Generation Gap

“And he shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children.” -Luke 1:17

We are now experiencing in our churches what some are calling “worship wars.” It is all about the music. Church growth experts are happily writing prescriptions for reaching generation X, Y, and Z using certain musical formats that involve a particular instrumentation and song genre that appeals to every new and identifiable sub-group that comes along. Some cutting edge churches proudly feature a smorgasbord of services available according to one’s musical tastes which usually falls out along generational lines.

Inter-generational conflict has long been a staple of secular literature and political thought. And I have often felt that the greatest challenge facing any congregation of vibrant believers is to be able to hand down their faith to the next generation. Is the so called “generation gap” a real obstacle to overcome and must the gospel be repackaged every 40 years into “new wineskins” so that the transition be successful?

There is little doubt that nothing ever stays the same. Forms, styles, and cultures all change over time. Yet I refuse to accept the model that each generation must find its own way, that the old cannot speak to the young, nor that the new must first needs destroy the old. The Christmas story gives me great hope in this regard. The first of the angelic visitations came to Zacharias in the temple and announced the coming of John. The clear cut prophecy was that he would go forth in the spirit and power of Elijah as spoken in the last verse of the Old Testament. That spirit would turn the hearts of fathers and children to one another in some powerful and unique way.

I am quite sure I do not fully understand the depth and breadth of that prophecy, but it surely includes a dissolving of any generational conflicts. Evidently that spirit was powerful in Elijah as well as re-energized and emergent in John, the “greatest” of the prophets. In some significant and mighty way, these two giants of Scripture are cross-linked with a ministry that was distinctively marked as one which united rather than divided. Both are fore-runners of the Christ, and each would bear this spirit of reconciliation as one of their distinguishable attributes. It should follow as no surprise that Christ came in the spirit of reconciliation as well. Quite obviously, it is He that would reconcile the world unto Himself by seeking the lost. But I love the foreshadowing of this in His birth.

The Christmas story finds God speaking to both old and young alike, from Zacharias, Simeon, and Anna to the maid, Mary, and her young espoused. No generation is excluded. The story reaches across socio- economic lines and incorporates both rich and poor, educated and uneducated, with the shepherds and the Maji. It reaches out and across racial and cultural lines with Joseph carrying within his bloodline the heritage of foreigners as well as the patriarchs. And who were these foreign kings come to worship?

Yes, we are all met at the manger; both Jew and Gentile, bond and free, male and female, rich and poor, young and old, for we are all one in Him. And soon He would make us all equal at the foot of the cross. I continue to believe He is able to unite us today when we allow His Holy Spirit to hold sway above all our petty differences. He is the ultimate solute that dissolves the walls and kingdoms we erect. When we talk of building unified families, we need go no further than to gather at the manger and enjoy this diverse and odd company bound together by worship that comes of bended knees, not blended or un-blended music.

Miracles

“For with God nothing shall be impossible.” - Luke 1:37

My friend, Ron, was surprised on his birthday this last week by myself and a bunch of men from his life. We had assembled to salute this good friend on turning 60, and after the initial commotion and hubbub, we all settled down for some reflective moments. Somewhat overwhelmed at this sudden gathering of male counterparts, Ron fought back his emotions by recounting the words of an old missionary. This missionary had seen numerous miraculous events in his day but recounted that as far as staying power was concerned, the emotions generated by miracles were only good enough to carry believers through for a day. Ron toyed with us and said that this unforeseen gathering and tribute would be good enough to carry him through at least a week.

As we enter the Christmas season, I once again revel in the miracles associated with the Christmas story. I love turning each one over again in my hands and heart like some highly polished and treasured stone. From the mute Zacharias emerging from the holy of holies to Gabriel’s startling words to an obscure, teen-aged girl; from the orchestrating of political timetables so that humble players appeared on the correct spot of age-old prophecies to the dealing with the troubled spirit of Mary’s suitor; from sending foreign star-gazers an unmistakable call to embark across a desert to the use of common shepherds as eyewitnesses; from miraculous deliverance from sure death to the startling pronouncement of Simeon when he sees an unknown babe of unknown parents: all of it warms and excites my imagination. Christmas is a celebration of a whole litany of miracles whose timing is so precise, whose imagery is so rich, and whose extravagance is cloaked in such humble terms that it pulls at the heart of even the most stolid of skeptics. If I were not a believer, and I read in earnest the Christmas story, I think that I would surely want it to be true even if I would not be able to admit it. There is no story ever written to compare.

But miracles do not wholesale believers make nor do old miracles hold us to the straight and narrow way. Jesus found greater faith in Samaritans and foreigners than among his own who witnessed his power. Peter, eye-witness to a host of miracles, so quickly denied his Lord when heat was applied. The word to the rich man was that even if one were to rise from the dead, his relatives would not believe.

The Jews sought a sign, a miracle, above all, while the Greeks hungered after rational thinking. In the end, neither are fully adequate to lead us home. Indeed, blessed are they that have not seen and yet believe. Nor can one think his way to God. The All-Wise has confounded the wisdom of the sages using the cursed cross, the instrument of death for the worst of sinners. But yet, I am thankful for the miracles. They may not be the sole means of sustaining faith, the irrefutable evidence of absolute truth, but yet they are like beautiful stars in an otherwise dark sky. They speak of mystery, other distant worlds, things beyond my comprehension; galaxies hung in space, far, far away just to provoke my sense of wonder. When life grows commonplace and anxieties overwhelm, I fly to a clear night sky to assure myself that my world is truly bigger than what I can touch and feel. There are great mysteries afoot, unseen forces orchestrated since the beginning of time, weaving patterns of infinite beauty and majesty. What we see are pinprick glimpses of the eternal speaking truth in flickers of ancient light.

The season of miracles has begun. Soak them up, revel in them, and celebrate their beauty, for all too soon we face the light of day when stars grow dim and work calls us to a world of care.

Manners

Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right. Pro. 20:11

I frequently shudder at the work of my generation. We conducted a devastating assault on the norms of society back in the sixties and were quite successful. Universal truth claims were denied and morality became a matter of private, personal choice. What was left was a radical individualism that is still in the process of running itself to exhaustion. As an example, dress codes of all sorts were destroyed so that casual dress became the norm and downright outlandishness is now the mark of authentic self-expression. While most of us find some comfort in this free and laid back culture we live in, we also must acknowledge that common place manners have been sacrificed and laid aside in the process.

Now that we are free to stake out our own individual moral high ground, we can now decide where and how to defend it caring not how it might affect others. And in an odd twist of affairs, our age now allows self-righteous claims to individual moral visions to trump public conceptions of manners and etiquette. We tell our friends they are fat because we want to be honest. We can scream at people for wearing fur because it hurts animals. We can wrap all sorts of churlish behavior in a smug morality these days. Refusal to send thank you cards is justified if one “hates to write” or is seen as mere “slavish submission to convention.” Failure to attend funerals is okay if you want to “remember a person just the way they were.” And there is always the great, standby excuse for not saying the polite and gracious thing, “You wouldn’t want me to be hypocritical, would you?”

Unfortunately, manners are the oldest and most basic presuppositions of any society and precede the law in restraining lawlessness. The idea that the wishes of others do not matter is exactly what public manners and etiquette are designed to contradict. Even primitive societies many times have elaborate codes of behavior for showing respect and deference. A proper understanding of what constitutes good manners is essential for any classroom to have success. Our public schools are being overwhelmed with children who have not been taught to show respect for authority and one’s elders, to understand what constitutes rudeness, or what comprises salacious speech or dress. How is learning possible in the midst of a chaotic classroom where common courtesies have been successfully vanquished?

