Critic Cal

"How is being a Christian like being a pumpkin?", my Facebook newsfeed prompted me: "God picks you from the patch, brings you in, and washes all the dirt off of you. Cuts off the top and scoops out all the yucky stuff. He removes the seeds of doubt, hate, greed, etc...and then He carves you a new smiling face and puts His light inside of you to shine for all the world to see." Underneath were lots of awws, and 'likes', and general indications of approval, many from dear friends whom I should possibly be more reluctant to offend. But I couldn't help but think – "hang on a sec – have none of you ever actually seen a jack-o-lantern?" Picture CC from Handtwerk on Flickr Wow, that's, erm, really something to aspire to, hey. In fact, I worry that we Christians have  gained a reputation for certain pumpkin-like tendencies, along rather less flattering lines of comparison: permanently, determinedly, grotesquely, smiley; little going on b

First Witch When shall we three meet again In thunder, lightning, or in rain? Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done, When the battle's lost and won. Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun. First Witch Where the place? Second Witch Upon the heath. Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth. (Shakespeare, Macbeth , Act I, Scene I) That fateful meeting on the heath plants the seed of a dark ambition: Macbeth is to be king of Scotland. He eagerly believes the witches' prophecy -- though not quite enough, it seems, to prevent him taking matters into his own hands. Spurred on by Lady M, he murders the visiting King Duncan as he sleeps, and frames his servants in the morning. Duncan's sons flee in fear, and Macbeth assumes the throne. And then, objective ostensibly gained, all manner of madness proceeds ... Macbeth, remembering the witches' other prediction that his friend Banquo would be father to a line of kings, is racked with anxiety at this thr

Sonnet Hating   Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? You wince at all things metaphorical; Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May -- Just like they shook it into you at school. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, Too many iambs make you lose your cool, And every fair from fair sometime declines, While you decline all rhyme and metric rule. But thy eternal summer shall not fade -- The heat of your disdain is turned up full; Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade -- For you, that's too anthropomorphical. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, You will remain averse to poetry.  (Sorry Will ). No time for rhyme? Averse to verse? Incensed by cadence? I feel patronisingly sorry for you, but you're not alone. Especially not if recent poetry sales are anything to go by -- according to a Guardian article earlier this year, the total value of the market has dropped from £8.4m in 2009 to just £6.7m in 2012 -- a massive 20% declin

I take great issue with the pseudo-scriptural aphorism "cleanliness is next to godliness". Whatever its original intent, it sounds too much like something a prim and disapproving well-to-do would utter disdainfully in the presence of a small, grubby child or a dishevelled 'vagrant'. Whereas, when you look at what the Bible actually says, there turns out to be a good deal more affirmation than there is reproach for such persons: And they were bringing children to him that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them. ( Mark 10 :13-16) Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs

America. The near future. Society has run to seed. Promiscuity, prostitution and sexual degeneracy are rife. Abortion, contraception, nuclear radiation, toxic waste and STDs are taking a worrying toll on birth rates. Women are objectified, degraded by pornography, at risk of sexual violence. This unwholesome nation is in desperate need of the reinstatement of some good old-fashioned Biblical values. And so (according to Margaret Atwood 's awfully superb work of dystopian speculative fiction ' The Handmaid's Tale ') a subtle coup is staged. An apparent terrorist attack destroys the President and most of Congress, and throws the country into a state of emergency. The Constitution is suspended. The "Sons of Jacob" movement sets to work "restoring order". Non-white people are shipped to "appropriate" homelands. Women are returned to their "rightful" stations, as baby-makers and domestics. It becomes illegal to employ them, and at a