Babette remains the finest writer I have ever read who doesn’t get paid for what she writes.
Someone called me from Temple Street Children’s Hospital this evening. Left a voice message. An outstanding invoice apparently ‘for your child’. €100. Seems like a pretty good deal. I mean obviously in this case I didn’t order no damn baby and this is clearly a case of mistaken identity. Or else a case of someone taking a child and being too much of a scumbag to pay for it, and giving my phone number because they know that at the end of the day I will probably head down to Temple Street the minute it stops raining, and rolling my eyes and sighing, pay for their stupid baby.
Oddbabbles would be my counsellor if I needed a counsellor but I am a man and have no emotional problems that can’t be solved by shouting at someone in traffic. Also, she is in England and it is probably against counselling ethics to have your friend as a counsellor. Also, I think you have to be a child or some other cruel trick to have Oddbabbles as your counsellor. Finally, she had a teddy bear called Kevvy boobs as a child which is obviously a traumatic reference to my need to lose weight.
But I have no issues.
In summation, go read the babbler.
R.E.M. turned 30 this year. As good a reason as any to share their best song:
Marilynne Robinson has a new non-fiction book coming on May 25th:
‘What is man? One answer on offer is, An organism whose haunting questions perhaps ought not to be meaningful to the organ that generates them, lacking as it is in any means of ‘solving’ them.
Scot McKnight, a scholar who has had his fair share of credits in the historical Jesus debate has written a great article that summarises the state of affairs:
I had tried my best to see where the methods would lead if I sought to examine if and how the historical Jesus understood his own death. Some of my results disappointed, because I wanted to be able to prove some texts as authentic that I found stubbornly resistant to the methods available to us. Historiography, I concluded, can only do so much. One day, while editing the final draft, I came across these words from Romans 4:25: “He was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification.” This is what I said to myself: As a historian I think I can prove that Jesus died and that he thought his death was atoning. I think I can establish that the tomb was empty and that resurrection is the best explanation for the empty tomb. But one thing the historical method cannot prove is that Jesus died for our sins and was raised for our justification. At some point, historical methods run out of steam and energy. Historical Jesus studies cannot get us to the point where the Holy Spirit and the church can take us. I know that once I was blind and that I can now see. I know that historical methods did not give me sight. They can’t. Faith cannot be completely based on what the historian can prove. The quest for the real Jesus, through long and painful paths, has proven that much.
Back to Reformation theologian Philip Melanchthon: It isn’t enough to know that Jesus is the Savior; I must know that he is the Savior for me. History cannot tell me that. But it can reconstruct the framework within which it makes sense—the biblical framework that Jesus and his followers took for granted. If Jesus didn’t really exist, or was really a revolutionary Zealot, or a proto-Buddhist mystic, or an Egyptian freemason, the “for me” floats like a detached helium balloon on the thin, vulnerable air of subjectivism.
10 essential steps to being psychic.
This is essentially what goes on in my head all day:
Your Correspondent, Would totally buy an iPad if it was half the size and let me make phone calls.