Many of you have insisted that your children speak when spoken to, to greet when greeted, to say thank you at every opportunity even if they do not have any sincere feelings attached to the words. I salute you and am growing ever more convinced that you are helping re-build a virtuous society by recognizing the legitimacy of manners. This is the front line in the battle against lawlessness and rabid individualism. I confess that I once wondered if requiring our students to stand when an adult entered a classroom was an antiquated custom of little value. I no longer do. And I now notice a sense of pride on the part of students when they do this spontaneously. I notice also that children made to say “Thank you” and even “I love you” become more thankful and more loving. Excusing a child’s uncivilized conduct in the name of “self-expression,” a “creative spirit,” or mere “personality” undermines the ties that bind not only families together but society itself.

Proverbs talks about a generation that curses their father and does not bless their mother and yet are pure in their own eyes. Could this be a picture of a world without manners? Lord, save us from that, I pray.

For more, see “The World’s Oldest Virtue,” Judith Martin, First Things, May 1993

Thanksgiving

The Lord will accomplish what concerns me. – Ps. 138:8

Or will He? Upon the verse above hangs so much of the emotional momentum of the human heart. David imbeds this line in a Psalm filled with praise and thanksgiving to the Lord. And as we enter the Thanksgiving season, we will be challenged to bend our knee to our God and, through the eyes of faith, say, “The Lord will accomplish what concerns me.” It is the essence of thanksgiving to be content with the grace meted out to each of us.

It is of great concern to the teachers of our day who see angry children in their classroom. Some have good cause to be when their parents drag them through divisive and horrible relationships, when they are victims of indifference forced to raise themselves in loveless homes, or worse yet, when they become innocent subjects of predatory adults. Such anger may be understandable but is, nevertheless, quite deadly to all concerned, especially the bearer. Anger is the antithesis of thankfulness and ulcerates a steady poison of bitterness to the soul. It is an emotion that we were never built to bear.

Most of the people I meet and the children we teach have little real reason to be angry. That is no matter, however, because the human heart is capable of magnifying even the most simple of offenses into mounds of resentment. You can do it, and so can I. For children, it is even easier. One child may wrestle with the sudden loss of a parent while another can be tempted into great bitterness because a living parent denies them their own TV. From there, it is a simple step to blame God for the curse of hateful or impoverished parents. I was tempted to anger against God for my appearance as a young man. After all, He made me.

Do we have some angry children at CFC? No doubt, for the same reason you and I struggle with resentment at the misfortunes we encounter in our lives. All children go through times and seasons of anger ranging from a brief pout to raging shouting matches. Not a pretty sight. What is of significant concern is the slow, simmering anger that resides just below the surface over substantial periods of time.

What can be done? First of all, we need to look within. We cannot expect spirits of gratefulness from our children if we still cling to our own resentments. Forgiveness for others and a quiet acceptance of our own place in God’s economy is essential in removing the speck in the eye of our child. Second, we need patient and loving relationships that will enable us to unlock the hearts of our children. It is inherently embarrassing for us all to admit the things we hold against God. Third, I would hope that we could model a heart that is composed and quieted like a weaned child resting against his mother (Ps. 131:2). How powerful are the stories of repentance and rest which we have experienced in giving over our own episodes of anger unto the Lord. Fourth, I would advocate a continual besieging of that stronghold until it is broken; not with threats or punishments, but with a quiet declaration that we know that the issues of the heart are of the utmost priority.

I think the most common parental error is that of inaction out of fear. Do we dare open that box of our child’s fears and resentments? What will we find? When our children turned “of age”, we made it a practice of asking them if there were moments, actions, or practices in our household and parenting which they remembered with particular clarity colored by feelings of injustice. We were genuinely fearful of what we would discover. To our relief, no one recounted any even though we, as parents, could have suggested a few. Perhaps it is time we all ask ourselves if we have undeclared grievances against God and if we truly believe that the Lord will accomplish what concerns us. Freedom to praise depends on it.

Suffering

To every thing there is a season, ...A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; Ecc. 3:1-4

It is part of my job to keep in touch with the families in our Co-op. As such, I partake in your joys and sorrows. Right now, the tide is washing up a good deal of sorrow on our shores. Though it would be folly to hope to treat the subject of suffering fully in one page or less, nevertheless, your experiences of the present and past month have occasioned more than a little reflection on the issue on my part. That, coupled with a reading of some of the work of Mother Theresa among the miserable warrens of Calcutta, makes me ponder the whole problem of pain and suffering in God’s creation.

Ultimately, suffering is the price we pay for dwelling outside the Garden where we must live by our wits and the sweat of our brow, all at the mercy of the elements. It was a choice we made, and in so doing, we took all creation with us. The dark of the night brings with it a thousand fears of what can happen, a place where beast devours beast and man does his worst. But suffering is endemic to all creation even apart from the evil deeds of men. Cancers devour, defects cripple, and accidents maim the innocent and guilty alike. Rational creatures that we are, we would love to see some rhyme or reason to it all. C.S. Lewis wrote that pain was “God’s megaphone.” Yet, this seems heartless in watching the young and the innocent die who don’t even have language of the heart to hear or understand. The poet William Blake offers another view:

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine;

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Through the world we safely go.

Is it true that man was made for sorrow and woe, mixed also with joy? It seems so when we consider that we are able to experience joy because of being made in the very image of God, and equally so with sorrow when we consider the far reaching effects of the fall upon man and all creation. Fallen-ness and the image of God, all wrapped up in one frail creature. What a recipe for ‘angst’, that dark turmoil of the soul.

Many demand that suffering just should not be so and spend much of their lives trying to insulate themselves against it in any form; some with money and others with distance. Others blame and rail against God, turning their hearts to stone. Or there is always the ploy of flight, to run from it whenever it appears. But in fleeing from the pain, we invariably multiply the damage like some wounded bull run amok. Marriages are shattered, children discarded, and promises broken all to renounce the reality of the pain. I rather like what Malcom Muggeridge has said and must quote directly: “One can dimly see and humbly say that suffering is an integral and essential part of our human drama. That it falls upon one and all in differing degrees and forms whose comparison lies beyond our competence. That it belongs to God’s purpose for us here on earth, so that, in the end, all the experience of living has to teach us is to say: Thy will be done.” That is a tall order for any of us. Yet God himself identifies with our suffering through His own Son. At the cross, “God suffered in the person of a man but brought redemption for man in the person of God.” In this, we see “the greatest sorrow and the greatest joy co-existing on Golgotha.”*

I take great comfort knowing that God knows our frame, that we are but dust, and that Jesus was a man of sorrows, well acquainted with grief. I also take comfort in knowing that when one of us suffers, it brings out the best in those who are willing to share in that pain and help bear the burden. This dance of suffering and joy literally defines what it is to be human. May we embrace our humanity with courage and resolve.

*Something Beautiful for God, Malcom Muggeridge, p. 106

Cades Cove

Well, I tried to tempt all or some of you last weekend. No one could manage to break free plus the fact that they still are banning all back country fires in the Smokies turned me from going overnight solo to doing a "book tour" of Cades Cove. Fall is a great hiking time but I don't like the idea of going to bed at 7:30 unless I am really whipped. One needs a fire and some good company.

I enjoyed some great music going to and from the cove, got to bike leisurely through the Cove, stopped along the way and worked myself through a short book I wanted to read, and had a serendipitous moment at the Missionary Baptist Church. I attached a copy of that interlude which I wrote up for this week's Thurs. News. Not a bad day, all in all.

