Theologian's Almanac for Week of November 28, 2021
Welcome to SALT’s “Theologian’s Almanac,” a weekly selection of important birthdays, holidays, and other upcoming milestones worth marking — specially created for a) writing sermons and prayers, b) creating content for social media channels, and c) enriching your devotional life.
For the week of Sunday, November 28:
November 28 is the first Sunday of Advent. Here’s SALT’s commentary on this week’s passages from Luke and Jeremiah — and here’s SALT’s Advent candle lighting litanies for Advent wreaths, at home and/or at church.
November 28 is also the birthday of poet and artist William Blake, born in London, England, in 1757. At the age of four, he had a vision of God at his bedroom window; and a few years later, on a walk he saw a tree filled with angels, their wings shining. He insisted that his dead brother appeared to him and taught him a new art he called “illuminated printing,” combining text and painting into one. Many of his contemporaries considered him insane; today he is widely recognized as a major poet and artist. His classic, “Auguries of Innocence,” begins with the lines:
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
November 29 is the birthday of writer C.S. Lewis, born in Belfast, Ireland, in 1898. His mother died when he was young, and he became an atheist — a conviction that deepened after he was wounded on the front lines of France during WWI. But he loved mythology and Scandanavian epics, and as a professor at Oxford, befriended another young faculty member named J.R.R. Tolkien. A few days after a dinner with Tolkien and another friend discussing Christianity and myth, Lewis took a motorcycle ride with his brother to the Whipsnade Zoo — and on that ride, Lewis converted to Christianity: “When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did.”
Lewis and Tolkien also formed a writing group they called “The Inklings.” The group would gather over a strong pot of tea late in the evening, and take turns reading aloud from their latest writing projects. Tolkien read from The Lord of the Rings, and Lewis from The Screwtape Letters, imagined advice from a senior demon, Screwtape, to his nephew, Wormwood.
Then one day Lewis sat down to write a story for his goddaughter, Lucy, taking as a starting point an image of “a Faun carrying an umbrella and parcels in a snowy wood.” That story became The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the first of The Chronicles of Narnia. Lewis also hosted a popular series of short radio addresses on understanding Christianity, and these later became the basis for his book, Mere Christianity — today regarded as one of the most influential theological books of the twentieth century.
November 29 is also the birthday of novelist Madeleine L’Engle, born in New York City in 1918. Theological themes permeate L’Engle’s writing, as do scientific ones. In fact, the turning point in her career was a book she read by Albert Einstein “in which he said that anyone who’s not lost in rapturous awe at the power and glory of the mind behind the universe is as good as a burnt-out candle.”
L’Engle became fascinated with Einstein’s work, read everything of his she could get her hands on, and ended up writing a science fiction novel for young people. Her own children loved it, but it was rejected by no less than 26 publishers. Finally a publisher took a chance on A Wrinkle in Time — and it became a sensation, winning the Newbery Medal. L’Engle later said, “I can’t possibly tell you how I came to write it… And it was only after it was written that I realized what some of it meant.”
November 29 is also the first night of Hanukkah, the eight-day Jewish “festival of lights” commemorating the second-century-BCE rededication (“Hanukkah” means “dedication”) of the Jerusalem Temple by the Maccabees, a small group of Jewish fighters who held out against the much larger Syrian army, who previously had invaded and captured the holy site. The story is that there was only enough oil to light the temple’s menorah for one night — but the oil miraculously lasted for eight.
November 30 is the birthday of Mark Twain, born Samuel Clemens in Florida, Missouri, in 1835. Twain’s masterpiece, widely considered one of the classics of American literature, is The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn — and that story turns on a remarkable theological scene.
Huck has been traveling down the river with Jim, who’s recently escaped enslavement, and Jim has just been captured and imprisoned in a shed. Huck recalls a lesson from Sunday School that anyone who assists such fugitives, as Huck has been doing on their travels, “goes to everlasting fire.” Contemplating this supposed sin, Huck decides to repent and write a letter to Jim’s enslaver, Miss Watson, so she can send someone to apprehend her runaway property. He writes the letter and, holding it in his hands, feels a wave of relief. What follows is one of the great passages in American literature: theological, moral, poignant, ironic, comic, satirical, and deadly serious all at once. Huck tells it this way:
“I felt good and all washed clean of sin for the first time I had ever felt so in my life, and I knowed I could pray now. But I didn't do it straight off, but laid the paper down and set there thinking — thinking how good it was all this happened so, and how near I come to being lost and going to hell. And went on thinking. And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me, all the time; in the day, and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a floating along, talking, and singing, and laughing. But somehow I couldn't seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I'd see him standing my watch on top of his'n, stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him agin in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and such-like times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the only one he's got now; and then I happened to look around, and see that paper.
“It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: "All right, then, I'll go to hell" — and tore it up.
“It was awful thoughts, and awful words, but they was said. And I let them stay said; and never thought no more about reforming. I shoved the whole thing out of my head; and said I would take up wickedness again, which was in my line, being brung up to it, and the other warn't. And for a starter, I would go to work and steal Jim out of slavery again; and if I could think up anything worse, I would do that, too; because as long as I was in, and in for good, I might as well go the whole hog.”
December 1 is the day in 1955 that Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a white man on a city bus in Montgomery, Alabama. Though it’s sometimes thought that she was an old woman who was tired that day, in fact she was relatively young (42 years old) and, as she later put it, “The only tired I was, was tired of giving in.” She worked as a seamstress, and also as secretary of the local chapter of the NAACP. Her arrest served as a catalyst around which the Montgomery Improvement Association organized a bus boycott, and for 382 days, participants in the boycott carpooled, walked, biked, and even rode horses to and from work. Black churches raised money — and shoes! — for the boycott, and in the end, the United States Supreme Court ruled that segregation in busing was unconstitutional.
December 1 is also World AIDS Day. Though worldwide AIDS-related deaths have declined by 56% since their peak in 2004, there are still nearly 40 million people living with HIV/AIDS today — including over 1 million people in the United States, 1 in 7 of whom are unaware they have the disease.
December 4 is the birthday of poet Rainer Maria Rilke, born in Prague in 1875. While living alone in Castle Duino, an old medieval fortress, he heard — as he later put it — the voice of an angel speaking to him about life, death, and beauty. He wrote two long poems that night in a single sitting, and a decade later finished the cycle of 10 long poems he dubbed the Duino Elegies, exploring the differences between angels and human beings, the meaning of life and death, and his conviction that the core human calling is to experience the beauty of ordinary things. The cycle begins with these lines:
And if I cried, who'd listen to me in those angelic
orders? Even if one of them suddenly held me
to his heart, I'd vanish in his overwhelming
presence. Because beauty's nothing but the start of terror we can hardly bear,
and we adore it because of the serene scorn
it could kill us with. Every angel's terrifying.
In a letter to a younger poet, Rilke famously wrote: “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”