Hello, fellow wayfarers … How a book club helped me learn how to live and to die … Who did the right Christian thing at the awkward meeting at the Jimmy Carter funeral: Mike Pence or his wife? … What some readers did to use books, films, and music to create a “Desert Island” community in their church … a Desert Island Playlist from California … This is this week’s Moore to the Point.
How a Book Club Helped Me to Live and to Die
This is from my “Onward” column in the January/February issue of Christianity Today. Lots of great stuff in this issue, especially focused on books. Be sure to subscribe here for commentary and news.
Addressing the complaint that her writing wasn’t uplifting enough, Flannery O’Connor once quipped, “One old lady who wants her heart lifted up wouldn’t be so bad, but you multiply her 250,000 times and what you get is a book club.” She did not mean this as a compliment.
For most of my life, I would have taken O’Connor’s side in this (as I would in most arguments). Even apart from the least-common-denominator “book of the month” clubs she implied, the term book club often connotes a grown-up version of middle school kids trying to start an oral class report on Moby-Dick with “Herman Melville was a very, very important man.”
That all changed for me about five years ago, when I joined a book club that changed my life.
I was reluctant to do it because the last thing I wanted was another Zoom meeting in my schedule. But being present on those Wednesday nights has become one of the most important ways I have survived the tumultuous last several years.
At some point, I noticed that what was most important about this book club was not the intellectual conversations about books. As time has gone on, it takes us longer and longer to get to whatever book we’re discussing that week. Instead, we talk about what’s really happening with us—who’s thinking about changing jobs, who’s worried about a son or daughter, whose elderly parent is falling more these days, whose friend is grappling with depression.
Over time, one member and then another, and then two others, grew ill with cancer. Two of them went through treatment and are doing well. Two of them—Tim Keller and Michael Gerson—died. Almost all of them logged in to the book club from their hospital rooms to talk about Dallas Willard and Alexis de Tocqueville, while what we were all really learning from one another was how to die well.
We seemed to know that in days filled with medical charts and blood levels, there was something healing for them—for all of us—to talk about Abraham Kuyper or Jacques Ellul. And the subtext of all those conversations, even for this group of bookish, cerebral men, was saying, “We love you, we’re with you, and you’re not alone” to the one in the hospital room.
One day, I said to my wife, “The secret of all this is that it’s not really a book club; the books are the excuse we give ourselves to make sure we’re all there.” In that sense, the reason I keep coming back is akin to the lonely man whom songwriter Don Williams talks about, the one who insists about his neighborhood bar, “I just come here for the music.”
Political scientist Robert Putnam, who wrote Bowling Alone, a study of the American loss of community, told The New York Times this year that his lament for the loss of bowling clubs is sometimes misunderstood. We need those kinds of mediating institutions—outside the family and outside the state—in order to build civil society, he said, but “you don’t bowl so you can build a better community, you bowl because it’s fun.”
“And in the doing of the bowling, in a team, you’re hanging out with folks and sometimes you’re talking about the latest TV show, or occasionally you might talk about the garbage pickup in town. And that’s democracy.” In other words, we come to community not by setting out to “commune” but by coming at it sideways.
C. S. Lewis described the love of friendship itself as dependent on that kind of dynamic. Friendship, he said, is not mere companionship—doing the same thing together—but it starts out that way: “Friendship must be about something, even if it were only an enthusiasm for dominoes or white mice.” Or books. He continued,
The Companionship was between people who were doing something together—hunting, studying, painting or what you will. The Friends will still be doing something together, but something more inward, less widely shared and less easily defined; still hunters, but of some immaterial quarry; still collaborating, but in some work the world does not, or not yet, take account of; still travelling companions, but on a different kind of journey. Hence we picture lovers face to face but Friends side by side; their eyes look ahead.
One doesn’t apply somewhere to find friends—the way one might find a date on an app or a job on the internet. Often, we have to have something we love in common to keep us coming back, to keep us from withdrawing into ourselves. For my group, it was books. And maybe for us, that was the best way to do it.
Reading, after all, is a solitary activity. It’s hard to read in community. One has to ponder, to think. As a matter of fact, scholars tell us that literacy is what led to the concept of individuality, which has led civilization to great good—human rights and dignity, democracy, scientific research that has saved billions of lives. But it’s also brought loneliness and isolation.
And yet even reading—one of the most individual of acts—can be used to gather people together, to talk, to discuss, to realize the sort of exclamation that Lewis described as the fundamental core of friendship: “You too? I thought I was the only one.”