There are some great unexplored areas of the cove which offer sunny hillsides, tranquil pastures, and peaceful reflection. I aim to explore more of it over time as I can.

“I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.” –Ps. 104:33

My instructions to our teachers were explicit: come back to school after home study week with a fresh love for a new book, an old friend, or an eternal truth. To make sure I practiced what I preached, I set off last Sat. morning intending on a book tour of Cades Cove. I packed a lunch, a couple of books, and took off on my bike through the Cove looking for sunny hillsides and quiet nooks.

My first stop was at the off road Primitive Baptist Church. I could not help but notice the sweet sound of singing coming from inside and was instantly drawn in. There I found a dozen or so family members, young and old, singing the old hymns of the faith up in front in rich harmonies. I sat down and joined in. They had come in and discovered the wonderful acoustics of the old church in its delightful simplicity. Wooden floors, wooden walls, and wooden ceiling joined together to breathe a special magic into this little impromptu choir, much the way a well-made violin resonates the sound of the strings and spills it forth in rich fashion. They were rediscovering and reliving the musical heritage of its original occupants who knew full well the delight of acapella singing. Accompanying the thrill of hearing the sound of intermingling voices and old familiar tunes, I delighted in the instant bond of connection with these perfect strangers. They not only knew the old songs of Zion, they loved them. It made my heart sing to hear young people suggesting this song and then that one with the genuine zest that only comes in knowing the truth they proclaim.

Another couple wandered in and joined us. His voice was powerful and strong and full of zeal for the task at hand. It stoked our enthusiasm all the more. Someone suggested we gather in a circle to get a better blend. We did, and the songs continued to roll. Visitors piled in and many sat or joined in as well. We rejoiced with each new title that was pulled up from memory in which we again discovered common ground. I take credit for suggesting “It is well with my soul” which proved to be the highpoint as the inspired voices hurled themselves into its swelling words of praise. The place boomed. I couldn’t decide if I would rather be in the midst or be standing out in the parking lot to hear the praise ring from this historic structure against the beautiful backdrop of mountains and sky.

All total, we sang for well over an hour. We couldn’t pull ourselves away. No one wanted to leave. It was one of those serendipitous moments that becomes a treasured memory. Later, I joined these memories with the search I had made of the East Tennessee Rationalists Society website. They are a curiosity of mine and while visiting my children who are fully wireless, I took the time to wander through their comings and goings. They have a photo of Rodin’s “The Thinker” on their standard. Evidently they do not know that “The Thinker” is not engaged in secular, rational thought but is part of a larger frieze inspired by Dante’s “Inferno” where he is pondering his eternal fate between heaven and hell. For a society trying to explore alternatives to supernaturalism, I find it quite amusing. They are in earnest, however, and are steeped in intellectual skepticism of the highest order. Altogether, my week ended in sincere empathy for them. Theirs is a dry and barren faith. Atheism has no music that can stir the soul like a dozen voices in a simple, country church. There simply are no songs for unbelief. How truly sad. On the other hand, it is said that the early Methodists out sang their enemies. May we not neglect the power of song to propel the joy of the Kingdom deep within our souls and to a dry and thirsty generation.

Old Friends

“Take my instruction, and not silver, and knowledge rather than choicest gold.” Pro. 8:10

Way back in the waning years of the 1960’s (B.C. – before children), my wife and I were picked up and drafted into a singing group known as the Keyfolk out in Seattle, Washington. It was the hey-day of folk music, coffee houses, and Jesus people who were, quite simply, Christian flower children. Yes, your humble administrator once toted a guitar and hung out with some pretty interesting people. But through that single but exciting year of “singing gigs” and “witnessing for Jesus,” we became bonded with the leaders of that music group, Mike and Yvonne. We were a strange foursome from totally different backgrounds. They were Pentecostal, Bible college graduates, and we were mainline denomination folk with staid college educations. None of that mattered for the bonds of truth welded us together as we shared the same passions and the same crazy sense of humor. Their sense of fearlessness and zeal took us places we would never have dared to go and developed in us gifts we never would have known we had.

After that year together, life took us to different ends of the United States, but we still kept in touch, at Christmas time if nothing else. We shared a brief visit after the first children were born but then did not see them again until all the kids were in their teens. Again, the chemistry was still there as we took up immediately where we had left off. Two or three chance visits since then have always proved the same vision still true with much laughter and many joys and struggles shared that mirrored similar paths of mission, family, and blessing. It is truly a precious thing to have friendships that can be so enriching, affirming, and enlightening. We have learned so much from them and yet they would, knowing their blind and gracious spirits, say the same about us.

This past week, they came again, flying out for a conference, taking a few extra days to stoke the old fires of friendship, and also to research a family tree that reaches into the hills of East Tennessee. We laughed at old jokes and new jokes, laughed at the aches and pains of growing old, but also rejoiced in the goodness of God over the years. Each family has reared three children with some struggles and pain but return thanks for the Godly paths they now follow. Grandchildren abound, and we shared the gold of the new life stories emerging around us. Each has been privileged to share in ministries that have borne fruit in their season. And each has traveled the world over touching those monuments and places that most folk only read about.

That is where it really hit us. We all came from inauspicious backgrounds, small towns, and less than perfect families, raised poor to middle class, and yet we have traveled those dream trips to explore the old world, walked in the footsteps of the famous and infamous, all at little or no expense. They had spent 6 years building churches in Africa. We had led student tours to the capitals of Europe. Every bit as momentous, we were still married to the same spouse after 40 years. We owned our own homes, were still able to take pride in our children, and were blessed with little ones around our knees. What riches were ours. And who would have thought we average few, we of no degree, we of humble gifts and origins could have done and experienced all that in our lifetimes? But it was not because of any dashing accomplishment of ours but simply the unmerited favor of God. Wisdom, that gallant lady of Pro. 8, promises to those who seek diligently after her “enduring wealth and righteousness.” She has sure kept her word with us, and we are downright amazed at her generosity when we now look back. What a lady!

Friends

"thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.” -2 Sam. 1:26

These were the words of David describing his friend, Jonathan, in what was his funeral oration. It captures one of the great friendships of the Bible. That some have perverted this as evidence of same-sex, physical love says more about today’s culture than it does about the text. We are drawn to this story because of its utter selflessness, not because of forbidden pleasures. Friendship is that way. It is a rare commodity that draws two kindred souls together because each loves the same truth rather than some magnetic power of the other. Whereas lovers continually look into one another’s eyes and talk of their love, friends walk side by side hardly ever talking of their friendship but instead are absorbed by a common interest. Friendship is uninquisitive and cares nothing about one’s background, wealth, status, beauty, or race. The real question for friends is, “Do you see the same truth?” Those who care little about truth or beauty are incapable of true friendship; a spur to awaken in our children a love for both.

Neither is friendship necessarily exclusive. In fact, friendship can magnify the importance of each member of a circle for each person elicits forth certain qualities in the other members that no one else can. I love it when friend “C” joins with me and friend “B” because “B” comes alive in a certain way in “C’s” presence that does not happen when only I am there. In that respect, friendships are a harbinger of heaven where each will magnify and reflect in the other the glory of God.

Friendship is most naturally found among same sex relationships. It springs from the fertile ground of shared activities and pursuits. It occurs when two or more discover they have not only the same interests but the same passions for what is important and what is true. A same-sex friendship knows automatically that all bodily passions are irrelevant, that what passes between them is spiritual in nature with no ulterior motives involved. While friendships do develop between the sexes, they can quickly and easily shift onto slippery ground.

