-02T07:41:00.000-08:002010-01-02T18:48:04.716-08:00

by Rupert M. LoydellA Review of The Life of Christ, James Tissot (304pp, £39.95, Merrel)A few weeks in to living with this book and I still don't quite know what to make of it. Like most people brought up in nonconformist churches in the 1960s, I have more of a soft spot than I usually acknowledge for Authorised Version Bible illustrations, as well as for those Victorian paintings which still

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-74307319407387728232009-11-04T19:56:00.000-08:002009-11-04T20:03:54.201-08:00

by Zach KincaidIt began in the orange grove. They were too young to realize that their curiosity had blind-alley eyes. The earth tone pickup truck melted into the turns and weaves of squatty trees that dripped its fruit. Michael’s adolescent senses naturally hunted for a solace space to take his girl. He was a hound sniffing out the chase.Citrus oils sting the eyes and make bitter the first bite

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-42063000285336681512009-11-04T19:35:00.000-08:002009-11-04T19:45:56.833-08:00

by David GrubbNeolithic Did they danceas they laid you in earthready for future time,or were they ashamed of the large head and strange sounds?Laid down in darknessbeyond snow and wind,a silence suspending allthat they might know,these cautious ritualsof dream and bone.What words did theygive their godsas you lay forgotten;and what words do we greet you withand why no name?It is the same moon,

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-23380498133124939532009-10-16T12:51:00.000-07:002009-10-16T13:04:36.101-07:00

by Ed DerbyMatthew's House has graciously allowed me to say a few words about the United States and the political world. Although my comments might cause some to side one way or another, my main observation is an historic one, rather than the want to lose one's head - namely mine- in the drivel of American politics today. I hope you'll oblige a reading and a discussion.Last month Joe Wilson

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-89422560110495406222009-09-29T08:43:00.000-07:002009-10-01T11:26:28.037-07:00

by Bryce Alan FlurieAs the amens rang outand the hymnals closed,the ladies begana percussion, a soft swishingof painted Jesus fans gluedto curved popsicle sticks.The crinkling of King James’ pages. Mmm hmms, Amens,Heads nodding in agreement.A call for the old manto become new.The sinner to sanctification,a rebel to repentance.Then as elbows planted firmlyon the old walnut alter,Just As I

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-72139295608133329982009-09-29T08:37:00.000-07:002009-10-01T11:27:05.944-07:00

by Rupert M. LoydellI don't know what to do with my arms.They fall off the side or end up numbunder the pillow. Spiders build nestsin my armpits and my muscles won'twork in the morning. I don't know whatto do with my head. I drool and sweaton the pillow, snore and grunt if Idon't get it right, drown in feathersand dream of the dark. I don't knowwhat to do with my feet. Short as I amthey poke out

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-3014746974038544862009-09-29T08:22:00.000-07:002009-10-01T11:27:58.028-07:00

by Zach KincaidA few weeks ago I saw the Indigo Girls at the Capitol Theatre in Macon, Ga. The place only sat 300 so it was close and intimate. As always, their harmony, guitar playing, and thoughtfulness proved impressive. I had the occasion to interview Emily and Amy a few years back and due to the shuffling to a new web presence the posting died a virtual death... but I've found it again and I

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-858880285427431152009-07-31T12:23:00.000-07:002009-07-31T12:28:24.121-07:00

by David DarkNot till the sun excludes you do I exclude you. - Walt Whitman “To a Common Prostitute” Technology is the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it. - Max FrischIf one clings to the strong man, One loses the little boy. -The I-Ching or Book of ChangesMy wife and I were fated to pass a Friday evening in September carrying children through a cacophony of

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-83506510740540489582009-07-31T12:14:00.002-07:002009-07-31T12:20:38.630-07:00

by Bryce Alan FlurieBlack coffee at midnight.After closing downevery coffee house in the county,and weeknight pubsclosing their doorslong before midnight,I stumble in for a Nat Shermanand what had to be the stalest, rancidcup of coffee in the state of Pennsylvania.Gideon Bibles and rusty pocket knives cut the same in strange towns.