A book club is not for everybody. For some people, it’s building barns or sitting in a deer stand or, yes, bowling. But when—in any of those circumstances—one finds a genuine circle of friends who trust each other, who aren’t afraid to lose face in front of or be vulnerable with each other, what’s gained is immeasurable.
I suppose I realized this when, one night after book club, I realized I had to update my funeral plans, tucked away in the “just in case” file for my wife.
A lot of the people I had written down to give eulogies or pray prayers no longer speak to me—mostly over our differing views on politics. I noticed that the people I wanted to be sure were there included the men I gather with on Wednesday nights to talk about books. Twice before, we’ve gathered at a funeral for one of us, and it comforts me to know they might gather at mine.
Being a reader is not just about the mind. It’s not even just about the heart. Sometimes, a reader multiplied by 12 or 13 is a book club. Unlike Flannery O’Connor, I mean that as a very good thing.
Which Pence Did the Right Thing?
Today the new episode of the podcast dropped with a conversation between former vice president Mike Pence and me on a variety of issues—cabinet appointments, the future of the pro-life movement, how to maintain one’s personal faith in a notoriously cynical business. But we started the conversation talking about an awkward moment at a funeral.
The day before we recorded, at former president Jimmy Carter’s funeral at the National Cathedral, the former vice president saw his one-time running mate, President Donald Trump. It was the first time Pence had seen Trump since the immediate aftermath of the insurrection of January 6, 2021, and Pence’s refusal to act to overturn the election.
Media reports focused on the interpersonal dynamics at the funeral—the playful nudge that George W. Bush gave Barack Obama, etc.—but especially the fact that Pence shook Trump’s hand and spoke to him while his wife, Karen, noticeably refused to do so, seemingly refusing to even look in the direction of the Trumps at all.
I asked Pence about that, and he said, “You’d have to ask my wife about her posture, but we’ve been married 44 years and she loves her husband and her husband respects her deeply.”
The public and media responses to this are interesting, because most people tend to frame how they see all of this through the grid of our (very polarized) political opinions. Some people criticize Pence for what they see as weakness, for cordially recognizing a man who he said asked him to violate his oath and who took no action to keep him from being killed. These critics would see the civility as inauthentic and fake.
Meanwhile, other people criticize Karen Pence for being “bitter” or “unforgiving” or “disrespecting the office of the president of the United States.” Of course, still others condemn both of them for not walking out or confronting Trump in some sort of public scene.
That’s all consistent with the way we see everything in 2025 America. We want to criticize or defend on the basis of our already existing opinions the heroes and villains of our political avatars. We forget that these are also human beings. And we also forget how awkward and complicated it is for all of us to figure out how to respond to such situations.
Virtually none of you will ever find yourself in this exact situation, of a national media recording how you respond and assigning motives and meaning to it. But many of you will be in a situation—maybe a funeral, maybe a wedding, maybe a birthday party—where you find yourself coming face to face with someone you consider to have hurt you. How will you respond in an awkward situation like that?
Let’s try something countercultural here—and rather than assume cynicism and malice, let’s assume, for the sake of argument, good will. The Bible calls us as Christians to forgive, to not hold others’ offenses against us, and yet the Bible does not equate forgiveness with unaccountability or reconciliation. It does not require pretending that no hurt has been done—and that’s especially true when those hurt are others.
But sometimes it is really hard to know what to do. A divorced couple, for example, might resolve to greet one another warmly and maintain civility at a birthday party for the sense of security that will provide to the children. That is not always the right thing to do; and yet recognizing a broken relationship does not necessarily have to indicate a vengeful spirit.
In some ways, the different responses of the Pences is a recognition of the tradition of what theologian Abraham Kuyper calls “sphere sovereignty.” Mike Pence was acting in one capacity, as a signifier of national unity and of the legitimacy of the government. His handshake sought to show that the country was more important than this disagreement. And Karen Pence was acting in her capacity as a spouse and a mother. Her lack of engagement signified that love is more important than public relations.
Both are commendable impulses. There are circumstances where your reaction to someone might morally be more like his, and circumstances where it might be more like hers.
You can listen to the whole conversation here.
A Church Small Group Goes Desert Island
A note came in that elated me. Cindy (& Mike) Marette of Westerville, Ohio, wrote in about how they implemented our weekly Desert Island Bookshelf and Desert Island Playlist rituals into the life of their church:
I want to tell you about a small group project my pastor husband and I did with our long-standing small group of eight amazing saints.
