Найти книгу: "Tongues of Fire"

Pentecost celebrates the countless expressions of God's love and wisdom. Like a skilled dancer, God's Holy Spirit moves through all creation, bringing forth life and love and inspiration. Fire and wind are everywhere. Inspiration and revelation are just a moment away and can come either by surprise or as a result of the interplay between God's wisdom and our intentional spiritual practices. The spirit blows where it wills, in all directions, embracing all life, human and nonhuman. In other words, Pentecost is about God's omnipresence, which Ingram interprets through the categories of Whiteheadian process theology, as God's ever-present «initial aim» that all things and events at every moment of space-time achieve the maximum self-fulfillment of which they are capable. Intentionally conforming our «subjective» aims for our own fulfillment with God's initial aim for us, as the historical Jesus did, is the call of Pentecost. Omnipresence is an all-or-nothing deal. God can't be a little omnipresent. Either God is present in, with, and under every thing and event since the beginning of creation–what theologians and philosophers call panentheism–or omnipresence makes no sense.

Naomi Novik’s stunning series of novels follow the global adventures of Captain William Laurence and his fighting dragon Temeraire as they are thrown together to fight for Britain during the turbulent time of the Napoleonic Wars.Laurence and Temeraire have been banished from the country they’ve fought so hard to protect – and the friends they have made in the British Aerial Corps.Found guilty of treason, man and dragon have been deported to Australia to start a new life and many new adventures.

In the late sixteenth century, as England began to assert its integrity as a nation and English its merit as a literate tongue, vernacular writing took a turn for the eccentric. Authors such as John Lyly, Edmund Spenser, and Christopher Marlowe loudly announced their ambitions for the mother tongue—but the extremity of their stylistic innovations yielded texts that seemed hardly English at all. Critics likened Lyly's hyperembellished prose to a bejeweled «Indian,» complained that Spenser had «writ no language,» and mocked Marlowe's blank verse as a «Turkish» concoction of «big-sounding sentences» and «termes Italianate.» In its most sophisticated literary guises, the much-vaunted common tongue suddenly appeared quite foreign. In Uncommon Tongues , Catherine Nicholson locates strangeness at the paradoxical heart of sixteenth-century vernacular culture. Torn between two rival conceptions of eloquence, savvy writers and teachers labored to reconcile their country's need for a consistent, accessible mother tongue with the expectation that poetic language depart from everyday speech. That struggle, waged by pedagogical theorists and rhetoricians as well as authors we now recognize as some of the most accomplished and significant in English literary history, produced works that made the vernacular's oddities, constraints, and defects synonymous with its virtues. Such willful eccentricity, Nicholson argues, came to be seen as both the essence and antithesis of English eloquence.