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-6896192096938748992009-07-31T12:14:00.001-07:002009-08-04T12:28:30.577-07:00

by Ken MyersThe experience we have as consumers is surely one of the most formidable features of contemporary life, and yet the way living in consumer culture affects us is often neglected by religious leaders. Most often theologians, pastors, and moralists focus on the problem of greed or materialism, worthy concerns to be sure, but like the poor greed and materialism we always have with

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-5574727292895613322009-07-31T11:22:00.000-07:002009-07-31T11:57:37.972-07:00

by Rupert M. LoydellI have got to the point of thinking thatone and one might sometimes really make two.My daughter grasped the idea quicker than me,was easily convinced. I prefer the enormous powerof doubt and reticence.Animals are not your friends. It's nextdoor's cat that kills the birds, the goosethat honks and hisses as it blocks the way.Everyone gets made redundant in the end,why are you so

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-77134823769534769472009-07-20T20:52:00.000-07:002009-08-04T17:23:36.523-07:00

by Zach KincaidThe death of legend Michael Jackson fell near the legendary anniversary of the moon walk. Forty years ago the earth's skin ripped open with a rocket's red glare, bursting out to discover what the moon is made of. "Is it cheese?" asks Wallace. "Is there a man up there?" asks the nursery song. We didn't know. A whole civilization could be looking down at us this entire time, eating

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-55182693301830848832009-06-03T10:08:00.000-07:002009-07-31T12:06:21.005-07:00

by Nic Gibson(Read Part 1: "The Destabilization of Career")The destabilization and inversion of work is further strengthened by the destabilization of the family. Half of all young adults have experienced divorce in their own families. Those who haven’t are constantly hearing marriage-failure narratives in film, TV, personal relationships and so on. Today it seems like the amount of trust

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-32602982714638313642009-05-28T11:33:00.001-07:002009-06-04T13:26:37.636-07:00

by Zach KincaidNPR told me that ants smell each other to communicate. A scientist observed several ants discarding one of their own dead. "How do they know?" he asked himself, and began mixing concoctions until he could fake an ant's death. He placed a smelly substance that marked out death on the back of an ant and put her inside the colony. Immediately drone soldier ants came and carried her

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-30655097715243547372009-05-28T11:28:00.000-07:002009-06-03T11:01:30.810-07:00

by Zach KincaidI amtwo spies short of trusting anda slingshot shy of killing giants.I amtailgated by Baalish priests and stuck in my own moat of unbelief. I am without an Eli to calm the dark andwhisper, "Go back and listen again." I am skin away from Davidic lures and walking knee deep in floodplains.I am the eleventh leper who overslept and the would-be mason that never went.I am wandering in

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-3047539874198211542009-05-04T09:39:00.001-07:002009-05-04T09:45:50.748-07:00

by Ed Derby(Damn you) Adam. You discovered emptiness in a place of plenty, where God raced you to the water’s edge to make you his watershed. But you preferred baptism to sweet water, wilderness to milk and honey.You tangled fruit with weedy soil and turned rains into floods, angels into guards. The deep inhale of evil dried up the land as your son soaked it with man blood. God hunted him down as

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-811169956901581852009-05-01T09:02:00.001-07:002009-05-01T09:03:18.536-07:00

by Micah Harris(Visit Micah's blog for more of his writing)I now have something in common with many of my heroes; I have been a political prisoner. It was brief, so I cannot claim the badge of deep human suffering worn by so many great souls. But I have slept on the filthy concrete floor of a crowded jail between the bodies of petty criminals, a wall of cold iron set in concrete, and a bucket

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-34957884006579241992009-05-01T08:05:00.001-07:002009-05-01T08:54:27.965-07:00

by Rupert M. LoydellVital information flows freely from mind to pagebut I see nothing but chaos and disorder,ideas about the sanctity of private propertyand moral panic about youth.Knitting or buttoning a coat can induce agony,where writing becomes a scrawl,teacups rattle against saucersand sleeping dragons awake. Panic, though not without reason,is fundamentally without cause.This poem still

