Why do we watch movies?

"The idea brings to mind what C.S. Lewis said about art functioning as a “window” onto worlds unseen. As humans, he writes in An Experiment in Criticism, we “seek an enlargement of our being. We want to be more than ourselves. Each of us by nature sees the whole world from one point of view with a perspective and a selectiveness peculiar to himself. ... We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own. ... We demand windows.”

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Enjoy the "somewhat more Spring-like" weather, everyone!

~Vince

Did you Pay for that?

Author Jonathan Merritt asks how Christians should respond to the free culture movement.

I don't know when it began. The moment when Napster launched, maybe. Whenever it was, it set off a cultural ripple infecting the masses with an insatiable desire for more, faster and free. It's called the free culture movement, and it advocates increased access to creative goods with no strings attached. Free culturalists believe that restricting access to cultural goods and creating processes designed to turn profits actually hinders creativity. They say restrictive laws such as copyrights serve as negative feedbacks, diminishing the creativity they are designed to promote.

The Internet has only made things worse ... or better, depending on your perspective. International access to the Web is difficult to police and has revealed natural limits of protective laws. With the rise of peer-to-peer file sharing systems, it has never been easier to find and acquire whatever you desire without paying a shilling for it. Some claim this produces a society of pirates and thieves, while others say the real problem is the laws that restricted access to these things in the first place. Free culturalists crave the permission to freely use, enhance and develop creative goods in a world where remix is an art form.

Does Piracy Matter?

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With God, there is always a fresh beginning.

By Winn Collier

Original Article Link

I remember the first time my wife Miska and I drove up from Denver into the Rocky Mountains to take in the autumn colors. Summer had given way, and winter was closing in. The long lines of white aspens stood tall, like a disciplined battalion prepared for a change of the guard. Aspen-white never looks as vivid as when it holds out gold leaves for the world to see. The crisp air, the rugged ridge lines, the wild beauty of it all—such a time and place allow us to hear things we might miss most anywhere else.

A change of season is about as routine as it gets. Best I know, it has happened four times a year, like clockwork, as long as humans have been able to keep track of such things. But each time winter yields to spring, each time summer whispers to us that fall will soon arrive, nature is telling us a story. Nature is telling us the story of a God who is always creating, always remaking, forever crafting new beginnings. No matter how dry the sultry dog days of summer, no matter how bitter the winter death, new beauty, new life is always coming. It is only a matter of time.

The psalmist echoes the story nature tells. He describes people who are being formed by God as trees “planted by streams of water, which yield [their] fruit in season ...” (Psalm 1:3, TNIV). The psalmist does not live in denial of the hardship or the scarcity enmeshed with human experience. No collection of writings takes pain and disillusionment more seriously than the Psalms. However, the psalmist knows something else, something more dependable than the certainty of human turmoil. The psalmist knows God; the psalmist knows God’s story, that God is always creating, always remaking, forever crafting new beginnings. With God and God’s people, there will always be a new season, where life is infused and fruit blossoms. With God, there is always a fresh beginning.

From Scripture’s first pages all the way to the final word, God is offered as one who is creating and redeeming. Genesis gets right to it, showing God as He brings newness and life out of darkness and chaos. When Jesus arrives on the scene, redemption is a catchword for His mission. Jesus did not come to earth in order to show us how bad a shape we were in just before He finished us off. Jesus came to allow us to begin again. In Revelation where the concluding images of God’s world are painted, everything is new and has been restored. Like Psalms, there is even a tree, but with this tree, fruit is always in season. No more scarcity or lack. No more sorrow. It’s as if we have returned to the garden, starting over at the very place where everything went so terribly wrong.

It is important to remember that this fresh life God creates is not first something external. It is something that happens inside us, hidden to the human eye. Before we see the earliest spring blossom, life has long been at work under the brittle brown earth. Because we don’t see fresh hope and life erupting from us or because we don’t see (or feel) newness stirring around us, we often mistakenly believe that God is dormant. Nothing is further from the truth. God’s first concern is not what He wants us to do. God’s first concern is who He will make us to be. And this is invisible work, deep in the dirt of our soul.

Each year, the turning calendar grants us another symbol of God’s story. It encourages us to remember that God is active, and it prods us to give ourselves to the hope of a fresh beginning. We must allow ourselves to listen to the truth and to believe it. God is good, and God is at work. It might be invisible now, but He is at work. One of January’s gifts is its insistence that we consider what fresh thing God might be up to. It nudges us to abandon cynicism and to give ourselves to faith, to the anticipation that God might actually be crafting something we cannot see.

We often miss God’s activity because we are looking in the wrong place. We think God is most concerned with what we are most concerned with—the relationship we want fixed or the career we want to get on track or the vision of our life we are committed to fulfilling. So January comes and resolutions take shape, but by April, little has changed—and we believe God has done nothing. We must remember that what God is up to is far more dangerous, far more radical than what we envision. G.K. Chesterton reminds us, “The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul.” God is making us into a deep-rooted tree. He is busy bringing our heart to life. It’s crazy how easy it is to miss it.

