Four Books That Have Shaped My Thinking

Here are four books that I’ve read in the last year that have proven to be both informative and influential in my thinking.  Two are “Christian” books and two are “secular”—two terms I really don’t like using to describe books, but that’s another discussion—but all of them have helped me to understand Christianity, and Evangelicalism in particular, in its American context.  I'll take them in the order in which I read them.

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business by Neil Postman.  This was originally published in 1985, and has proven to be amazingly (and disturbingly) prophetic.  Postman, noting that every method of communication shapes the message communicated, asserted that television not only shapes the message but actually distorts it.  Television, especially when compared to the written word, cannot foster deep, rational thought in its viewers, because it requires absolute passivity from them. Television can only be about entertainment, and its cultural dominance, Postman argues, has had negative effects on education, politics, journalism and religion.  We demand to be entertained, and in fact can no longer tell the difference between information and entertainment.  What passes as information is actually entertainment, feeding us what we want to hear rather than what really is.  While Postman focused on television, 25 years later we find that screens dominate our lives more than ever, with TV being joined by other sophisticated electronic media like the Internet, smartphones and DVD/Blue Ray.  It’s interesting to me that this book was published a year later than the setting of George Orwell’s famous book, 1984, almost as if Postman was validating Orwell’s vision of modern life.

American Nations: A History of the Eleven Rival Regional Cultures of North America by Colin Woodard.  According to award-winning journalist and historian Colin Woodard, North America is made up of eleven distinct nations or cultures, each with its own unique historical roots.  American history tends to be taught, at least when I was in school, from an perspective that privileges American roots in England, as well as the struggle between North and South that culminates in the Civil War, to the exclusion of the other cultures that have existed almost from the beginning of the European conquest of North America.  In fact, Spanish settlements in the Southeast predate English settlements, though that tends to be overshadowed in our Anglo-centric histories.  From the Deep South to the Far West, to Yankeedom to El Norte, Woodard reveals how each regional culture continues to uphold its distinguishing ideals and identities today, with results that can be seen in the composition of the U.S. Congress or on the county-by-county election maps of presidential elections. 

Foolishness to the Greeks: The Gospel and Western Culture by Lesslie Newbigin.  Newbigin was an English missionary to India for nearly forty years, which allowed him to view both Western culture and Western Christianity from a non-Western perspective.  The argument Newbigin make is that when we encounter a culture not our own, we tend to impose on that culture the values and understanding of the gospel we bring to them; a gospel shaped by our own culture.  He helped reshape Christian missions to non-Western cultures, and that alone was good, but the real value of the book to me is that it helps Western Christianity distinguish what is Western in our Christianity, and what is truly the Gospel.  And he argues that Western Christianity needs to be converted to the Gospel as much as the rest of the world.

Misreading Scripture with Western Eyes: Removing Cultural Blinders to Better Understand the Bible by E. Randolph Richards and Brandon J. O’Brien.  Continuing the theme of culture’s influence on American Christianity, this is another book written by missionaries who have seen the way that culture shapes our understanding of Christianity.  While Newbigin focused on missiology and theology, Richards and O’Brien focus on how our Western culture influences our understanding of Scripture and leads us down interpretive paths never envisioned by the biblical writers.  If you can get past the sometimes clunky writing style, this book will help you to read the Bible with fresh eyes and deeper understanding.

On Time

Time passes.  That much is taken for granted, but few realize how we picture the passage of time and how culturally conditioned that picture is.

We see time as a straight line, and we are on that line moving from left to right the way we read a sentence.   The future is in front of us, because where we are headed—where we are going to be in just a bit—is in front of us.  The past is behind us, because all the stuff we passed by along the way is behind us.  This imagery is reflected in our language: we go “back” in time and we look “forward” to some anticipated future event.  Paul even uses this imagery: “...forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead,  I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.”  (Philippians 12-13)

Other cultures view time differently.  In some, we stand still while time passes by us, as if time was a river that we are standing in facing downstream.  In this image, the future isn’t in front, but behind, and we can’t see what is coming.  We can see the past because it has already passed by and we can see it receding in front of us.

There are no real implications in the differences in these two views of the passage of time other than to highlight that our view of time is culturally conditioned.   There are, however, some ramifications in the way our culture treats time and the way other cultures do.  For instance, we schedule our worship services to begin and end at certain times.  We almost never begin a service early, but every once in a while we will start late, and we try to plan them so that they end right on time—usually an hour after beginning.  It’s acceptable to end a service a little early—there’s no such thing as a bad short sermon—but if services habitually end late, someone is going to get in trouble!  But in their book, Misreading Scripture With Western Eyes: Removing Cultural Blinders to Better Read the Bible, E. Randolf Richards and Brandon J. O’Brien  note that in some cultures worship services always  start and end at the right time—although we wouldn’t think so.