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-87802784616835120772009-05-01T07:55:00.001-07:002009-05-26T20:51:18.287-07:00

by Zach KincaidChesterton is chiefly a journalist; he takes up and discusses the points of the day, dipping his brush in both “earthquake and eclipse,” he says, and even into war. During the years 1914 to 1918 (minus a few months due to illness), Chesterton spends nearly every one of his weekly columns discussing the progression and problems of The Great War, a war that will name J.R.R. Tolkien

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-44539369837717206282009-04-02T13:48:00.000-07:002009-04-06T12:37:22.848-07:00

by Zach KincaidI never liked coming here. It’s something about the mood in the streets. There’s a wandering caution, a guarded angst. I always hear a careful whisper that plots through marketplace and dinner table until some sign confirms its truth. It happened not so long ago when those Eastern stargazers aroused worry about a usurper-king. The gods know I don’t ever want to awaken these people

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-85469042175268201902009-04-02T13:47:00.000-07:002009-06-04T13:04:52.426-07:00

An MHP interview with Vincent BacoteHow to order society is a constant question. Hammurabi wanted eyes plucked and people killed off for their offenses. Egypt looked to the dead as a way to control the living. Persia offered unscripted grace. Ashoka repented of his crimes against humanity and gifted India with literacy and peace. Greece experimented and Rome bastardized its most fruitful find -

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-36305678418650807882009-04-01T07:41:00.003-07:002009-04-01T07:45:47.701-07:00

by Bryce Alan FlurieWait for new winein the kingdom of the Fatherand leave behindthis garden’s horror.Ask for unpassed cupswhile three sleepilytrip toward temptation,before they scatter likefruit from a beaten olive tree. We like Judashave dipped our breadin the betrayer’s bowl.Willing spiritswith weakened weary flesh,bruised and broken by thecrush of our daily breath.Wine previously poured;no

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-80321246495995826062009-04-01T06:55:00.000-07:002009-08-03T18:04:54.076-07:00

An MHP Interview with Laura K. SimmonsEngland, like bygone days, was ablaze with writers at the turn of the last century. Some knew well that evil might pounce at any time. H.G. Wells and George Bernard Shaw are good examples. And alongside this notion of evil was a belief that humanity can rise above its situation and defeat whatever might enter the scene.Also around 1900, George McDonald takes

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-12457257803123903002009-04-01T06:05:00.000-07:002009-04-01T06:41:33.237-07:00

by Ken MyersA conversation with David Lyon, professor of sociology at Queens University in Ontario and author of Jesus in Disneyland: Religion in Postmodern TimesOne of the biblical texts that guides the preparation of the interviews for Mars Hill Audio Journal is from Romans 12 verse 2 in which the Apostle Paul commands his readers not to be conformed to this world or, in another translation, to

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-26552595372444976322009-04-01T06:02:00.001-07:002009-04-04T20:30:46.637-07:00

by Zach Kincaid“Son,” a voice says. A shadowy figure rustles the darkness in the damp corner and steps forward. Nearby is the lifeless body of Jesus. A few days ago his body was plucked off its crucified perch and given over to Joseph and into an empty crypt under a sky crawling with angels - a church unseen. Now this earthen cavity is swollen with two godheads inside. “Son, it’s time,” the voice

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-2317613595824121792009-03-31T20:31:00.001-07:002009-04-21T07:44:59.846-07:00

by Zach KincaidIt’s heavy; I don’t know if I can bear it; the whips are driving into my back; my feet are sore; beneath me the riveting rocks press in; my eyes sting from the sweat; I am hot; I am cold. “Why don’t you save yourself?” jeers someone close to me from the lynch mob that has surrounded me. Father even now forgive them. May this, even this mess, fulfill your justice and call your own

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-5786518305192711482009-03-02T16:53:00.001-08:002009-03-03T09:06:29.471-08:00

by Liesel Moak SkorpenI believe in clocks and calendarsAnd nimble little numbers adding upI believe in “and”I believe in “but” and “maybe”I believe in black becauseI’ve been thereI believe in facesWhat’s between the linesI do not believe in namesAny moreBut I believe in touchMy mind’s not broad or deep enoughFor GodMy heart’s not soft or sweet enoughFor ChristBut once upon a nowIn a here too