Today’s culture glorifies romance, or even pure, unbridled lust. Moms take pride in the romantic adventures of their daughters; fathers in the conquests of their sons. Few know the joy of a deep, same-sex friendship, what C.S. Lewis calls “the crown of life and the school of virtue.” And few value it because few experience it. For our family, we drilled our girls in the fact that they would seldom remember the boyfriends they had in school, but they would very likely retain their female friendships long afterwards; and vice-versa for our son. In so doing, we removed from them much of the peer pressure that says that their value is determined by their appeal to the opposite sex. While this may seem like a message delivered to teens, we see an increasingly downward escalation of romantic allure and expectations in our society well into grade school.

Using Paul’s language, I “beseech you my brethren” to affirm in yourselves and your children those Godly same-sex relationships that bring us out of ourselves, draw us to higher truths, and confirm the value of each individual. They may not have a lot of survival value, but they give value to survival.

*For more, read the chapter on “Friendship” in The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis from which much of this was borrowed.

The War

I had not planned to write this tonight but it just sort of flowed out. Since many of you may have been watching PBS this past week, I thought I would send it out fresh from the pen/keyboard.

“Discretion shall preserve thee, understanding shall keep thee: to deliver thee from the way of the evil man.” –Pro. 2:11

You may have been captivated as I was by the week long series by Ken Burns on PBS entitled simply, “The War.” Much of it was familiar territory to me from a historical point of view. But the personal vignettes and eye-witness accounts were riveting. Tonight was the end point. I was affected by each segment but now at the end I sit quietly mulling over the utter gravity of it all. It did not end with a punch but rather as a long, tedious tale; much like a gripping novel would. It was a story where I identified with the characters through thick and thin, but now the tale finds a quiet finish where there are no winners, simply survivors. To see these young warriors come home from scenes that rival anything out of Tolkein’s tortured, middle-earth imagination and watch them step back into the routine, the normal, the trivial pursuits of everyday life, brings an agonizing hush to the heart. For those who had seen the most ragged edge of war, it had to be hard to relate to the silly and banal concerns of normal living. And who could know their stories? Who could understand the horrors they had witnessed or perpetrated upon an intransigent foe? Or should anyone even want to know?

The answer in part has to be a resounding, “Yes!” No, the gory details of battlefield life and death need not be played and replayed to satisfy our voyeuristic curiosities. Don’t misunderstand; the history of pain written across countless cemeteries and broken family trees is important less anyone get a misguided and romantic view of war. But I would rather focus on the ideas and convictions that so gripped the enemy that they were just as willing to die for an evil cause as we were for a just one. This did not garner much of Mr. Burns penetrating attention, but the unmistakable portrait of the enemy was there. You did not have to look far.

Many G.I.’s went to war not really thinking or realizing just what was at stake. No American could imagine the horrors of the death camps discovered only late in the war in 1945. It was only when we entered the foul nests of the enemy’s dens that we saw the ghastly results of an idea taken to its logical conclusion. And to witness the unquestioning discipline of the Japanese whose culture had bred a race of the most formidable soldiers the modern world had ever seen was frightening even at a distance of some 60 years. Their capacity for cruelty knew few bounds. Wherever they went, they treated their victims with utmost contempt. A real warrior would have rather died fighting than to surrender. Therefore, by simple and logical extension, these who somehow survived and found themselves captive were less than human beings, objects not of pity but of derision. Then there were the kamikaze pilots who turned their planes into human bombs. An American sailor told how a pilot would strap on the head scarf of suicide for the emperor sincerely believing that he would earn an automatic place in heaven. Then, after a slight pause, he added with a firm sense of conviction, “Of course, he was wrong.”

In that simple phrase, so much is summed up. Ideas are important. The right ones can evoke selfless humanitarianism that spreads comfort to the sick, food to the hungry, and justice to the oppressed. The wrong ones can enslave whole peoples, spread death and destruction at unimaginable levels, and create a mindset in which the unthinkable becomes thinkable, even commonplace. Not all cultures are created equal. What happened in Nazi Germany and militaristic Japan was no accident, no political aberration, or the work of a mad few. These plagues upon man were carefully engineered over generations, injected into the very young, and willingly spread among every level of society. They were wrong. They were evil. And they were deadly. I only pray we may be alert to the viruses of the soul at loose in our society.

Renters

“…the soul of the diligent is made fat.” - Pro. 13:4

I have been trying to rent an apartment these last few weeks. It is discouraging business. Not because there is no interest. On the contrary. One ad in the newspaper makes my phone ring for days. But then the dreary business begins. One showing after another introduces me to the flotsam and jetsam of human wreckage washing up on my little piece of shore. The stories unfold with sickening familiarity.

I hate to disparage my own sex, but far too many tales involve a delinquent father who has abandoned his wife and child or has left some woman shipwrecked with ruined credit and bankruptcy. But, yes, occasionally I will encounter a middle aged dad trying to raise up young children by himself for loss of a wife for one reason or another. The result is the same: a single parent trying to start over, a homeowner reduced to a tenant, and pleas for mercy in the face of ruined credit. I take phone calls and when they tell me they just went through a nasty divorce or somebody abandoned the family I tell them that makes me mad. I am not sure how that comes across on the other end of the phone from a perfect stranger, but someone should be upset. I figure they get enough people telling them that they are probably better off and that everything will be okay. No, someone should be angry at the resulting ruin.

And then there are the fools. This Christian(?) lady was “living with” a former addict who went back on his drugs and now she was set adrift with ruined credit. I was heartless. I reminded her in so many words that she had asked for it. She agreed. And how about the woman who wanted an apartment for herself, her husband, her daughter and fiancée, and a dog? She worried about the dog being a problem. She seemed shocked that the unmarried daughter and fiancée was more of a problem than the dog. No clue.

I have come to take great boldness of late with the unmarrieds after being advised of my rights as a landlord. A sweet and fresh young voice informed me that she and her fiancé were looking for a place to rent. I told her that as soon as they get married I would be glad to talk with them. I am always assured that they are planning on it soon. I offer to get them a preacher and a cake. Well, not that soon. A young man called for a place for his girlfriend and their child. I explained my belief in marriage and told him that his little girl needs a dad, a legal one, and that this wonderful girlfriend deserves a commitment. I can’t believe I am preaching to these phone-ins. Somehow, he was not angry. I am angry at the loss of shame in our society; and angry that after dozens of offers, no one has taken me up on a free wedding.

Then there are the married folk who look good in person and on paper but whose credit check reads like a police blotter with accounts in collections, deceitful references, bankruptcies, repossessions and $6000 in abandoned credit card debt. Why did they even bother? The stories of bad luck do not reconcile with defaults on cable TV bills, prolific smoking habits, or the fancy sports car they drive up in.

In comparison, I feel almost guilty in my affluence and secure relationships. But the House of Nordmoe was not given or inherited or won in some fluke of luck. It was built over a lifetime, mainly by honoring the promises we made as a young couple. We were not the beautiful or the well-connected. It was a story of simple God-inspired diligence. Real, steadfast lives don’t “just happen.” They are built, brick upon brick, stone upon stone, precept upon precept, until the “fatness” comes. There is no substitute for diligence, no shortcut to a secure and stable home. And if you are presently experiencing blood, sweat, and tears, you are probably on the right course. Faint not for in due season you shall reap.