In Indonesia, for instance, a service will be held at midday.  That’s not very precise; we’d like to know something more specific.  Is midday 11:00 a.m.?  Noon?  1 p.m.?  No, midday isn’t tied to a time, it’s tied to temperature: midday is when it gets hot.  When the day gets hot, people begin to arrive at the church for worship, and it may take an hour or more for everyone to get there.  Once everyone is there, the service starts, and in this way a service never starts late.  Richards writes, “So while in the United States church begins at 11:15 a.m., whether or not people are in the building, in Indonesia church begins when people get there. I always thought, Wow, some people get here early and some late. They didn't think that way. Arriving just took time.”

An Indonesian service might last two or three hours, but it never ends late.  It ends when everything that needs to happen happens.

In our culture, schedules reign supreme.  One of the reasons church leaders are so sensitive to ending a service on time is because if we don’t, we mess up people’s schedules, and that is rude and inconsiderate.  Sunday School classes have to begin, or we have to get home so we don’t miss the opening kickoff.

In Indonesia, the quality of an event matters more than fitting it into a set time period.  Even more significantly, they value people more than they value time.  “Relationships trump schedules,” Richards and O’Brien write, “so things begin when everyone who needs to be there has arrived.”

In our culture, time is money and we don’t like to squander either, yet we take little issue with squandering relationships.  When we come to the end of our lives, perhaps we will  find that we are rich in things but poor in friends.  
      Also, churches like to claim to be about relationships--with God and with others--but perhaps our cultural addiction to setting and keeping schedules actually undermines that claim.  What if the true worship of God can't be confined to a set ending time but needs to allow for the Spirit to have more freedom?  What would happen if we relaxed a bit and refused to start until "everyone" has arrived?  Maybe that's too radical an idea for our culture, but on the other hand, maybe it’s time for churches to reassess whether the church schedule is really more important than relationships with God and others.

A New Jig

 One of the tasks in guitar-building that is both critical and daunting is establishing the neck angle when making the tenon that joins the neck to the body.  The neck of the guitar is angled back from the top a scant 1-2 degrees.  That's not much, and that's why it can be a pain to make.  Imagine drawing a line that starts at the very edge of the fretboard side of the heel and then angles back 1 degree to the heel cap--heck, it's hard just to hold the ruler straight when drawing the line.  Then sanding the angle while keeping the shoulder of the heel perfectly level.

I did it last time, but not without some trial which led to error which led to me making a whole new neck.  Mahogany neck blanks cost around $35, so I was interested in finding a better, more efficient way.

I found a website that offered a jig that would set the angle straight from the guitar top and then allow you to rout the tenon at the precise angle, but it's made of metal and obviously for professional luthiers who are going to do this a lot.  It cost $899.  (But today it's on sale for an amazing $799 while supplies last!)

Not going to happen.

But then the owner of the guitar-building forum that I subscribe to, Robbie O'Brien, offered to the forum members plans for building a very similar jig for just $20, with the cost refunded to the first person to build the jig, use it on an actual build, and post the results on the forum.

Well, I sent the $20 in right away, and not because I cared about the refund.  I have two necks to build and I want them--and every one after them--done right, and as efficiently as possible.

I had to purchase about $75 worth of hardware, and a half-sheet of cabinet-grade plywood, and it took me parts of two weekends to build the jig.  

Before ever using a new jig on an actual guitar, it's imperative to test it on scrap.  I spent the better part of Saturday morning testing the mortise side on a piece of 2 x 4.  

Test cuts in 2 x 4

Once I was sure I had everything dialed in and was getting consistent results, I was ready to move on to the guitars.

Tim's guitar clamped on the mortise side of the jig

I started with Tim's guitar.  I put masking tape on the neck end of the sides and connected the center line of the top with that of the back (it's easier to see a line drawn on masking tape than on the dark brown rosewood), and lined up all the centerlines with those of the template.  

Centerlines lined up (ignore the parallax)

 The bearing at the top of the router bit rides against the clear acrylic template and gives the shape to the mortise.  Since I'm doing a full-depth cut, I work very slowly, routing out about 1/8" at a time, but in just a couple of minutes I got a mortise cut into the guitar.

Mortise Routed

Five minutes later and the mortise is cut in Austin's guitar.  (This is why doing two guitars at once is faster than doing two separately: there's only half the setup and cleanup time involved.  Set it up, do two guitars, then clean it up.  I could do more guitars at once except I can't afford to have that much money tied up in materials.)

Fine looking mortise

Now onto the neck tenons, which is why I built this jig in the first place.  Here's how it works:

To achieve the neck angle I want a straight-edge that is flush with the 14th fret (where the neck joins the body) to have a gap of about 3.5 mm at the bridge area of the top.  The jig has an aluminum angle bar that extends above the top of the jig that is attached to a pivot board underneath it.  This pivot board is attached to the top of the jig with hinges, and the neck is clamped to the pivot board.


