A Pastor’s Reading List for 2019

Photo by Stanislav Kondratiev

By Joe LaGuardia

I have made it a habit, as other pastors have, of publishing an annual reading list.  It is made up of books that we long to read, hope to read, want to read, need to read.  I have fun reading the lists of others, and I hope that people have fun reading mine.

This year I want to do it differently.  In years past, I viewed my list as a challenge–if it is listed, then I should read it.  Here I am four years writing a list, and I still haven’t read Moby Dick.  So, this year I am going to take the fun out of the list and only add books that I read.  This serves my readers in two ways: First, it lets readers know what I am reading for real.  Second, it holds a modicum of suspense.  You’ll just need to wait and see what I am going to read next!

So here are the books I am reading–as I read them!–in 2019:

1.  God Underneath, by Edward Brock.  I found this memoir by a Catholic priest in the shadowy (not seedy!) corner of my local used book store.  When I visit the store, I don’t spend much time in the religion section; just enough to see what Bibles are in stock.  This one particular day, a worker a who knows me and is in charge of the religion section told me that a large donation of Catholic books came in.  Brock’s moving book, of his upbringing to his discernment in the priesthood and eventual ministry, was among them.  His contention is that whatever comes our way, we can find God underneath it all if we only have the spiritual awareness to see the Spirit at work!  As one who loves memoirs, I really enjoyed this book.

2.  A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, by Eugene Peterson.  This book by the famed (and now late) Message Bible translator is said to be a classic.  I thought it was a memoir.  It is a classic to many pastors, but it certainly isn’t a memoir.  It is, instead, a book on the Psalms of Ascent.  Peterson’s writing is concise and spiritually uplifting; his exegesis and care in interpreting the text more so, but I would not call it a classic.  I have to admit, I ran out of gas before I finished the book.  Its not that it isn’t good; its just not what I expected.

3.  Philosophy of History, by William Dray.  This was yet another find at the used book store.  I have gotten into the habit of picking up quirky books that are easy or slim reads, and Dray’s concise introduction to the philosophy of history is no different.  This subject is not a first for me; I took a philosophy of history course in college as part of my history major (I remember well: the great, late Dr. Hembree was an amazing teacher, gone to be with the Lord at too young an age).  The book was wordy and not very well-written, but helped me remember some of those hold history philosophy debates we had back in the day.

One thing I did learn: Arnold Toynbee, who wrote a mutlivolume work called A Study of History, concluded perhaps naively, that the one unifying factor in the downfall of civilizations was the eventual decline of creativity and an entrepreneurial spirit–kind of like the first step towards an “idiocracy.”  Toynbee is on to something.  Might there be something for the church to learn–that once a church ceases to be creative, missional, and entrepreneurial, death is imminent?

4.  A Preface to Scripture, by Solomon Freeman.  Yet another used-book store find, but a treasure if there ever was one.  This is among one of my favorites so far in the past year (I started this book last year and have been slowly, deliciously making my way through it).  It is an introduction to the Old Testament written from a Jewish, rabbinic point of view (Freeman is a reputable Reformed rabbi of rabbis), written specifically for Christians.  His historical portraits and commentary on all the books of the First Testament are traditionally rabbinic, but provide fresh and creative readings along the way.  I am learning (1) where some of our own (Christian) interpretations of scripture come from and their Jewish roots; and (2) how rabbis have read scripture–and can contribute to our reading of scripture–before we, as a religious tradition, were even using the word “scripture” to begin with.  Every page is a learning experience–and I’m learning things new about the Bible along the way, not something that can be said often from a bookish nerd like me.

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A Reading Life (prt 14): Own your Writing


two books on wood plankBy Joe LaGuardia

A Reading Life is a blog series focused on the literature that has shaped my life and call to ministry. Find the introduction here.

I got more copies of my book A Whispering Call to sell around town.  I haven’t been in possession of the final draft in a while, so, upon receipt, I started to read it.

There is something about reading your work months after you wrote it that makes you pause–there is a great deal of self-doubt, and you wonder whether the final copy is any good.

I read the first page of the introduction, and I was stuck.  The transition from the first two paragraphs to the third was awkward.  I read it again, and I tried to get into where my head was months ago:  What was I thinking when I segued from one paragraph to the other?

A long time ago, someone told me it was hard for her to follow my sermons.  I lost her, she said, when I was transitioning from one subject to the next.  She said that my transitions left people behind or confused.   Although I dealt with that issue over time (it was a valid critique), it seems that some of my writing still carries that burden.

But I am also a big believer that a new paragraph begins a new topic.  That’s what I learned in grade school, at least.  Its not my fault that our digital, short-form world breaks everything into paragraphs after only a few sentences just because readers lose interest if a paragraph is too long.  (I learned this the hard way as a syndicated columnist–paragraphs are only two or three sentences long not because of the topic, but because of how it appears on the page; the internet is no different.)

I decided that my writing was just fine, and it hit me: I have to own my writing.  I have to take responsibility for my idiosyncrasies and trust in the work.

Ernest Hemingway inspired me in this.  I am currently reading A Farewell to Arms, and its been a while since I’ve read Hemingway.  His writing is unique–its short, brisk, and choppy.  At times he is repetitive.  He doesn’t fill in all the gaps, and his dialogue communicates basic information.