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-60910218955653727212009-03-02T16:37:00.000-08:002009-03-03T09:05:56.724-08:00

by Rupert M. LoydellFIRST FLASHBACK: It is 16th May 1981. I am standing in line in London, outside The Venue, waiting to see Bruce Cockburn in concert for my first time, performing songs from Humans and the forthcoming Inner City Front. Only recently had a friend introduced me to Cockburn's music, playing me Circles in the Stream, his double live LP of early work. I'd quickly discovered that that

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-85305287036890237052009-03-02T16:21:00.000-08:002009-06-03T10:20:27.958-07:00

by Nic GibsonSome thoughts for my little brother and sisters in the faith on why some of my friend’s wives are going nuts.For my parents, life had a script. The goal for most all people was the middle class American Dream: a house, a good career, a family, and a peaceful home. And for this narrative to work there were two stabilities necessary- the stability of marriage and the stability of

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-90472127170223873872009-03-02T16:16:00.000-08:002009-03-09T10:23:59.273-07:00

by Zach KincaidWalking toward Jerusalem is never easy. The 40 days stretch out - baptized by Noah, enveloped in God's cloud with Moses, set running with gospel feet for Joshua and Caleb, inside the call for repentance as whaled-up Jonah pleads for Nineveh, and the alpha and omega of Jesus' earthly beat. The 40 days smother hope under the ashes of human frailty and the palms of last year's

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-51657810749644425882009-02-09T12:41:00.000-08:002009-02-09T15:19:12.549-08:00

by Jason ByasseeEntry: Danger - The monastery is 13 miles down a dirt road outside of Abiquiu, New Mexico, population 300, and home also to Ghost Ranch, where Georgia O’Keefe once painted and where the Presbyterian Church now hosts conferences. I read about the 13 mile road on the website before I came, but didn’t feel its force until I realized I could only drive about 10 miles an hour if I didn

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-12018199301563822602009-02-09T12:37:00.000-08:002009-02-09T19:18:50.073-08:00

by Rupert Loydell Laura Miller’s The Magician’s Book is that very postmodern thing, a book about books, a personal account of how she first read, then abandoned C.S. Lewis’ Narnia tales, before recently returning to reconsider her reaction now to the books she once loved, and attempt to engage and deconstruct them as an adult. It is a story or group of stories about personal space, about the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-24081570610230262402009-02-08T18:52:00.000-08:002009-02-09T20:29:45.424-08:00

Reviewed by Kenneth R. MorefieldMilk is a film built around a scene in which its main character opines that people vote two to one in favor of gay rights when they know a gay person and that, therefore, coming out of the closet is the ultimate act of survival. Those who won’t come out, he argues, should be outed. Harvey Milk (Sean Penn) says this a bit more nicely, of course. He couches it in

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-68746151527645327442009-02-03T06:17:00.005-08:002009-02-08T16:40:33.225-08:00

by Bryce Alan FlurieAs the amens rang outand the hymnals closed,the ladies begana percussion, a soft swishingof painted Jesus fans gluedto curved popsicle sticks.The crinkling of King James’ pages.Mmm hmms, Amens,Heads nodding in agreement.A call for the old manto become new.The sinner to sanctification,a rebel to repentance.Then as elbows planted firmlyon the old walnut alter,Just As I AmWithout

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-27326038046114610322009-02-03T06:17:00.003-08:002009-08-04T06:51:06.457-07:00

by M. LearyParallel to a different Top Ten of 2008 films, Christianity Today has posted a 10 Most Redeeming Films of 2008 list. Intrigued by the idea that I could also create two lists this year, I have gone ahead and written one as well: my 10 Most Redeeming Films of 2008. Surprise! It is exactly the same as my original list. My list is already packed with moments of redemption in every sense of

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-19045231724466738802009-02-03T06:17:00.001-08:002009-02-08T16:41:36.685-08:00

by Micah HarrisTravel interrupts our emotional and mental habits through unusual states of exhaustion, rest, loneliness, new acquaintances, and new experiences. And it enforces periods of thought between events as we move from one place to another.I was flying back to Lilongwe after a wonderful two weeks at home in the U.S. and over the Atlantic Ocean I had plenty of time to think. I was trying

