Skip to main content

A Picture of the Kingdom: Strange Platypus(es)

There's a marvelous place in North Houston, the Lanier Theological Library.  In the old days, we would have called it a "folly;" a rich man's capricious little building project.  This particular "folly" takes the form of a Oxford style library complete with paneled walls painted ceilings with a replica of a byzantine church a short walk away.  I should also mention the recreated Cotswold village and the peacocks.  Again, all this in the middle of nowhere North Houston.  Weird, I know.  In the true old tradition of nobelesse oblige, the library and church are open to the public.  Beyond that, Mr. Lanier has taken it upon himself to bring world class lecturers (Alistair McGrath, John Michael Talbot, Simon Conway-Morris, Edward Fudge, etc.) in to speak at the library and opening the lectures to the public free of charge.  There's also a free desert buffet in the library following each lecture.  It's an odd thing, and it draws an odd crowd.  At any given time you can stroll around with a cup of coffee and lemon tart and find John Michael Talbot in all his Gandalf look-alike glory squirreled away in an alcove talking to Texas farmer, or the local clergy hashing over anihilationism with Edward Fudge.  Elsewhere, they'll be a nun or two and a couple college students and some visiting intellectuals.  Turn the corner again, and there will be a rare codex on loan from the Vatican and John Mark Reynolds admiring the painted ceiling.  The library's a rambling, odd place.  The more time I spend there, the more I think of Jesus' words to his disciples: "in my father's house are many rooms."  Walking through the twists and turns of the Lanier is like a little piece of the Eschaton.  There's plenty of room, and plenty of food, and there's a place for everyone; great and honored hobnobbing equally with the poor and lowly.  The only thing that's wanting is the Master.

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Platypus Reads Part XXVII

Thoughts after reading the "Iliad" to prepare a Greece unit for my students: -Hector is a jerk until he's dead. He even advocates the exposure of Achaean corpses and then has the cheek to turn around and ask Achilles to spare his. He rudely ignores Polydamas' prophecies and fights outside the gate to save his pride knowing full well what it will cost his family and city. After he's dead, he becomes a martyr for the cause. -Agamemnon has several moments of true leadership to balance out his pettiness. In this way, he's a haunting foil to Achilles: the two men are more alike than they want to acknowledge. -We see that Achilles is the better man at the funeral games of Patroclos. His lordliness, tact, and generosity there give us a window into Achilles before his fight with Agamemnon and the death of Patroclos consumed him. -Nestor is a boring, rambling, old man who's better days are far behind him, and yet every Achaean treats him with the upmo...
15 comments
Read more

California's Gods: Strange Platypus(es)

We've noticed lately a strange Californian dialectical twist: there, freeways take the definite article.  In other parts of the country one speaks of I 91 or 45 North.  In California, there's The 5, The 405, The 10.  Each of these freeways has its own quirks, a personality of sorts.  They aren't just stretches of pavement but presences, creatures that necessitate the definite article by their very individuality and uniqueness.  They are the angry gods to be worked, placated, feared, for without them life in California as we know it would cease.  Perhaps that's fitting for a land whose cities are named for saints and angels.  Mary may preside over the new pueblo of our lady of the angels, but the freeways slither like gigantic serpents through the waste places, malevolent spirits not yet trampled under foot.
9 comments
Read more

Seeing Beowulf Through Tolkien: The Platypus Reads Part CXCIX

After spending a few weeks wrestling with Tolkien's interpretation of Beowulf , I found myself sitting down and reading Seamus Heaney's translation of the text during a spare moment.  I came to the place where Beowulf presents Hrothgar with the hilt of the ancient sword that slew Grendel's mother.  Hrothgar looks down at the hilt with its ancient runes and carvings depicting the war between the giants and God and meditates on the fortunes of men.  In a flash of insight, I thought: this is the whole poem! Let me explain.  Tolkien believed that the genuine contribution of the Northern peoples to European culture was the theory of courage.  The Northern heroes, at their best, were men who fought for order against chaos -a battle they knew they were doomed to lose.  If they were true heroes, their souls would join the gods and aid them in the final battle against darkness and its monsters and again go down fighting, spitting in the face of the meaninglessness...
3 comments
Read more