I found this leadership book by former pastor and coveted conference speaker Cary Nieuwhof to be far more instructive and helpful than I'd anticipated, and timed perfectly coming right before my sabbatical. It addresses seven of the most common issues that leaders face over time, the sort that drive people out of leadership: cynicism, compromise, disconnection, irrelevance, pride, burnout, and emptiness. Nieuwhof's goal is to give the reader some early warning signs they can recognize, as well as point to better ways of being before it's too late.
Most startling for me was the burnout chapter, which cited eleven signs and symptoms that you're at the end of your rope and in dire need of rest and renewal. Ten of them applied to me. Thankfully, Nieuwhof also offers ten ways to come back from burnout, and taking a sabbatical is one of them.
This book came at just the right time in my life, with me having picked it up on a whim years ago at a used bookstore, but never opening it until now. I would definitely recommend it as education and encouragement for other leaders, especially those in ministry.
COMMON SENSE by Thomas Paine
After spending all of last month reading Democracy in America, I decided to dive into another primary source for July 4, Thomas Paine's Common Sense. This little pamphlet—I read it in two sittings—made the case in January 1776 that the time has come for the colonists to split from England. Part polemic against the king, part Enlightenment-era rational argument why the colonies are deserving of political independence, the pamphlet circulated widely and was considered by the Founding Fathers to be crucial in persuading people that the time for revolution had come.
Blessedly short (especially after 800+ pages of de Tocqueville), this is required reading for every American, right along with the Declaration of Independence. And in a time when "no kings" has become a rallying cry for roughly half the country, you may even find its arguments to be prescient, some 250 years after its publication.
HOW TO READ AND WHY by Harold Bloom
Harold Bloom is arguably the most famous literary critic of the 20th century, a Yale literature professor who continued arguing for the existence and importance of a western canon even as many postmodern scholars dismissed the notion. How to Read and Why is an entry-level look into his thinking, as he makes the case that wisdom can be found in reading some of the great novels, plays, and poetry.
Unfortunately, this book has two major problems. First, Bloom assumes the readers familiarity with the books he's examining, rarely offering even a sentence of plot summary before getting into the weeds of Henry James or Flannery O'Connor. This may be fine for Shakespeare or Moby Dick, but it's a barrier to entry for other works.
Second, and most aggavatingly, Bloom is an inveterate snob, the kind of critic who dismisses "grocery store fiction" and who seems to believe that, with two or three exceptions, no great books have been written since 1945. For Bloom, there is no compliment higher than "Shakesperean," and indeed, he compares virtually every author to Shakespeare, whether favorably or unfavorably.
While I stubbornly finished this book—it's less than 300 pages long, and I paid $5 for it at Half Price Books—I won't pretend I enjoyed it, and I will happily be returning it to the store where I got it for pennies on the dollar. If you're wanting a book on books, I can think of at least 20 I'd recommend before this one.
JOHN ADAMS by David McCullough
John Adams' fate, it seems, was to always be an afterthought, always second to come to mind. He was, of course, the second president of the United States, following the revered George Washington. Before that, he was the most vocal and influential proponent for the adoption of the Declaration of Independence by the Second Continental Congress—but history's credit goes not to him, but to Thomas Jefferson, the declaration's author. Even in his own family, it was Abigail Adams who universally beloved and respected, and the comparisons others drew between her and her husband did not tend to reflect favorably upon John.
So David McCullough's authoritative 2001 biography of John Adams is fitting in its approach: on the one hand, it seeks to give the reader a fuller understanding of who the Founding Father really was, offering a sympathetic look at his life and legacy. But on the other hand, one never shakes the feeling that he was overshadowed in life and in death—by Washington, by Jefferson, and even by Abigail.
McCullough, one of America's preeminent historials, offers a traditional, life to death biography here, akin to what he did for Harry Truman in 1992. And as was his approach then, his approach to his subject is to treat him as a protagonist—while never shying away from Adams' faults, he is coming at him from a sympathetic perspective, seeking to glorify his accomplishments and offer explanation for his defects.
For McCullough, Adams is the most approachable and humble of the Founding Fathers, a farmer and family man thrust into service by the American Revolution. Adams in his view never saw himself as a Great Man of History in the way that Jefferson clearly did, but he rose to the occasion nevertheless, whether as a revolutionary, a diplomat, or a president. And so it was at home, whether in his simple birthplace in Braintree, Massachusetts or his later house in Quincy, that Adams felt most comfortable, not the halls of Versailles or the presidential abode of his own young nation.