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-38406937859107631072009-02-03T06:16:00.002-08:002009-02-08T16:43:22.133-08:00

by Bryce Alan FlurieThe corn stands tall and dry this time of year.Squirrels hide from .22s as reconstructed outhousesstand in place of dilapidated picnic tables.The buildings this farm has seen.Felt the cold foundation in the rich red clay.Chicken shacks burn over slow cups of depression coffee.Pipefuls of cheap tobacco on third hand tractor seats.Now I am the one, coffee cup in hand ,looking

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-1504266166751593202009-02-03T06:16:00.001-08:002009-08-03T18:06:10.477-07:00

by Zach KincaidIt’s comforting to know that we define a “last time” after it occurs, and most often well into that pastured time of reflection. Remember the last day of high school? The last hug from your dad? How about the last Christmas when you heard reindeer on your roof? Your last bike ride? Do you recall the last time you thought your grandfather was bigger than life? Mine was shot by

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-66537932675814285842009-02-03T05:41:00.000-08:002009-02-08T16:49:46.479-08:00

by David GrubbIn spring and summer people still came here, walking along the toll path,paying the woman at the cottage a pound,seeking a unique view across the estuary and whatever the wind might put into their heads on their way to the abandoned chapel.Years before they might have chosen to walk the three miles from a farm but the farmer wanted more land and less people and he also wanted the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-39509263866247613992009-01-19T19:18:00.001-08:002009-09-04T12:29:47.649-07:00

by Zach KincaidWe plastered Obama's hope and Biden's squint when we paper mached the Times this weekend. Flour and water knit by a wire underbelly will make for fine knight helmets. It's something useful at least.I saw four opportunists, Irish rockers (who like Escape Club no doubt), get on their boots a few days ago, doing their Salome in front of a gloomy, Georgian marbled Lincoln in the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-33150707535757451302009-01-01T21:48:00.018-08:002009-01-15T09:38:06.077-08:00

by Brian KvasnicaIn order for Jesus to be the Messiah, he had to be Jewish, and in order to be Jewish he had to be circumcised. This tangible connection with Jesus' humanity--his circumcision--tells us not only of his Jewishness, but its emblematic nature for Gentile Christian faith.Where is this historic act found in the Bible? Buried in the Christmas story, right next to the angels "glorifying

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-5287494914690609322009-01-01T21:48:00.017-08:002009-01-15T09:36:58.914-08:00

by Bryce Alan Flurie While on assignment in Bethlehem I was taken to a building where the local people would bring their olives to crush and press them into the olive oil the family would use for the year. This is the traditional “cold pressed” method. Unlike the oil we use, this has never been filtered, sterilized, heated, or in any other form doctored to “protect” us from whatever may be in the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-16953909908048975222009-01-01T21:48:00.015-08:002009-01-15T09:35:18.292-08:00

by Rupert M LoydellThe drawing is longer than the paperand the paper doesn't stretch to wherethe image waits to be. This gift from godleaves us shortchanged, treading water,with nowhere to keep our secrets.The body is bigger than the box, we had tobreak his legs and fold the arms to fit.Death doesn't stretch to where we wantedit to be, splintered faith is no use at allif you are trying to hold on

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-74325487044783324302009-01-01T21:48:00.011-08:002009-01-22T17:05:53.929-08:00

by Zach KincaidThere’s a road that stretches from Kenya to Kansas, through Indonesia on its way to Illinois, where we find Barack Hussein Obama, its sole traveler. He arrives in Chicago from an Ivy League perch to mingle with common folk (yous and mes), as much to identify with them as to find an identity for himself. His is an illusion with a no-place disease so he tries to ground the myth in

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-11727226060870509702009-01-01T21:48:00.009-08:002009-04-01T06:42:25.836-07:00

by Ken MyersA conversation with Mark Noll, professor of history at the University of Notre Dame and author of The Old Religion in a New World: The History of North American Christianity I’ve been trying to come to a better understanding of the origins of contemporary cultural trends. And, I'm repeatedly convinced of the necessity of understanding how the assumptions and conventions of