On the back of the book’s dustcover, it boasts that Hemingway “did more to change the style of English prose than any other writer in the twentieth century.”  He was, of course, a Pultizer winner for The Old Man and the Sea.

I wonder if Hemingway doubted his writing.  I wonder if he thought, “I hope people don’t think I write like a fifth-grader.”  But fans of his work will quickly note that, as concise as he may be, he communicates an entire vista within just a short economy of words.  He is amazing, and I like to think that he was unapologetic for his unique writing style.  He owned his writing.

My reflections on writing conjured the works of other off-beat authors.  Annie Dillard comes to mind–she is downright difficult to read, but oh! how she makes for majestic reading!

The first time I picked up Frank McCourt, with his long run-on sentences and lack of quotation marks, it was almost the last time I picked it up–not because it wasn’t good, but because I couldn’t put it down!

Preachers also tend to have their own style–the good ones, at least.  The late Fred Craddock is probably the most famous idiosyncratic preacher.  When he preached you forget that he is preaching, and by the time he finished (and he finishes whenever he wants), you think you’ve had a conversation with a best friend.

Brett Younger, pastor of Plymouth Church in Brooklyn (and one of my old professors), is also unique.  He weaves together comedy and tragedy and sacred text in ways that few can emulate.

Then there is Joel Osteen.  I don’t care what you think of his theology, but the man is an amazing storyteller.  Whenever I listen to him on XM radio, I feel better, like all is well with the world.

So take ownership of your writing.  No one is going to express what you need to say for you, and your silence may disenfranchise the world.  It may need another point of light in the darkness, so shine brightly for others to see.  Don’t mimic voices of others, come up with your own.  Take responsibility for your writing.  As long as you follow the basics in grammar, you should be fine–and empowered to keep on keeping on.

A Reading Life (prt 13): Being a Steward of Stories

 

By Joe LaGuardia

A Reading Life is a blog series focused on the literature that has shaped my life and call to ministry. Find the introduction here.

You may recall the post in which I said I read voraciously in high school, primarily those books in the school library that intrigued me the most.  Because I read so much of what I wanted, I failed to read books assigned to me by teachers. I went for years without touching those classics that most students read: Hawthorne, Lee, Hemingway, or Twain; but it was not a total loss.

My favorite teachers were eleventh- and twelfth-grade English teachers.

My eleventh grade teacher, Mr. Mitchell, taught American literature. He introduced us to Joseph Campbell’s hero myth and drew out all of his lessons on that premise. We watched movies from Star Wars Episode 5 (the best of all Star Wars movies) to The Crucible and The Witness. We read Native American literature and the poems of Dickinson. He introduced us to the plays of Arthur Miller. Death of a Salesman was memorable.

My British lit teacher, Ms. Brunnel, introduced us to Beowulf and Shakespeare in a way I’ve never read them before. We also read The Canterbury Tales, which played into my religious imagination and expanded my idea of the church as a pilgrim community made up of storytellers and stewards of stories.  She also snuck in Greek mythology, which fascinated me to no end–especially her feminist take on Medea.

What these teachers did differently than the rest was assume that we weren’t going to read outside of class. They made time in class so that we can read the books together. This was brilliant because (1) they assumed correctly–I never read assigned texts at home; and (2) reading together taught me the power of being part of a reading and interpreting community.

Little did I know how this practice of corporate reading would shape my understanding of the Bible and of church.  Church is, after all, a reading and interpreting community, and many books in scripture are meant to be acted out, if not in the reading of it, then in the living of it.  We need to remember that ancient Greek practices of playwright and of rhetoric shaped and informed the writing of the New Testament, which is written in Greek.

Reading literature also payed the bills.  When I graduated seminary, I landed a high-school history teaching position at a local Christian academy. I taught history, so it was an easy fit.  By the third year, however, the school needed a literature teacher and asked me if I was interested. I said yes and put Joseph Campbell, community interpretation, and storytelling to work once again. It was a fun and joyful year; and teaching grammar made me a better, more precise writer.

It was the year I caught up on my reading. I picked up books such as The Old Man and the Sea; The Great Gatsby, and Night. I studied the technical and aesthetic aspects of poetry.  I fell in love all over again with the concise art of short stories.  I read To Kill a Mockingbird, which inspired courage in ministry as it related to race reconciliation; and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by the amazingly moving Maya Angelou.  Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt expressed an immigrant’s point of view of poverty, not to mention McCourt’s unique run-on sentence writing style.

I realize now that both my teachers and my teaching of literature ignited a fondness for reading the Bible and of reading in general.  I believe that people who thrive are those who have mentors who shape their worldview and then, in turn, mentor others.

This is what it means to steward stories– to be a caretaker of those narratives that frame and shape our lives, and to encourage others to articulate the deepest notions of what it means to be human, individually and together.

A reading life is a life in community. It is one in which we learn how to read and interpret the words that build worlds. It is a life that leans upon and into others who have taken great pains to be stewards of stories themselves, for in this, the words we have are those in earthen treasures ready to be explored anew.