I have missed it numerous times. However, once, I didn’t. I was witness to a miracle. I saw a woman come to life.

Miska and I moved to Denver in order for Miska to go to graduate school. She began an intense two-year program preparing her for work in the art of counseling and spiritual direction. Before we loaded up the Penske moving truck in Florida, we didn’t have many of the details in place—like where we would work or how we would eat—but we knew this was a trip we had to take. The move to Denver wasn’t about a change in geography but about a change of the soul. Miska’s two years were beautiful, painful years. Miska cried many tears, good tears. Wounds that had never properly mended were re-opened, and lies that had long assaulted her bared their fangs. But my wife is one courageous woman. She allowed good friends and the power of truth to push past her walls and her hiding. She allowed grace to pierce her deeply. It’s a brave thing to open your heart to such rawness, and she opened her heart wide.

Sometime during those two years, I remember telling Miska that I felt like I was seeing her blossom, as if she were coming to life. I was madly in love with the Miska I married, but the Miska she was becoming—it was intriguing and compelling. And I was amazed by it. A couple of years ago, a friend painted Miska a picture. It is a tree, fiery golden, sturdy and alive. It isn’t an aspen, but it tells the same story those autumn-drenched aspens tell. I don’t know if our friend knew how the image speaks to Miska, but for Miska, a tree symbolizes the work God is doing in her, the work of bringing beauty and life into her world, of planting her in firm soil and calling her to blossom in her world. The picture hangs in our living room, and it is a reminder that God is always creating, always remaking, forever crafting new beginnings.

Games

Can you name the countries that produce the most of each vegetable (megatonnes/year)?

Can you name the significant events that occurred on January 1?

Can you name the NCAA Football teams who have played in a BCS game (all-time)?

In Hoc Anno Domini: So the light came into the world.

When Saul of Tarsus set out on his journey to Damascus the whole of the known world lay in bondage. There was one state, and it was Rome. There was one master for it all, and he was Tiberius Caesar.

Everywhere there was civil order, for the arm of the Roman law was long. Everywhere there was stability, in government and in society, for the centurions saw that it was so.

But everywhere there was something else, too. There was oppression—for those who were not the friends of Tiberius Caesar. There was the tax gatherer to take the grain from the fields and the flax from the spindle to feed the legions or to fill the hungry treasury from which divine Caesar gave largess to the people. There was the impressor to find recruits for the circuses. There were executioners to quiet those whom the Emperor proscribed. What was a man for but to serve Caesar?

There was the persecution of men who dared think differently, who heard strange voices or read strange manuscripts. There was enslavement of men whose tribes came not from Rome, disdain for those who did not have the familiar visage. And most of all, there was everywhere a contempt for human life. What, to the strong, was one man more or less in a crowded world?

Then, of a sudden, there was a light in the world, and a man from Galilee saying, Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things that are God's.

And the voice from Galilee, which would defy Caesar, offered a new Kingdom in which each man could walk upright and bow to none but his God. Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. And he sent this gospel of the Kingdom of Man into the uttermost ends of the earth.

So the light came into the world and the men who lived in darkness were afraid, and they tried to lower a curtain so that man would still believe salvation lay with the leaders.

But it came to pass for a while in divers places that the truth did set man free, although the men of darkness were offended and they tried to put out the light. The voice said, Haste ye. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness come upon you, for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth.

Along the road to Damascus the light shone brightly. But afterward Paul of Tarsus, too, was sore afraid. He feared that other Caesars, other prophets, might one day persuade men that man was nothing save a servant unto them, that men might yield up their birthright from God for pottage and walk no more in freedom.

Then might it come to pass that darkness would settle again over the lands and there would be a burning of books and men would think only of what they should eat and what they should wear, and would give heed only to new Caesars and to false prophets. Then might it come to pass that men would not look upward to see even a winter's star in the East, and once more, there would be no light at all in the darkness.

And so Paul, the apostle of the Son of Man, spoke to his brethren, the Galatians, the words he would have us remember afterward in each of the years of his Lord:

Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

This editorial was written in 1949 by the late Vermont Royster and has been published annually since.

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**Happy Christmas Eve!

Christmas Traditions Part 3: Christmas Trees

The origins of the evergreen Christmas tree are so shadowy, few places agree where it came from, but we’re pretty sure it wasn’t Bethlehem. Ancient Egypt is a contender. Around the time of the winter solstice—the longest night of the year, occurring on either Dec. 21 or 22—Egyptians would bring palm branches into their homes, taking a hopeful stand against the encroaching darkness.

Ancient Rome might also be a culprit. In late December, the Romans observed the feast of Saturnalia—a week-long winter festival honoring the god Saturn—by making evergreen laurel wreathes and placing candles in live trees.