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-69418281786648124382009-01-01T21:48:00.007-08:002009-01-16T20:37:07.712-08:00

by Michael G. CartwrightAn Ethos of Hospitality Makes a DifferenceRecently, I had the privilege of traveling in Turkey and Greece as part of a Christian pilgrimage exploring Christian origins in Asia Minor and contemporary interfaith dialogue between Christians and Muslims. I am grateful to have had this remarkable opportunity to visit some of the sites that are described in the New Testament

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-38972609683419016562009-01-01T21:48:00.005-08:002009-01-14T19:49:54.534-08:00

by Anne Overstreetsilver slips rising from beds of linenand lavender-scented woolensdrifting out of cupboard doors as ifborn the moment we opened to the dark,as if they’d been breeding behind the thyme and the tin of Earl Grey.Unsunned and not called to any lit flame, it took weeks to determine a scattered flockinstead of one soft ash resurrected again and again.Shivering somnambulists baffled by

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-16321428495184097512009-01-01T21:48:00.003-08:002009-01-14T19:35:09.639-08:00

by Zach KincaidChaucer is a fellow pilgrim on the road to Canterbury as he narrates the conversation and tales of those on the Canterbury Tales' journey: "But now is tyme to yow for to telle / How that we baren us that ilke nyght / Whan we were in that hostelrie alyght, / And after wol I telle of our viage,/ And all the remenaunt of oure pilgrimage.." (1). On the pilgrim's road Chaucer is able

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-52125393384862885412009-01-01T21:48:00.001-08:002009-01-14T19:46:18.431-08:00

by Randall BalmerNot long ago, friends invited us to a ballgame at Yankee Stadium, where we enjoyed a pleasant summer evening. Because it was a weeknight, however, and because the home team had the game well in hand by the second inning, we decided to head for home in the middle of the seventh inning. As fans stood for the seventh-inning stretch and the traditional singing of “Take Me Out to the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-73481383922473417242009-01-01T21:47:00.021-08:002009-01-15T09:32:34.901-08:00

by David WrightAfter the baptism I cleaned out the tank,walls still slick with redemption.The drain guzzled its holy deluge;bristles of a boom vibratedthe fiberglass floor. I raided the closetsfor solvents, but nothing, even scrubbingon my knees, could erase dark printsfrom the pastor's black shoes, real marks,not mythical but material, permanentfrom wherever he stepped before churchshowing

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-82503046561648897312009-01-01T21:47:00.019-08:002009-04-01T06:56:42.433-07:00

An MHP Interview with John StackhouseMHP: In your book Can God be Trusted, you speak about Job and the assurance that God can indeed be trusted. But, you also place a precautionary statement related to the certainty of absolutely knowing. Is this a construction of postmodernity or do you feel that this was likened to the belief that Job had - or more broadly, the belief held by Israel as well as

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-17913864585467369422009-01-01T21:47:00.017-08:002009-01-15T09:30:55.850-08:00

by Peter PhillipsFor the crazed grandfather pulling pistols on his kin, for the sallow, saucer eyed child, flitting into the high corners, never to return, for the shadow, tightened in his closet, dying for the lack of touch,who will answer?For the desiccated child, dead upon the brittle breast of his mother, lost in a parched far off land, for Ariel's laugh, the sparkling dew of dawn whose face

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-53313256973979149642009-01-01T21:47:00.011-08:002009-04-28T20:31:46.686-07:00

by Nathan F. ElmoreSometime last year I finally made love to her. I could not resist her exquisite charms any longer. Intercourse was always inevitable, I guess. She is ever relentless, and as you may very well know, she radiates a powerfully seductive sensuality, the kind that leaves you breathless and saliva-less waiting to taste and see that she is so good. It doesn’t really matter whether she

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-5190196436543318952009-01-01T21:47:00.009-08:002009-01-19T17:11:25.479-08:00

by Zach KincaidThe streets swallowed in the dark and carried a load of weariness. The hour was late. A warm breeze shuffled lazily around the walls of Jerusalem and through its dusty summer houses.Why was this night different from any other?The question lingered until midnight almost greeted early morning. Then, a torch could be seen. It wound here and there lighting up back alleys for quick

