Pinterest, O’Connor, and the Church

Picture from Pinterest

This single “pin” from Pinterest sums up one of the most frustrating things to me about how many of us view the Church. In her story “The River”, that fiery sage of the South, Flannery O’Connor, helps us understand why.

It won’t take you longer than an hour to read this story but if you don’t have the time, here’s the gist (or the closest that a high-need-to-know-summarizer can come to giving a gist)…

On following a dog into the woods. (3/3)

If you have just arrived, welcome! Also, make sure to start at the beginning of this 3-part story (you’re currently at the end). Click here to reach the first installment.

That was the last time I saw that dog. I reached the spot where he had slipped into the woods and I tried to follow him, but any remnant of light at that point in the evening completely vanished as soon I stepped between the trees. I held my breath and listened in case I might be able to hear the ringing from his collar again, but he was gone. Eventually, I retraced my steps and followed the road back up to my apartment where I found my brother finishing up the chicken on the grill. We checked outside a few times during dinner in case the smell of the meat brought our visitor back around, but to no avail. Heading to bed that night, I realized that I still don’t know how to grill.

Tolstoy on Shame

The doctor’s prediction was fulfilled. Kitty returned home to Russia cured. She was not so gay and thoughtless as before, but she was serene. Her Moscow troubles had become a memory to her.

Dostoevsky: not known for easy reading

Anna Karenina has been my first Tolstoy book. Tolstoy intimidates me for two reasons. First, because you could bludgeon someone to death with even the paperback version of War and Peace. Second,  because I have only read one other Russian author and that author happened to be Dostoevsky. That man’s prose is so dense that I feel like I am swimming through mud when trying to understand the dialogue between his characters. I understand that this problem lies with me and not him though. Not to mention, I cannot help but respect Dostoevsky because several of my favorite people happen to also be his devoted readers.

However, Dostoevsky aside, now that I am ankle-deep into this somewhat shorter story of Tolstoy’s, I find myself enjoying the experience much more than I expected. This story is akin to a picture album and each chapter a snapshot: compact, tidy, almost self-reliant. They all have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and this is much rarer of an occurrence than you might think. I just want to put some of these snapshots in frames and hang them around my home.

On following a dog into the woods. (2/3)

If you just arrived, welcome! Also, make sure to go read the first installment of this 3-part story. You can click here to start at the beginning.

In case you are worried, the dog was not six feet tall. I happen to live in the bottom floor of an apartment building which places my windows directly at ground level. This can be quite nice as the hill we live on is covered in acres of trees and we get a front row seat to the changing of the seasons around us. Often a squirrel will drop by, occasionally a bird, and we will get to watch them come almost within arm’s reach, blissfully unaware of our presence. However, this was the first time that I had seen a full-grown, snow white German Shepherd in our back yard.

The dog was hurrying across the ground, glancing towards us as he investigated the area. He came near the back entrance of the apartment complex, thought better of it, and backed off. Glancing towards us, he seemed more aware than our typical visitor that there was something on the other side of the windows. Trying out his skills of persuasion, my brother opened our window and yelled, “Hey! C’mere!” Disinclined to come near an angry-sounding human being several times his size, the dog scurried in the other direction and disappeared behind the remains of a stone wall.

On following a dog into the woods. (1/3)

Today, and for the next week or so, our posts are going to look a little different than usual. I want to tell you a story about what happened to me this past weekend while one of my brothers was visiting (you get to meet another Endicott). I don’t want to tell you it all at once though. Anticipation makes the heart grow fonder. This story will come in three installments, so stay tuned to find out why I thought this important to share.

Eric had come to visit from New Jersey and I was finally going to learn how to grill. Somewhat of a spiritual descendant of the lumberjack, my tattooed, bearded bear of an oldest brother climbed out of his Dodge Ram 3500 diesel truck (which was equipped with a plow and an 800 lb. capacity salter in case it snowed, by the way) and gave me, quite fittingly, a bear hug. A grin crossed his face as he looked at me and said, “Hey buddy.” Dressed in old jeans and a  flannel jacket, he grabbed his single bag from the back of the cab and followed me into our apartment.