Evil

"This I recall to my mind, therefore have I hope. It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed" Lam. 3:21-22

Sickness, accidents, disease, sudden impoverishment, drought, crop failure, old age, betrayal, and heartache: these are the things life is made of at times. Or is it that these are the things life is made of most of the time? Is life mostly good with a few streaks of the bad thrown in for good measure? Or is life a struggle at best and only a rare, lucky few float along relatively unscathed?

Tuesday’s newspaper was especially wrenching with stories of murder confessions and convictions, bitterness and unforgiveness, headline divorces, governmental breakdowns, lawsuits, and political pandering on wholesale levels. Is this the norm that we must grow to expect in a fallen world with a few good stories that break through now and again or did I wake up to a bumper crop of especially bad news?I suppose you could entitle this essay, “Is the cup half full or half empty?” But then why does it matter?

It is my business to look at so many young and innocent faces every day and wonder just what we should tell them about life. What is it like, really? To protect and shield them from the evil in the world is every parent’s natural impulse, mine included. Why sully their blissful world with the dirt and dreadful savagery of mankind at its worst? But still there is much of the evil of the world that manages to sneak through our carefully arranged shields or, worse yet, brazenly shatters our stoutest defenses. Grandmas and grandpas get weak, sick, and die. Thieves break through and steal leaving a path of destruction in their wake. Friends fall and break their bones with a pain that is hideous to behold. And little sisters can suffer a wasting disease through no fault of their own.

So do we embrace life with dread and fear for the worst knowing that at anytime the sky will come crashing down? Or do we rejoice in each day’s mercies and celebrate all the good that comes our way being careful not to project a morbid fear of the future even if we come dangerously close to putting on the proverbial rose-colored glasses? In a thousand little ways, we will communicate one or the other to our children, our neighbors, our spouses, and the wayfaring stranger. We can easily be betrayed by our fears or our blissful optimistic obstinacy.

I choose to think of life in terms of knees. They are amazing devices, so fragile to either trauma or age, but yet assigned to carry all that body weight, bone upon bone, fitted end to end, and still they provide mobility through great ranges of motion. They seemed almost doomed to fail. A sudden jar or twist can tear the living bindings irrevocably. There is, to me, no satisfactory explanation of why they should be able to do all that is expected of them. And yet they do, year upon year, in one of God’s greatest displays of organic engineering. I have had my share of minor knee injuries, but instead of cursing my misfortune, I have learned to marvel at how well they perform in spite of the forces arrayed against them. It is not that they are so prone to misfortune that causes me to wonder. It is rather that they work at all.

So, too, life. It is so fragile, so complex, and so prone to failure on every hand. That takes little to comprehend. The greater mystery is how we do as well as we do. It is cause for rejoicing when things go well. Normality is a blessing in any form. Lack of debilitating sickness is a positive. Good health is cause for rejoicing. I see the cup half-full. Anything else is undeserved gravy. Yet my gratefulness is rooted in the acknowledgement of the evil around us. I neither ignore it nor fear it. I glory in every small mercy.

Differences

“let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” –Gal. 6:9

Part of my job that I really enjoy is getting to watch the infinite variety of children in our school. As people, we have much in common: our humanity, our homo sapien-ness, our biological make-up that makes medical books possible. But leaving that behind, we are as different as snowflakes. Even within the same family, it does not take long before parents begin questioning the origins of their offspring. “How could this child have sprung from our loins?”

I see ‘bouncy tiggers’ that were born into sedate homes. Intellectual types give birth to athletes. A musician emerges from a non-musical family. I marveled the other day at the flexibility of a youngster who could not sit in a chair without sitting on one foot or the other or both. It was as natural and compulsive as could be for this bright student while everyone else sat in comfortable conformity. To force either the one or the group at large to exchange their posture for the other would be excruciating torture.

I watched a young boy work a math sheet the other day and his rate of speed was exceedingly slow. It made an expediter like myself want to grab the pencil from him and race across the page. The teacher assured me that he was bright and fully able to handle all his math facts. But he was never one to be in a hurry. That can be so frustrating to parents who like to move quickly, racing from one job to the next.

One parent has commented repeatedly how one of their two children will quickly report any infraction of the rules he may have committed while the other one is impetuously breaking the rules and quite willing to cover it up. The one is a dedicated, task-oriented, first-born people pleaser. The other is a free spirit that soars quite often into places it should not go, fearless of the consequences.

The moral is that we cannot be held responsible for the children we bring into the world in any sense of personality, ability, temperament, or handicap. They are who they are. Some will write with perfect script from day one and others will fight legibility issues all their lives. Some will never be able to dribble a basketball and others exhibit the skill with no coaching whatsoever. The variety and genetic surprises are never-ending.

While we cannot control who they are from birth, we can shape their character. In fact, that is one thing which often characterizes a whole family. Your kids may all exhibit different giftedness, but I am always impressed by the character that children mimic in the same home. That kind of talk always makes parents nervous for they well know that their children are fully capable of embarrassing the family name at any one point in time. I have stories to tell as well as anyone. But to know your families over time, to be with your children day after day, to see them struggle and triumph in little different ways, I am pleased to say, is to see Godly homes and young lives being carefully built, line upon line, stone upon stone.

I grieve when I see beautiful and gifted children crash and burn as young adults for lack of Godly character. And I marvel at seeing children who are average in every way go on to build solid and productive lives because of the Christ-like character formed within them. The secret is not in the cards we are dealt but how we play them. Trite truth? Perhaps, but it is also a fountain of hope for all because the race is not to the swift, or the beautiful, or the rich and famous. Keep up the good work.

Evolution

“And the earth was without form and void…” - Gen. 1:2

I had made a daisy chain with my orange extension cord and brought it into a classroom last week for some last minute repairs on a table. Evidently not too many of the students have contractors for dads and had not seen one before. “What’s that?” they all wanted to know. I proceeded to give a lesson on why the theory of evolution does not make much sense. Extension cords and garden hoses are my number one evidence for the Biblical account of creation as opposed to evolutionary theory. Somehow the students were still a bit puzzled with the connection. So what happens when you toss an extension cord in a box and then pull it out to use it? “It gets all tangled,” they answered correctly. What happens when you carefully roll up an extension cord or a garden hose, lay it nicely in a corner, and then grab it to use it? “It still gets all tangled up,” came the response again. That is why I make a daisy chain with my extension cord for though it looks ugly and bulky, if you pull from the end, it comes out straight with no tangles. But it takes extra work and careful technique to reset the daisy chain when you are through.

Macro evolutionary theory says that given enough time, order can come from chaos. My experience is that order reverts to chaos; even after special efforts at making loop-de-loops with all my cords and hoses. Think about the last time you pulled out that camera with the long strap out of your purse. If it comes out clean without a knot or a snag, you consider yourself blessed. And the smaller the string, the more grave and perfidious the tangle. Fishermen know that the only cure for a back-lashed fishing line is a pair of scissors. Even the most routine movements, casts, or reeling can create mind-boggling puzzles sure to cross the eyes of the most clear-sighted and test the patience of the most saintly. And how many times have I attempted to move an appliance or tool with even the most modest of power cords and, daring fate, I left the free trailing cord drag along behind only to see it snag on the most unlikely places.

My argument is simple. Anyone who believes in the theory of evolution and that order can come out of chaos has never seriously worked with either garden hoses or extension cords. I went through a phase in which I flirted with evolutionary thought. I used to think that perhaps the cord would untangle if I shook it enough. In my old age, I now am resigned to the fact that the more I shake them, they worse they get. Intelligence is required. I have to analyze the knot and take the time to untangle one twist at a time.

