What I'm Reading #4: Greene, Horton, and Enger

A. Useful. Curated. List. Maybe.

Every few weeks, I’ll share a few books I’m reading—why I like or don’t like them, a compelling quote, and questions they’ve raised for me. My interests lie in theology, Christian living, philosophy, history, and literature. Some weirdo books will sneak in, I’m sure, but you can generally expect that kind of diet.

The End of the Affair by Graham Greene

Greene exposes the depraved nature of man in full honesty. In this, he proceeds from a lineage of realists who present life as it is. The difference in Greene, at least in this book, is his use of realism to examine sin, unbelief, and finally, belief in God. There is little to admire in the main character, there’s little to see as redemptive. Maurice Bendrix is presented, warts and all, to the reader without mitigation. In fact, I’d say his sin, shortcomings, petty hatreds, and smallness is all the reader can take in. Yet, there’s mercy to be found. I won’t go further into the plot as there’s not much, and I don’t want to spoil it. The prose is excellent, there is dark humor, tragic decision-making, and a reminder that we’re all our own worst enemy. This is the kind of novel that has to be read, not heard about, and it will stay with me for a long time.

“How? I still don’t…’ He said with an awful air of conspiracy, ‘You and I know how. There’s no getting round it. It wasn’t right of me keeping it dark. It was a…’ but I put down the receiver before he could use that foolish newspaper word that was the alternative to ‘coincidence’.

Rediscovering The Holy Spirit by Michael Horton

This is the second book on the Holy Spirit I’m reading. I started with Fred Sanders’ The Holy Spirit: An Introduction and I enjoyed them both, but preferred the Sanders book. Horton’s work is by no means bad, but it is a little less accessible. Horton does give an exhortation that is a meaningful corrective to the age we live in. In short, he chides those who treat the Holy Spirit as if he only works in the personal and internal, thereby diminishing his work in the Trinity and all of God’s creation. I think he’s right to issue this corrective.

The Spirit is not the architect, nor is the framework of the cosmos or of the new creation “in him” as is true of the Word in whom all things hold together (Col 1:17). But he is the builder, carrying with him the plans of the Father and the materials purchased by the Son as he builds the sanctuary according to all that he has received. What are the specific missions of the Spirit in God’s undivided works? When we begin with the Spirit’s work in creation, the canvas of his operations widens. Jürgen Moltmann expresses a legitimate critique of tendencies to reduce the Spirit’s work to the inner life of the individual believer-basically, to the application of redemption

Peace like a River by Leif Enger

I read this book as part of a reading group this month. It was my second time through the book and I loved it both times. Enger understands the internal sub-culture of Protestant, evangelical Christianity in America. He is someone who has self-evidently spent time in that world, understands the cleavages between denominations, and playfully roasts theology. For example:

“If John Calvin was right, destiny had a serious grudge against Tin Lurvy, a purple-faced, futile, tragically sociable traveling salesman.” Enger, Leif. Peace Like a River: A Novel (p. 40).

Enger writes a good story and does an interesting spin on pilgrimage. The main character, Reuben, is carried through his journey, he isn’t forging his own way. I have no idea of Enger’s theological positions, but this feels very Reformed to me.

It’s also a very mid-western novel. Stark and beautiful landscapes, biscuits and butter, long drives, and horseback riding mark the story.

However, one of the risks of reading a story you like in a group is having its shortcomings brought to your attention. The meat of the story is overwrought and repetitive while key portions of the story are sped through all too quickly. The prose is not sublime. But I still recommend the book, a good story is good enough.

Is it fair to say that country is more real than ours? That its stone is harder, its water more drenching—that the weather itself is alert and not just background? Can you endure a witness to its tactile presence?