The guitar body is stood upside down on the top of the jig, with the guitar soundboard flush against the aluminum angle bar at the centerline.  

Top flush against bar

 With the bridge location marked on the soundboard, I turn a knob on the pivot board that pushes it away from the vertical axis, thus moving the bar away from the soundboard.  I fiddle with the knob until the gap at the bridge location is 3.5 mm, then lock it down.

Gap at bridge (which is several inches below the end of the bar)

Note: if a millimeter is pretty small; a half millimeter is even smaller (d'uh).  So measuring 3.5 mm is basically, "Well, it's more than 3 mm but it's not 4 mm.  There's a limit to the precision needed.  I could use a dial indicator, but this is one of those times when pretty close is close enough.  I can adjust the height of the bridge for each guitar to compensate for any deviance in neck angel from guitar to guitar.

Neck clamped to jig

I have a neck that I had screwed up by making too thin, and this is why I don't throw away my mistakes--there eventually will come a time when they can be used.  I glue an endblock onto this neck, and then test the jig on this neck.  On the first pass I notice that the tenon fits pretty loose in the mortise, and I want a tighter fit, so I put some masking tape on the template tenon, which will result in a wider tenon.  I keep adding masking tape and cutting tenons until I get a nice fit in the mortise.

Neck clamped to pivot board, which is slightly off vertical

Then it's just a matter of routing the tenon.  I don't do a full cut because I want to sneak up on the 14th fret line.  I want the tenon on the fretboard side to be exactly at the 14th fret line, while it will be a little deeper at the heel cap.


Boom!  Done, and perfectly!  The tenon fits snugly in the mortise, and the neck fits flush onto the top of the guitar sides.  

Tenon

I put the other neck in, put the other body next to the aluminum bar, and make a small adjustment (because the body lengths are different, the bridge location is different as well), rout the tenon, and, once again, a perfect fit.

Snug fit (the gap at the bottom is irrelevant; it's the sides that need to be tight)

On both guitars I put the neck on the guitar body, hold a straight-edge on the neck from around  the nut area, and measure the gap at the bridge.  In theory it should be 3.5 mm.

In reality?  3.5 mm.

I love it when things work the way they should.

A task that has been filled with apprehension and frustration I can now face with confidence.  The nice thing about this jig is that setup is pretty simple: clamp it to the workbench, put the right bit in the router, adjust the templates for the size mortise and tenon needed, and it's ready to go.

And it didn't cost me $799.

The Fix

When I decided to get into guitar building a few years ago, I started by learning as much as I could about the process.  One of the things I did was to purchase and watch a DVD on building a steel-string guitar by Robert O’Brien.  O’Brien studied luthiery in Brazil and worked there for a number of years before returning to the states.  He now lives in Boulder, CO, where he runs the guitar making department at Red Rocks Community College.  (This school has an amazing School of Fine Woodworking in which building stringed instruments—violins, mandolins, banjos, and classical, steel-string, and electric guitars is a major part.)

About a year ago I had a question about a guitar I was finishing, so I went to O’Brien’s website from which I emailed my question.  He very graciously replied almost immediately, and invited me to join his online forum on which other builders post questions and answers to problems, pictures of their recent successes, and other things related to luthiery. 

Robbie, as O’Brien is known by those who know him, recently posted a picture of his latest classical guitar which shows the bridge—the part of the soundboard that holds the strings—in its proper position but with about ¼” of unfinished wood showing in front. 

 The bridge is glued on after the finish (in this case shellac) is applied and buffed, so before finishing you must carefully measure where the bridge will be and mask this off with tape before applying the finish.

Here’s what happened in Robbie’s words:

“I measured and masked off the bridge a couple of weeks ago. I did the FP (French Polish—a method of applying shellac by hand) and let it cure. Yesterday before going to class, I once again measured, centered the bridge, removed the tape, checked everything etc. I then went in to class and was going to do a demo on how to use a vacuum jig to glue on a bridge. I once again had the ruler on the centerline and the bridge in position. Gregory then noticed that the bridge had been lined up at 662mm instead of 652mm!!! Yikes!!! How did that happen? Well, it so happens that they put the numbers 650 and 660 really close together on these rulers! I looked at the 650 and must have then neatly lined the front edge of the saddle slot with 660. Not only once but twice!! Once when masking off and once when removing the masking tape!!”

He had to scrape all the shellac off using a razor blade followed by sandpaper, measure correctly the bridge location, mask it off, then do the French Polish all over again.