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-72534930079941275812009-01-01T21:47:00.007-08:002009-04-01T06:46:56.237-07:00

by Ken MyersA conversation with Jeanne Murray Walker and Darryl TippensAt the beginning of these issues, I talked about secularization in the academy and about modernity’s assumption that religion was irrelevant to the real business of life.The French novelist Albert Camus knew this to be the case. He once observed that, “We lived in an un-sacrosanct moment in history. All societies have wanted

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-83995646020553870452009-01-01T21:47:00.005-08:002009-08-03T18:07:22.256-07:00

by Zach KincaidI saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked… angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night… (Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems, 1956)Atlanta’s Roxy is dark. It’s nine o’clock. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is set to take the stage. Drinks mix with smokes and tangle between

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-46838683025640603082009-01-01T21:47:00.003-08:002009-01-16T07:48:51.062-08:00

by Gary AlleySpeak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment. (James 2:12-13)Dec. 2006 - I began living in Jerusalem in August, 1995, and was quickly initiated into the harsh realities of Israel's volatile political climate when a Palestinian terrorist

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-25065757925019755782009-01-01T21:47:00.001-08:002009-01-16T07:29:17.676-08:00

by Bruce Ellis BensonWhenever I teach my “Philosophy of the Arts” course at Wheaton College, I have students read Chaim Potok’s novel My Name is Asher Lev. It’s a perfectly appropriate book for Wheaton students because they—like Asher—face many of the same sorts of questions and barriers. Asher Lev is an Ladover Hasidic Jew, living in in Crowne Heights in Brooklyn, with a very conservative father

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-82905186212592828562009-01-01T21:42:00.000-08:002009-01-16T06:51:01.616-08:00

by Zach KincaidNamphy or Aristide - who’s better? For most of us the comparison is too foreign or convoluted to rightly answer. Perhaps if we ask, “Pericles or Pisistratus? How about that? Who’s better here?”“It’s all Greek to me,” say most, and they never squirm out of their clichés. But these questions matter. Although time gapes a divide between them, both of these pairs represent transitions

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-55308539209293852002008-12-02T22:26:00.001-08:002009-01-15T09:29:12.158-08:00

by Zach KincaidIn the old days, the sky roamed much closer. Legend speaks of people peeling it off and eating it for food. Its abundance created a peace in all corners of the earth because no one wanted for anything. But time eroded the gift into assumption, and assumption into ungrateful expectation. People began to plan and plot for ways to store it up and keep it only for themselves. So the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-20745967295064767552008-11-24T10:28:00.003-08:002009-01-15T09:27:50.954-08:00

by Liesel SkorpenSomeone, I think, in that bustling townSimply knew when she was needed,Set down her needle or a scoured potAnd turning went as was her calling.For even the miracle of Word made fleshWanted knowing hands to wash and warm him.A woman, yes, who had by heart that earthy catechism of beginnings.Bearing, I think, the swaddling clothesWorn thin with many washingsAnd bread - I think so -

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-90725867447976569242008-11-24T10:28:00.001-08:002009-01-15T09:26:35.460-08:00

by Kenneth MorefieldThe FX network’s cop drama, The Shield signed off the air last month with relatively little fanfare. Given studios' and networks increasing propensity to decide well in advance about a television show’s fate, viewers have been given more finales that are actually endings rather than simply seeing unresolved cliffhangers in the wake of summer cancellations. The Shield has never

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-8520597550316761322008-11-21T06:23:00.001-08:002009-02-03T06:34:49.701-08:00

by M. Leary "What, then, is the spell of the detective story that has been felt by T. S. Eliot and Paul Elmer More but which I seem to be unable to feel?"- E. Wilson The grouchy literary critic Edmund Wilson once asked the question in a 1944 issue of The New Yorker: "Why Do People Read Detective Stories?" The first half of his answer was, "They are soporific idiots who will lap up any pulp pap