Our Christmas trees might have roots in Scandinavian folk mythology. According to these beliefs, the entire universe was contained in a really big ash tree called Yggdrasil, which balanced the sun, moon and stars in its evergreen branches. With this in mind, the ancient Scandinavians celebrated the winter solstice by hanging apples, nuts and little animal-shaped cakes from evergreen trees. Perhaps the ornamented trees reminded them of their place in the universe. Or rather, the universe’s place in Yggdrasil.

Regardless of the culture, these tree-related customs reminded people winter wasn’t forever. After all, the winter was a scary time for ancient pagans. The days grew shorter. The sun appeared less and less. Vegetation withered up during the winter months. But evergreen trees? The harsh winters didn’t faze them. Maybe evergreens had magical powers. Maybe they were eternal. Which is why eventually connecting them with Jesus wasn’t all that difficult.

One Christmas tree origin story involves St. Boniface, an eighth-century monk and the eventual archbishop of Germany. He had a run-in with some local tribes who worshiped a tree at Geismar known as the Holy Oak of Thor. They considered the tree some kind of leafy deity. Boniface wasn’t too keen on this, so he did what any good saint would do: He chopped down the sacred tree.

According to legend, the tree split to reveal a small, miraculous fir tree growing amid its gnarled roots. Boniface seized the timely metaphor and suggested the little fir tree ought to remind those pagans of Jesus. See how it seems to point toward heaven? And see how its color is constant, like the love of Christ? And see how it sorta seems to symbolize the death of paganism and the rise of Christianity?

So Boniface (and in other tales, Martin Luther) gets credit for the Christmas tree. But most scholars agree this story is probably apocryphal. It pretty conveniently disguised the fact that evergreen trees have always played a big role in winter solstice observances. A big, fat, pagan role.

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Christmas Traditions Part 2: The Date

Question: What day was Jesus born?

Answer: We don’t know, but we’re pretty sure it wasn’t Dec. 25.

Even the date of Christmas doesn’t belong to Christianity. While the Bible doesn’t record the date of Christ’s birth, there’s little to suggest He was actually born on the 25th of December. As you might recall from the Christmas story, there were “shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night” (Luke 2:8, KJV). December, in Palestine, is in the middle of the region’s cold, October-to-April rainy season. Sheep would have been inside, not out in the fields.

Regardless, Dec. 25 is a date with a lot of history. It was the feast of the Son of Isis in ancient Babylon, a festival marked with plenty of eating, drinking and even gift-giving. Dec. 25 often marked the end of the Romans’ Saturnalia celebration. The date also coincided with Yule, an ancient German pagan festival occurring on or around Dec. 25.

And in the early years of Christianity, that specific day was celebrated as the birthday of the Persian sun god, Mithras. The religion built around this deity, Mithraism, had become a major rival to the Church in fourth-century Rome, and Dec. 25 was a big party day for the pagans whom Christians hoped to convert. Which posed a problem: How do we convert these guys if we immediately make them give up their favorite feast?

So, even though the early Church hadn’t really bothered to observe Christ’s birth at all, Pope Julius I chose Dec. 25 as the official feast day to honor Baby Jesus. And what a coincidence that this date not only competed with rival religions but made it a lot easier for new converts to drop their paganism while holding on to the day’s merriment, feasts and fun. The papal pronouncement became official in 375 A.D. Suddenly Jesus had a birthday.

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Christmas Traditions Part 1: Gift Giving

Hey everyone!

For those of you who wonder why you hang ornaments on pine trees, or give gifts, or practice other Christmas traditions, you are in luck! Enjoy the coming few posts before the big C (Christmas) Day. Much peace and love, Vince

The gifts. This one’s a no-brainer, right? Don’t we give each other gifts on Christmas (and on our birthdays) because the wise men gave Jesus gifts on His birthday?

Not so fast. Yes, the wise men gave gifts to Jesus. But if you’ll read Matthew’s Gospel carefully—instead of, say, getting your history from nativity scenes—you’ll notice the wise men didn’t actually show up at the manger. At all. According to Matthew 2:16, they arrived two years after Christ’s birth. So those weren’t exactly birthday gifts. It’s more likely they were traditional and symbolic gifts reserved for a king.

Unless you only give Christmas presents to royalty, your holiday gift-giving owes less to the wise Magi and more to Saturnalia, the aforementioned Roman winter solstice feast. Its celebrants would exchange small gifts with each other according to socioeconomic status. The rich gave jewelry or gold coins. The poor gave homemade edibles. Children would give and receive little clay dolls. And everyone gave “strenae,” evergreen boughs thought to bring good luck.

But, hark! Gift-giving isn’t completely pagan. It does have a legitimate—but probably legendary—connection to Christianity, thanks to St. Nicholas. Yes, that St. Nicholas. The kindly fourth-century bishop of Myra used his family’s affluence to give anonymous gifts to the poor (including once dropping a bag of gold down a family’s chimney). After he died of old age, admiring townsfolk continued his habit of secret gift-giving, with credit going to jolly old St. Nick.

Giving gifts to the poor in honor of Jesus? For something rooted in paganism, it fits pretty nicely into a Christian framework.

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