I emailed Robbie and admitted to taking perverse satisfaction in knowing that someone as skilled and experienced as he can screw up, because I screw up all the time.  It’s very satisfying when a process works the way it’s supposed to in guitar building, but that’s a satisfaction I don’t experience near as much as the frustration when it doesn’t.  It seems inherent in any creative process that perfection is not only elusive but near impossible.  There are always things that aren’t going to go right, either because each piece of wood is different, or, mainly, because each builder is human and prone to making mistakes.  When one is made, the luthier is confronted with this decision: can this be fixed, or do I need to start over again?  Starting over again is, in some ways, the easy thing to do.  It’s a blunt instrument.  Trash the wood, get a new piece, and do it right the next time.  Fixing a problem requires more skill as it is often very fine work, but more than anything it requires creativity.  You have to look at the problem and envision what can be done.  When executed properly, the builder is the only one who can tell that a fix has been made.

Obviously, fixing a problem is to be preferred to starting all over again, as long as the end result is an instrument that is beautiful to look at, play, and listen to.  Robbie was able to fix his problem, and the result is a stunning instrument that yesterday sold for over $3,000 within hours of going on sale.

In the flood narrative of Genesis 6-9 God used the blunt instrument of starting all over again to fix the problem of human evil, violence, and sin.  And it didn’t work.

The Incarnation is God using his creativity to fix the problem.  God became human, suffered the brunt of humanity’s violent evil, and won.  None of us would have come up with this plan.  It’s ingenious. 

And if each of us will submit to his incarnational plan, the result, both in our lives and in the world, will be stunning.

Guitar Kits

When the subject of guitar building comes up I am frequently asked if I use a kit. It sounds like a simple question with a simple answer, but it's not. The answer depends on what the person means by a "kit."

I don't cut down trees to get my wood, nor do I go to a lumberyard and pick out a chunk of rosewood, some mahogany, ebony and spruce, then take it back to my workshop and re-saw it to the proper dimensions. The Big Boys at Martin, Taylor, Yamaha etc. can afford to have the equipment needed to buy whole logs and then re-saw them themselves, but smaller builders and hobbyists don't do that. (If you are interested in see a some wood go from log to guitar backs, Taylor's website has a two-part video showing that process on a beautiful koa log. Here's Pt. 1 and Pt. 2. Look around at the other videos to see how the factories do it.)

But I don't just assemble pieces from a kit where the majority of work has been done. Here's a picture from a kit that you can buy from Grizzly Tools:
As you can see, most of the work has already been done. The top and back have been thicknesed and profiled, braces glued on, the sides bent, and the body assembled. The neck has been shaped and is ready to be installed on the body. Then the fretboard, which already has the frets installed, needs to be glued on the neck and the position markers glued in. Everything needs to be sanded and the finish applied, afterwhich the bridge can be glued on, and that can get tricky. After that you just have to install the tuning machines, string it up, and you are jammin'! Depending on the type of finish you use, it's a two- to four-week process, most of which is spent waiting for the finish to cure.

This is not a bad way to go if you are just starting out. The really hard stuff has been done for you, so the chances that you will screw up are small. That's good, because some mistakes can be costly. This kit costs just $80 + p & h, so your investment is small. (You can get it at www.grizzly.com) You won't end up with a great-sounding guitar (the back and sides are made of poplar, not a premium guitar wood), but if all you want is a great-sounding guitar, just go buy one. In these instances it's the process that is more important than the product. If you aren't sure you want to really get into guitar building, this is a cheap way to dip your toe into the water

At the next level of guitar kits much less has been done for you. Here's a picture of a kit from Martin:


Much more work to do here. The sides have been bent and the top has been profiled, but the back still needs to be joined and profiled. The braces have been cut, but I can't tell if they've been shaped. The neck has been shaped, and the fretboard is cut and fret slots cut, but the frets haven't been hammered in. There is a lot of work to be done here. This is a good kit to purchase if you want a good sounding guitar that you can say you made yourself. The back and sides are either mahogany ($360 + p & h) or rosewood ($438) and the top is spruce, traditional woods.

This is also a good kit if you are pretty sure you want to make more than one guitar and are looking for a good introduction into guitar building. I would recommend that you buy a Robert O'Brien's DVD "Build a Steel-String Guitar" (or "Build a Classical Guitar" if that's your interest) as well as the Bible of luthiery, William Cumpiano's "Guitarmaking: Tradition and Technology." I pretty much read this book through before I went to the Vermont Instruments workshop, and I still refer to it, as well as to O'Brien's DVD.

You can get both of these products at amazon, or at Luthier's Mercantile International (www.lmii.com), which is where I get my supplies, as well as the kit that I use. At LMI you can get a kit like the Martin kit, or you can go up one level and get a kit that has virtually nothing done for you. That's where the fun is, and that's what I use. But more on that later.