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-36188713153588486402008-11-21T06:22:00.005-08:002009-04-30T20:27:06.132-07:00

by Zach KincaidHaven't you heard that the very world is a boomerang?* From where it starts, it also returns. Go west and you'll be in the east eventually. The pursuit of happiness works itself into a prison because liberation at some point punches violation. And this is the reality of America. Pockets of its citizenry really believe that the pursuit of happiness and the rights of liberty for all

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-45848129706118852082008-11-21T06:22:00.003-08:002009-01-15T09:22:48.554-08:00

by Zach KincaidLong ago Sarah laughed. Her furrowed womb would finally be full, a miracle to outdo the stars. Every part of her flesh came alive. God teemed her breasts with buckets of milk. One telling of the story says that Sarah gave milk not only to Isaac but to all the children in the Abrahamic entourage - passing on sustenance where there was once nothing.

So it is – Sarah, mother -

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-72137731182821340672008-11-21T06:22:00.001-08:002009-01-15T09:20:55.752-08:00

by Jeffry C. DavisI sense him within each pomegranate,peeling the crimson skin back—white—fingertips breaking and bursting the clustered moundof plump purple pearls.I hear him—those captivating stories,breaking off tiny seeds one by one,the way fireside comments slowly sow wordsinto sweet random patterns.You watch each seed touch my lips,tincturing tongue and teeth, as if blood,exposed like a

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-25412700853797053002008-11-12T05:54:00.000-08:002009-01-16T20:18:59.133-08:00

by Bryce Alan FlurieAfter heaving a tractor out of the grandest woodchuck hole in Central Pennsylvania,the cast iron hung back on the wallafter dinner without you,all that’s left is to drink ourpot of Darjeeling without yourold yellowed mug beside mine,and wish you back across oceans.But now, children cry andclothes need folded,and the damned sugar bowl needs filled again.Ah, but thena bluebird

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-54316446485493545992008-11-11T06:55:00.000-08:002009-08-04T06:49:14.900-07:00

by Kenneth MorefieldFor most readers who are not evangelical Christians (and for many of us who are), the representation of reality in the Left Behind series can come across as oddly distorted. I have adopted the term "Evangelical Pornography" to describe the Left Behind franchise because its methods of representing its characters, particularly those who differ from its target audience, fit the

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-54892939109786150132008-10-28T18:49:00.003-07:002009-08-04T06:50:02.111-07:00

by Kenneth MorefieldBarack Obama, so I am told, pals around with terrorists.The reason he does so, I am told implicitly, is that he sees America as "imperfect." Another reason, one that is only implied, but is clearly implied to anyone, like me, who has spent significant portions of his personal or professional life in pockets of American socially and politically conservative thought, is that he’

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-18631015847606157372008-10-28T18:49:00.001-07:002009-08-03T18:08:34.365-07:00

An MHP Interview with James HerrickAre there windows in the sky? If you listen to late night radio, the windows are flung wide open. The earthen sky to these true believers (or avid conspirators) is steaming with alien touchdowns and close calls. Are they good, evil, past morality, or even there at all? Most people land at the latter. But there is a growing population that rallies behind the idea

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-45066592070765742512008-10-28T18:48:00.002-07:002009-01-15T09:16:09.710-08:00

by Zach KincaidWhat if the earth used up its shadows? Gone would be these empty selves that follow us in ones, twos, and threes. Buildings could stand straight up with no morning and afternoon penitence. Imagine it. It would be like moonless nights which cast an arrogance, wrapped up in no reminders of any ground below us. It would mean freedom. No need to ask Wendy for help if our shadow becomes

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848038956218514915.post-28803160330753819462008-10-28T18:48:00.001-07:002009-02-08T19:11:50.857-08:00

by M. LearyI remember a flutter of sharp notes about a dust bowl prayer. It was probably "One More Dollar." It was like hearing a Dorothea Lange photo. This was the song that migrant mother's husband would sing - the one with a restless kid on each shoulder and an anxious hand on her face. It had a Steinbeck cadence: The squatting tenant men nodded and wondered and drew figures in the dust, and

Zach Kincaidnoreply@blogger.com0