And only God could bring order out of nothingness. Chaos is the norm. We, as complex and intricately designed creatures, are the exception. There is no other satisfactory explanation. Bringing order out of chaos is the work of God, the Divine initiative. To design, to build, to organize, to create, to repair, to restore is the incarnation of the Imago Dei, the image of God, within the heart of man.

Every morning when I see freshly scrubbed children in clean clothes carrying lunch boxes filled with carefully chosen edibles, I see order that is imposed on chaos. One child just last week was finishing her breakfast outside on the sidewalk and suddenly spilled orange juice all down her clean school outfit, and her school day had not even started; she hadn’t even made it in the door. Chaos is the bent of the world, especially for children. Order is the sweet smelling sacrifice, day by day, child by child, mess by mess, which we are able to offer up to the Creator, the supreme order-maker. I think He takes pleasure with every lunch that’s made, every toilet that’s cleaned, every dress that’s ironed, every closet that’s organized, and every lesson that’s learned. And at the end of the week, we should be able to look back upon the order we have imposed on chaos and say, “It is good. It is very good.”

No Child Left Inside

“But whereunto shall I liken this generation? It is like unto children sitting in the markets, and calling unto their fellows, and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented.” - Matthew 11:16-17

In speaking to the people of his day, Jesus pulled up an image well known to every adult person: that of children role-playing in the streets, acting out and mimicking adult behaviors in group situations. Way before Fischer-Price or Sony Play Stations, child’s play involved other children and the great outdoors. It was the privilege and passion of children to run the neighborhood streets, walkways, yards, driveways, bushes, and vacant lots. Who would even want them in the house?

Not yet 5 years old in 1863, Theodore Roosevelt’s family moved to the countryside for the summer where this future president discovered “the ‘enthralling pleasures’ of building wigwams in the woods, gathering hickory nuts and apples, hunting frogs, haying and harvesting, and scampering barefoot down long, leafy lanes.” “Teedie,” as he was nicknamed, soon became the leader of the children’s play and improvised countless stories. His sister, Corinne recalled tales “about jungles and bold, mighty and imaginary fights with strange beasts . . . there was always a small boy in the stories . . . who understood the language of animals and would translate their opinions to us.” At the age of nine, ‘Teedie’ began the Roosevelt Museum of Natural History out of his bedroom and back hall. The washer-woman complained, “How can I do the laundry with a snapping turtle tied to the legs of the sink?” The good-natured cook declared, “Either I leave or the woodchuck does!” referring to a carcass she was ordered to boil for 24 hours.*

All of this child’s play has become an endangered species today and verges on extinction. Central heat and air brings blessed relief from the heat but imprisons us within our houses. Scenes of neighborhood children romping through backyards and playing under trees have all but disappeared. My memories of neighbors gathering in the cool of an outdoor shade tree around the ubiquitous back-yard swing are very distant. My congressman included a concern about “indoor children” in his newsletter. Seems that the Washington Post has run a lengthy article reporting both the physical and mental problems that come when young people spend too much time staring at TV screens or playing video games. “Concerns about long-term consequences affecting emotional well-being, physical health, learning disabilities, and environmental consequences—have spawned a national movement to ‘leave no child inside.’” This has even become the subject of some Capitol Hill and state legislative hearings.

Our children’s clubhouse sits idle now, a nesting place for spiders and junk. But our kids have many fond memories of tea parties downstairs, walnut wars fought from upstairs, trips down the fire pole, and campouts in the loft. It was a kid-magnet for the neighborhood, a launching pad for friendships and adventures, and headquarters for plots and counter-plots. Of course, the near-by overgrown lot was also a real plus. It became riddled with trails and foxholes where many a battle was waged against the forces of evil. All of this was horribly unsafe, of course. Who knows what creatures inhabited the woods though I think they all evacuated quickly at the sound of children. And the Nord-mobile was a 3 wheeled rattle trap that was guaranteed to scare both parent and child as it noisily careened down hills and across yards. Improvised from the front end of a small bicycle and the cast iron wheels of an old welding cart, it makes even me wonder today if I should have been arrested for child endangerment. But oh, what fun. “No child left inside.” I am not much one for crusades, but I kind of like the sound of this one. Think about it.

Beginnings

“Therefore having been justified by faith,…” Romans 5:1-5

It is hard to believe that another school year is upon us already. I, like you, wonder where the summer went. Looking at several students who are suddenly elevated inches in stature assures me that we had one. Some of you are suddenly looking eye to eye with your children. Most all are returning with bright eyes and excitement over a new beginning. I, too, rejoice that we serve a God of new beginnings.

For each student, there is a clean slate, new classmates, new teachers, new textbooks, new opportunities, and new challenges. Some, however, are laboring under the memories of past difficulties, old offenses, broken friendships, or even past failure. It is a common human condition. In spite of the memories of high points in the past year, many are nevertheless also haunted by the difficulties encountered, the mistakes, the doubts, the misunderstandings, and errors of judgment committed by ourselves or others along the way. Adults and students alike long for fresh starts but often find themselves nagged by bad memories. How we deal with the past is an important factor in determining success in the future.

It is a familiar story echoed in the lives of any church you have known this past year, any extended family relationships you have encountered, any marriage that continues to grow and thrive, and, yes, any life lived in the full scrutiny of God’s all-seeing eye. Failure and shortcoming are endemic to all humanity and every institution known to man, CFC among them. Being the chief manager of the complaint department is one of my many duties that I have learned to embrace with healthy respect.

Listening to difficulties teaches me about me. How do I live with failure and shortcoming? It is a question each of us has to answer to maintain our own sanity and well-being. In spite of mistakes, we must move forward. In spite of the flaws of our mate, we must remain loyal. In spite of the deficiencies of our children, we still must love and care deeply about them. In spite of our own moral failures, we must continue to run the race for the high calling of Christ Jesus. We have to learn to live with failure and error or we die, either of despair or bitterness.

How shall we then live? I get a picture of the resolution of this dilemma from Romans where Paul exults in “this grace in which we stand” enabling us to have “peace with God.” I love grace. It is blessed stuff. Preach it, brother. But then he goes on to “exult in our tribulations” knowing that it brings about “perseverance” and “proven character.” Ouch! That part I could just as soon do without.

I have stood with many of you last year that suffered through struggles and heartaches. I have interviewed many new families who bring with them stories of difficulties and distress. Every student at CFC brings with them memories of the past school year that contain elements of the good, the bad, and the ugly. Suggestion. At the beginning of every year, I believe it is good practice to (1) exult in the grace of God. Accordingly as I have received, so should I give; forgive as I have been forgiven. It is God’s preventive medicine against bitterness. (2) I need to exult in my tribulations. I must look upon all those difficult problems, discipline sessions, conflicts, protracted meetings, misunderstandings as things sown into my life from which good can result. I must not look back upon them with embarrassed resentment but as opportunities for growth.

Can you join me in rejoicing in the grace God has shown to us by bringing us thus far and giving us another new beginning? Romans 5 – good stuff.

Summer News

"Jesus saith unto them, My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, to finish his work." – John 4:34

What drives us? What drives me? It is an uncomfortably introspective question that can reveal much. Nothing can start one thinking about this as quickly as food, or the lack thereof. In training for a hike I just completed this summer, I had a goal to loose 8 pounds. There was no point in drilling holes in the handle of my toothbrush to lighten my load by a quarter ounce when I could cut back on my feed and loose 8 pounds I did not need to drag up and down the mountain. Passing up the seconds on all the good home cooking I regularly see was a challenge. But that, plus regular exercise, put me well within accomplishing that goal by the time I left to go west. It was a matter of being driven by a dream of hiking into thinner air unencumbered by the unnecessary.

