On the Passing of an Artist

a sketch on paper
seems so fragile,
so ephemeral,
and yet,
the art can go on
into forever,
but the artist...
now there's a gossamer thread for you;
the strong hand and
brilliant eye
grow weak and dim,
life's brief flame
dances madly in the winds of time,
until,
inevitably,
the wind blows *just* so,
and the flame is just...
gone

the who will always pass,
while the what may yet remain;
we mourn the artist's passing,
while treasuring the art,
and holding fast to the hope
that there is a place
beyond the winds of time
where all the flames that once were
will yet dance again

For Darwyn Cooke, 1962-2016

Christopher Hitchens is Dead

For once I'm glad no one reads this blog any more. I want (need?) to have a place to record these thoughts, and maybe even a sense that I've put them out there, as part of the public tribute to the man, without actually making them public in any meaningful sense of the word...

It was with deep, though unsurprising, sadness that I read the words this morning, "Christopher Hitchens is dead." Unsurprising describes my sadness, I fully expected to feel his death as a personal loss, and it also describes his death: we all knew it was just a matter of time, for he had been sick for so very long.

I never knew Hitchens. As I am a Christian, he would have considered me an enemy of all he held dear. So be it. But I was an "enemy" who was drawn into the writings and thought of this worldly British man of letters. Whether commenting on Central European politics, the work of George Orwell, or the poisonous folly of belief, Hitchens's writings had a way of speaking to my soul.  I found God Is Not Great to be neither a shallow defense of anti-theism (as some Christians had) nor a devastating argument which destroyed my faith (as some now ex-Christians have). Instead, I read the words of a man who cared deeply and passionately about his fellow humans and was pleading, through as carefully a crafted appeal of logic and rhetoric as he could muster (and that was, by no means, inconsiderable), for us to repent of our evil for the salvation of the world. While I disagree with his identification of religion as "evil" I certainly respect his evangelist's heart. And, if we are being honest, I cannot completely dismiss his arguments that religion has fueled much evil in this world...

As an American, I share my countrymen's predisposition to be impressed and enthralled with English accents. I actively sought out podcasts and youtube videos where I could listen to Hitchens speak, and speak he could, like no one else. I could (and I say this because I have) listen to Hitchens talk for hours. My first read through of God Is Not Great was not a read at all, it was a listening to of the local public library's audiobook version, read, of course, by the author. When I later read the printed word, the voice of the man echoed through my head. Since then, my brain has supplied his voice to all of his writings, be that in Vanity Fair or some his older works I tracked down and savored. Letters to a Young Contrarian works particularly well with a "read by Hitch" brain conversion. (Incidentally, my copy has a picture of Hitchens in trench coat and holding a cigarette, which echoes my other English anti-hero, John Constantine. A character I suspect Hitch would have deplored, being rooted in a world of angels and demons).

Christopher Hitchens, like all of the so-called "New Atheists," made me think. I know that many in the theological and apologetic communities dismiss the New Atheists as being but pale shadows of the (by comparison) Old Atheists. I am undoubtedly a more shallow thinker than my fellow Christians, as evidenced by my judgment that the New Atheists raise important points, some of which I do not believe have been adequately answered. Maybe I'm just not smart enough to see the answers as adequate. Maybe I'm too fallen to get it. Maybe that's why I can admire people like Christopher Hitchens. Maybe.

Or maybe I get that Hitchens and Dawkins and all the rest are human beings, made in the image of God, endowed by their Creator with value and worth and dignity and gifts that, while not being used, perhaps, according to His will, nevertheless, to the eyes of faith, still shine forth as testament to the creative love of our God. At least, that's how my Christian mind sees it.

Christopher Hitchens voice and writings have been a significant part of my life for a few years now. And as inappropriate as it may seem, I feel a profound sense of loss. But how much more those who knew the man as friend, as family? My heart goes out to those who have lost a real, physical presence in their lives. The world has lost a public figure, but they have lost someone with whom their life paths were intertwined, that real interdependence we have with those of our local tribe or clan. My prayers are with them, though many of them find such sentiment distasteful.

Christopher Hitchens, cancer stopped first your voice and now at last your words entirely. But it will take the slow cancer of the years to end your influence in the hearts and minds of those who knew you or were touched by your work.

dmr: rip

Caught up in the universal expressions of mourning for Steve Jobs, the death of Dennis Ritchie has gone unnoticed by the world at large. I just found out this morning, but it seems he passed away last weekend, the result of a long struggle with illness. He was 70.

For those who might not know, Dennis Ritchie created the C programming language and was one of the co-creators of Unix. His contributions to the world of technology are deep and long-reaching. I never met dmr (as he was sometimes known as) but I feel a strangely powerful sense of loss. For the past several days, I haven't really understood how so many people who never knew Steve Jobs could be in mourning. But now, I think I get it. Not in a way I can verbalize yet, but in my gut, I get it.

So, Dennis and Steve, you are missed by millions who never knew you, but who love what you have done for their lives, who respect your vision, and are grateful for the time your genius was with us. Rest in peace.

So Long, Gary!

Gary Gygax passed away Tuesday morning. For those of you who might not know, Gygax was the co-creator of a game called Dungeons and Dragons. His name graces all of the 1st edition core books, back when the game was Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.

There are a handful of events that strongly shaped who I am today. One of them is D&D. D&D introduced a science fiction geek to the world of fantasy (and through that to the works of Tolkien and Lewis, as well as Moorcock, Kurtz, Leiber, Aspirin, and many, many others). D&D also provided a social locus for my high school friends and I. We did a lot more together than just play a game, but the game provided a point of contact.

I never got around to going to a convention and meeting Gygax. I had always meant to, to thank him for making a phenomenal game, for giving me some of the best friends of my life, but, good intentions...

I've read articles by him and interviews with him. He was one of us. A sixty-nine year old geek. Still rolling dice and kicking kobold butt. And for me, the world is a little less fun knowing that he's gone. My prayers and sympathy go up for his family and friends.

So Long, Larry!

Every Christian I know has people who helped them grow when they were young in the faith. Some of those people you know personally, and you form very close bonds of love with them. Others you know through their books, others through their songs.

When I was a young whippersnapper, moving from a religiously varnished humanism to a deeper relationship with my Creator and Redeemer, one voice that spoke to me through the headphones on my Sony Walkman was Larry Norman. Larry was one of the early of the so-called "Contemporary Christian musicians." His music moved my feet, and his lyrics moved my heart. I spent, literally, hundreds of hours listening to Larry, stopping the music to pray or reflect on something, and then hitting "play" and going back to some strange blend of worship and entertainment.

Larry has been sick for a long time, including some serious heart problems (which is weird, because no one can say the guy didn't have a big heart). Anyway, Larry has gone on to sing for his Lord in a face-to-face kind of way, or, more prosaically, he died, last Monday. He's undoubtedly happy, jamming out with the heavenly band. But, as is typical of us fallen people on this side of the vale, we're faced with loss and more than a bit of sadness. I'm not a huge fan of "Christian" music, but Larry's music truly brought me into a state of mind where I realized I was a fallen human living by the grace of a wonderful God. God bless, Larry, I hope I'll see you in Heaven.