We created a large, multi-tabbed spreadsheet of our Desert Island Playlists … only, we asked everyone to choose 1–3 lists: books, movies, or music (singles or albums). Most people did all three! Each couple took one Sunday p.m. meeting to share the highlights of their lists to explain what was most meaningful or life-changing.
The men in particular wept explaining the songs, movies, and books that had marked their lives. The women were a bit less emotional, but they all were bravely (and somewhat nervously) opening up a huge, secret (and sacred) part of their lives in front of their friends. I thought I knew these dear souls as I had been doing church life with them for over thirty years, but I was wrong. We all felt like we had caught an intimate glimpse into one another’s souls—yikes, that was corny! Anyway, it was declared the best home group activity we had ever done!
Like some of the contributors to your playlist challenge, we had overachievers—links to the books on Amazon, links to movies and music clips from YouTube, etc. We all keep our Playlist folder in our Google Drives, so we can revisit those lists and draw close to our friends. Thank you—from us, and our small group.
Thank you, Cindy and Mike! What an amazing idea!
Desert island Playlist
Every other week, I share a playlist of songs one of you says you’d want to have on hand if you were stranded on a desert island. This week’s submission comes from reader Greg Stump, pastor of Redeemer Church in La Mirada, California, who writes:
Dr. Moore, I am delighted to have your continued voice in my life (and in my church) through your newsletter, work with CT, After Party, and more. May God continue to bless you, your family, and your ministry richly in the days to come! My playlist is based on one of my favorite songs, “A Day in the Life” by The Beatles, from waking up to dreaming, by some of the best artists I know (sadly, I could not find any Sufjan Stevens songs that fit!).
Here’s his list:
- “First Day of My Life” by Bright Eyes
- “Dawn Chorus” by Thom Yorke
- “Wake Up” by Arcade Fire
- “Morning Theft” by Jeff Buckley
- “One Day Like This” by Elbow
- “Day After Day” by Pretenders
- “These Are the Days” by Lift To Experience
- “Waterloo Sunset” by The Kinks
- “Dimming of the Day / Dargai” by Richard & Linda Thompson
- “Late Night, Maudlin Street” by Morrissey
- “Dreams Tonite” by Alvvays
- “A Day in the Life” by The Beatles
Thank you, Pastor Stump (both for the playlist and for the encouragement and prayer)!
Let’s take the opportunity to stop and pray right now for all those in California who are facing the threat of losing everything they own—and many who already have lost their homes—in the wildfires.
Readers, what do y’all think? If you were stranded on a desert island for the rest of your life and could have only one playlist or one bookshelf with you, what songs or books would you choose?
- For a Desert Island Playlist, send me a list between 5 and 12 songs, excluding hymns and worship songs. (We’ll cover those later.)
- For a Desert Island Bookshelf, send me a list of up to 12 books, along with a photo of all the books together.
Send your list (or both lists) to questions@russellmoore.com, and include as much or as little explanation of your choices as you would like, along with the city and state from which you’re writing.
Quote of the Moment
“We live in a society whose whole policy is to excite every nerve in the human body and keep it at the highest pitch of artificial tension, to strain every human desire to the limit and to create as many new desires and synthetic passions as possible, in order to cater to them with the products of our factories and printing presses and movie studios and all the rest.”
—Thomas Merton
Currently Reading (or Re-Reading)
- Robert Macfarlane, Underland: A Deep Time Journey (Norton)
- Robert Service, Trotsky: A Biography (Belknap)
- Erwin Schrödinger, My View of the World (Cambridge University Press)
- David J. Morris, The Evil Hours: A Biography of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (Mariner)
- Franz Wright, God’s Silence (Knopf)
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Ask a Question or Say Hello
The Russell Moore Show podcast includes a section where we grapple with the questions you might have about life, the gospel, relationships, work, the church, spirituality, the future, a moral dilemma you’re facing, or whatever. You can send your questions to questions@russellmoore.com. I’ll never use your name—unless you tell me to—and will come up with a groan-inducing pun of a pseudonym for you.
And, of course, I would love to hear from you about anything. Send me an email at questions@russellmoore.com if you have any questions or comments about this newsletter, if there are other things you would like to see discussed here, or if you would just like to say hello.
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Russell Moore
Editor in Chief, Christianity Today
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Moore to the Point
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