Seven days of carrying one’s provisions kept all of us pared back to the essentials. It was interesting to hear grown men talking about the content labels of everything from olive oil to candy bars in determining the nutritive and caloric content. We looked for the biggest bang for the least weight. One of us rejoiced in eating a giant Snickers bar for lunch everyday having found it contained over 500 calories. Food became an obsession for there was seemingly never enough of it, especially for our younger set. Bartering broke out on the fourth day into the hike. Fishing took on special significance. I never felt like I was going hungry but still lost an additional five pounds for the week in spite of some trail ending splurges at a pizza shop.

But there was sufficient time and opportunity to contemplate the truth of “man shall not live by bread alone but by every word the proceeds from the mouth of God.” How many of our waking moments are preoccupied by what we eat or desire to eat? Moses went up into the mountain to obtain the ten commandments and “neither did eat bread nor drink water” for forty days and nights. Elijah was given a couple of meals by an angelic messenger and “went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights unto Horeb the mount of God.” These were men on a mission who were sustained by the Lord in miraculous fashion, no doubt. Still, there was probably some discomfort, but they were much more consumed by their heavenly pursuit than by their desire to sit at a sumptuous table and satiate their bodily desires. They were driven by heavenly causes over and above their personal peace and comfort.

Jesus said, “I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.” Isaiah cried out to those who spend their money for that which is not bread. “Eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.” Proverbs reminds us that wisdom beckons to the simple. “Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled. Forsake the foolish, and live.” Life is not in the bread of this world but in the heavenly bread that comes down from heaven.

I was willing to forsake much fine eating this summer to see the tops of mountains, glory in the alpine meadows of the upper Rockies, catch trout in high lakes, see the wildlife of remote woodlands, and climb heights for panoramic vistas. It was well worth it. May I be so willing to forsake the pleasures of this world, the dainty meats of the evil one, and the ease of the wide and broad path for the sake of gaining the heavenly kingdom and doing the will of my Father in heaven. May we all be so driven to do the will of Him who sent our Savior that we do not even notice those momentary sacrifices that impinge upon our personal peace and affluence. To him who does, “bread shall be given; his waters shall be sure (Isa. 33:16).”

Colorado Adventure

Our team of six returned Thursday evening from a successful adventure into the high Rockies. Bruce, Phil, Evan, Wes, Jim, and I ventured some 35-40 miles over 7 days into the Eagle's Nest Wilderness Area just west of Denver. We encountered wildlife galore this trip as never before with sitings of mountain goat, mountain sheep, moose, mountain lion plus some smaller species including pica, leeches, and an unusually large species of salamander. The weather cooperated famously with light afternoon showers on only 3-4 days. The last night featured a mountain electrical storm in all its glory (ka boom, ka boom) with a real tent-floating downpour. One of our crew chilled to the warning level so we built a fire in spite of the ban because of the cold and wet made it possible, nay, necessary. That was our first campfire at 10,000 feet, and it inspired a precious sharing time together. Fishing closed out the week in famous form as we had a trout feast after the deluge. All who were up to it and wanted to summit had two experiences during the week. We all stayed well and strong, and we marvelled at God's provision both through the bounty of nature and the random acts of strangers who crossed our paths at the most opportune time.

Fathers

When I was a boy in my father's house, still tender, and an only child of my mother, he taught me and said, "Lay hold of my words with all your heart; keep my commands and you will live. –Pro. 4:2-4

If you read the Scripture at top, you probably agreed in your heart that it is a very good model of how things are supposed to be. Yet, how many of us had dads who did this, who took us aside and spoke tender words of comfort and wisdom into our souls? Precious few, I suspect. I never experienced that. But at least he was there in my life, a rugged block of a man who knew hard labor as his business and faithfulness as his duty. We celebrated father’s day last Sunday, which always makes the card companies happy and means that I might get to make a request for dinner. But as a nation, we evidently are doing a pitiful job of appreciating the role that fathers play.

Kathleen Parker reports that “a 1999 study of how fathers were presented in 102 primetime TV shows, the National Fatherhood Initiative found only four in which a father was portrayed as present and involved in his children’s lives.” You know the typical drama. Dad is a bumbling fool at best or absent and hopeless at worst. And “at the same time little boys and girls are seeing bad, dumb daddies on TV, more than a third don’t live with their own father, owing either to divorce or single motherhood.” And yet we know “study after study shows an association between fatherlessness and a wide range of social pathologies, including drug abuse, promiscuity and delinquency.”

Fathers do have a strong influence upon the lives of children even if they are not chiseled from the Book of Proverbs. Susan Estrich wrote a tearful testimonial last week about how her father was far from perfect. “He smoked and drank and married the wrong woman. He went months without seeing me. He didn’t buy me presents or pay my tuition. …But I loved him so.” Thirty years later she still misses him.

But when the dad-role is played well, it can have a huge impact upon families. As a man, I often thought my influence was rather minimal when walking in the door at the end of a day to see the whirl of family activity going on about me. I did not cook the meal on the table, clean the house, wash any of the clothes, or help anybody with the homework of the day. I possessed only a fraction of my wife’s knowledge of the world in which my children moved and had their being. But to think I did not matter is a totally false and deprecating assumption. Theodore Roosevelt called the Presidency of the United States a “bully pulpit” for he rightly knew that the words he spoke from it would echo near and far. The high and holy position of “father” is also a “bully pulpit” as well that begs to be used for good.

Roosevelt’s father spoke these words into his young son’s life as he was going off to college. “Take care of your morals first, your health next, and finally your studies.” Theodore Roosevelt idolized his father and bound those words tightly to his heart. So much so, that his modern day biographer offered bemused wonder at Theodore’s commitment to purity before marriage. How many young men go off to college today so challenged? Not long after, Roosevelt’s father died and in his grief in pondering his future he wrote, “Oh Father, my Father, no words can tell how I shall miss your counsel and advice.”

May you dads realize that you are standing on holy ground. Your daily footsteps leave imprints that will follow you in the lives of your children for generations to come. You are more than just a paycheck. Much, much more.

Slickrock Creek Hike Report

Four of us ended up going deep into the Slickrock Creek Wilderness Area Sat - Mon. We hit the Hangover mid-day and had a streak of luck. Few make it up there and are able to get a clear view. Much rain in that area. Vista was unlimited. Camped that night on Stratton Bald. It felt downright illegal to do that but it was fully permissable, even without a permit! There was not a chance of rain all weekend, but it rained hard for 40 minutes that evening after setting up. What a blessing though.
The spring was barely moving so we tanked up using run-off from a hammock tarp. The Father knows more than one way to supply water on a bald.
Next day we took an unknown trail down from Naked Ground (no nudists in
sight) which actually was the beginning of the Slickrock Creek trail. It has a reputation which was well deserved. It has other names going up.
We spent the night at Wildcat Falls and enjoyed the whole camping area
and the falls to ourselves. An afternoon dip was refreshing and
invigorating. We left camp at 9:00 AM and were back home by three even with a detour to A&W.

Self Esteem

“For God so loved the world…” -John 3:16

There is a new public service announcement out. It features Mariska Hargitay who says “If you like you, everyone else will too.” One of my high school students went to the national motivational seminar in Knoxville last week and took home a message about not listening to anyone else’s viewpoint about ones’ self, especially if it is negative. My wife and I recently reminisced about how many of our own college days were absorbed by our own insecurities and how much more we could have accomplished if we had only felt less afraid about who we were. And how often have adult friends shared stories about how their own parents filled them with feelings of insecurity and inadequacy that still continue to plague them?