Adams is often viewed in the popular imagination as a transitory figure, a bridge from the Revolution to the nation's expansion in the 19th century, from Washington to Jefferson. McCullough doesn't really dispell this idea, even as he seeks to show that Adams was crucial in making that transition as smooth as possible. His account of the Adams administration is of a president who could never hope to be as revered as his predecessor nor be given the freedom to move forward that his succesor had—it fell to Adams to prepare the way for a future he would never see.
When we think about John Adams, we inevitably compare him to his peers, and usually unfavorably. He lacked Washington's gravitas, Franklin's genius, and Jefferson's charisma. But McCullough persuasively makes the case that, in an era of titans, Adams deserves his own recognition. Simply put, being second to George Washington is nothing to be ashamed of.
NO CURE FOR BEING HUMAN by Kate Bowler
Kate Bowler, through her research, writing, and personal story, has become a generational voice for those tired of the glib, "power of positive thinking" messages we hear so often in America, particularly in evangelical circles. Her Everything Happens podcast, where she talks about suffering and grief with assorted guests, and her first memoir, Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I've Loved, deal extensively with the culture's allergy to these difficult subjects, offering an authentic, faithful, and even hopeful alternative. She continues in that vein in No Cure for Being Human, a second memoir that leans more heavily on her personal story than its predecessor while still drawing out some universal messages.
That story is about how Bowler, a successful professor at Duke University with a husband and a baby boy, was unexpectedly diagnosed with Stage IV cancer and told she had mere months to live. The book traces her journey through an experimental immunotherapy treatment that, shockingly, ended up proving completely effective. Along the way, she traces all the fears, surprises, and ultimately, cautious joy that came with her experience. This is not a "and they all lived happily ever after" kind of book, but rather one that wrestles with the struggles she endured and seeks to find meaning in them.
Perhaps my favorite part of the book comes at the very end, a quick 2 page chart that contrasts superficial cliches (like "everything happens for a reason") with what she has found to be the truth. The last one gives the book its title: instead of "you're invincible!" she reminds the reader, "there's no cure for being human." The world (and the church) needs more people willing to tell those kinds of truths.
I remember when my dad first read The Chronicles of Narnia to me as a child, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader was my least favorite. Between all the nautical vocabulary and the episodic nature of the adventures, it didn't compel me as much as the other books in the series.
Based on the four months it took for me and my kids to finish Dawn Treader, it seems I haven't changed my mind.
The third book in The Chronicles of Narnia sees the two youngest of the Pevensie children, Edmund and Lucy, transported back to the magical realm along with their spoiled, obnoxious cousin Eustace. They find themselves aboard a Narnian ship, the Dawn Treader, where their friends King Caspian, the valiant mouse Reepicheep, and a crew of sailors are sailing to find the end of the world. Along the way, they encounter all sorts of friends and foes, seeing strange sights they'd never known back in Narnia. Oh, and Eustace grows up (thank goodness—if you thought Edmund was bad in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, he's got nothing on his cousin.)
Mostly absent in this tale is Aslan, though he makes a few important appearances. That may be another reason this one never gripped me like other Narnia stories. Once you've met a Jesus lion, you don't really want to go without him for too long.
Jokes aside, this is not a bad book by any means, but I do think it's a weaker story than The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe or Prince Caspian, and that Lewis spends too much time on description and too little time on characterization. I doubt this one will make anybody give up on The Chronicles of Narnia, but I suspect I'm not the only person who ever rejoiced at finishing it and moving on to the next book.
THIS is where The Avengers starts to get good. Following nearly 50 issues by the likes of Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Don Heck, and friends, writer Roy Thomas and artist John Buscema were handed the keys and they stepped on the gas. Black Panther, having first been introduced in Fantastic Four, is added to the roster. The villainous Ultron enters the picture, followed soon after by his android offspring, the Vision. Hank Pym has his first mental breakdown, resulting in a new superhero identity and his marriage to the Wasp (I know how it sounds...you had to be there.) And after years of somewhat aimless storytelling, the book starts to find its identity.
Thomas bears much of the responsibility for that, and indeed his vision (pun intended) for the team would arguably shape the book for decades. But the real star of this volume is John Buscema, who alongside inker Tom Palmer puts out some of his best work. With a look that would eventually become Marvel's house style for the 1970s, Buscema combines realism with dynamism...and, crucially for these Essential volumes, it looks great in black and white.
The seeds planted in this volume would come to bear fruit for at least the next decade (as you'll see over the rest of the year while I make my way through all nine of the Essential Avengers books). To see where it all really began, these issues are the best place to start.
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