Out of this fertile ground of our insecurities and self-doubts sprung the self-esteem movement. It tried to reassure us that both you and I were okay. It spawned numerous seminars, books, and self-help classes to say nothing of the efforts at building self-esteem among our school-age population. From there, it just seemed to be a natural progression to eliminating the sources of negative self-esteem. Grades were suspect, tracking was denounced, testing was dethroned, and everyone was encouraged to think they could do anything they put into their minds to do. Never was heard a discouraging word and the skies were not cloudy all day.

Like any humanistic movement and lie, there lay a kernel of truth at the core. Yes, we are born into this world as a 7-pound bundle of fears. We bear a terrible burden that we were never intended to bear: free, moral autonomy. And because it is an impossible load to carry, we wrestle with very, real guilt along with all the cast off remnants of parental and societal failings. The insecurities we feel are quite real, and the most, deservedly so.

But there is no healing power in a blind mantra that keeps repeating, “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Those who actually come to believe that often morph into arrogant monsters that no one can live with. I find little in myself to love so how can I truly love myself? There is ultimately only one means of reconciling myself to myself, and that is to see myself as God sees me. He knows it all, the failings and the filth, and yet he places great value on me. He comes and deals with the moral guilt, buries it in the deepest sea, and adopts me as His son. I am worthy because He said so, and the price of my ransom was high.

Next to that, the love of friends and family pales by comparison in its redemptive power. But because we are God’s body in this world, we can be the instruments of communicating His grace; “God’s love with fingers and toes.” I have to have God’s love and forgiveness, but that which comes through human agency is powerfully reassuring as well. It takes the form of the good Samaritan who picks up my battered spirit and nurses it back to health, reflecting the grace of God at work in us all.

I say all this to encourage parents to love your children with all the love that God puts in you. Your arms are a welcome flesh and blood embodiment of God’s love, and I think He meant it to be that way. I knew no one in my life as a child who could extend that act of grace to me. Many of our parents never experienced it given to them. How many sons have gone off seeking the reassuring love of their mothers in the arms of strange women? How many daughters have sought the love of their fathers in the embrace of young men? Love your children. Not blindly, but purposely, redemptively, and passionately. It grounds the spirit of a child like nothing else.

Blacksburg II

“Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” -Gen. 3:1

With all the horror about us these days, someone is bound to ask the question as to how much do we share of this with our children and how much of the news do we block out? In the last week, even the leading media outlets have had to face this issue with how much of the news was actually fit to print or disgorge in video form. I venture out onto the thin ice of this question with fear and trepidation because there are so many variables involved. Each of us has a right and responsibility to decide the limits of propriety for our own family. Please allow me to stir up your pure minds for the purpose of reflection.

No doubt exists now that last week brought us face to face with pure evil. A better picture has emerged, and the most disturbing questions that I have seen raised deal with the now past decision of society to abolish taboos and definitions of “normal” which have effectively disarmed the self-defense mechanisms of good judgment that could have derailed the obvious and the apparent (Diana West, Wash. Times, 4-24-07). Regardless, do we let our children read and study the face and behavior of such a killer? Do we talk about it in their presence? Do we let them know it even happened? I have not seen the video footage mailed in by the killer and am not sure I want to. I think I have enough information already without imprinting his voice and video image in my mind. There is a point at which news worthiness turns into a fascination with the macabre. I avoid it for the same reason I do not stop to peer into wrecks on the road where the victim still lies trapped within. Those who must deal with it do so out of professional duty. Even these steeled professionals must carefully exercise themselves to purge their minds of the horror lest they become ineffective either as professionals or as fathers, mothers, husbands or wives.

On the other hand, I do not think we need fear exposure to the fallen-ness of this world for we can gain a truer picture of what sin is than anything the enemy throws up to us with his constant deceptions. Let me share with you the following quote which so concisely captures this point. “Imaginary evil is romantic and varied, full of charm; imaginary good is tiresome and flat. Real evil, however, is dreary, monotonous, barren. Real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating.” (Simone Weil, 20th century French mystic) The evil we need to fear and protect ourselves from is that which flows so profusely from Hollywood, TV comedies, romance novels, and, yes, our own imaginations. Sinful acts springing from fantasies of the mind are incredibly alluring. The evil one graciously assists us in painting wonderfully exciting pictures of what delicious fun a little sin might be. It started in the garden and continues today. And yet, when we do see actual sin for what it is and what it does, we see nothing but barren-ness, destruction, and wreckage. Imaginary good, however, is easily mocked either in our minds or in the media as being trite and tiresome. But when we participate in actual deeds of kindness and mercy, we experience incredible joy. This helps explain why Christian fiction is so hard to write without becoming formulaic and flat while tales of sinfulness easily pull at our curiosity and quickly become best sellers.

I do not think we need fear the effect of the news from W.Virginia or the daily body count stories from our own Knoxville backyard. They simply tally up and highlight the cost of sin that eventually comes due. The wages of sin is death. Satan would much rather feed us titillating stories of desperate housewives, tales of cavorting doctors, and chronicles of clever and romantic criminals. I say, fear those who can dress up folly as creative frolic rather than the drumbeat of brutal headlines and coarse crimes. The one is real. The other is not.

Blacksburg

“if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door.” Gen. 4:7

More bad news. Just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse, it does. Blacksburg has now put itself on the map as the latest and worst of anger gone amok. I am thinking of you with young children. How do you relate this news to them? Some are too small to even ask. Others are terribly perplexed. How is it possible to feel safe anymore? I struggle to think of anything comparable when my children were small.

Security is a deep felt need in us all. Yet events like this reveal how vulnerable we all are to such pointless and random violence. This is terrorism of the worst kind. There seems to be no agenda, no ideological grievance or injustice to blame or to try to understand. It appears to be pure fury unleashed from the troubled soul of a madman. But even worse, it could turn out to be not the rage of a madman in the sense of some deeply deranged lunatic. It could be that he was just an angry man.

Angry young men have been with us ever since Cain slew Abel. But the circles of violence have grown, the means more available, and the precedents established that break old barriers of civility with callous impudence. These cause us to question our society, our culture, and our values as a nation. And so they should. These events do not happen in a vacuum. They are symptoms of forces deep, dark, and disturbing within our civilization as we know it. Hundreds of opinions will be forthcoming shortly reflecting upon causes and solutions by philosophers and columnists alike. It is becoming a tiresome task, however, as we seem to be revisiting this deep, dark well with increasing frequency. Despair at finding an answer is, in itself, a symptom of our arrival in some perplexing new age.

My nominee for an explanation to this deadly scourge of disasters upon our national stage of horrors is simply that we have forgotten God, which Solzhenitsyn once said propelled Russia’s slide into Communism’s dark age. How many of these mass killers are children of the age; aimless, detached from normal families, seekers of meaning in a material culture, suckled by the exciting panoply of virtual media violence, and most significantly, totally devoid of sexual mores which lead them into destructive relationships that collapse of their own dead weight? I vote that lesson one is that there is no such thing as victimless sin. Somewhere, someplace, bad choices will bring forth bad fruit that kill and destroy and stink up the neighborhood with the smells of decay. It is true for our culture and true for us as middle class Christians. Secondly, ideas have consequences. Moral relativism breeds a revolution whose offspring will self-destruct and take the innocent with them. Sin destroys and the resulting destruction can ignite anger that knows no bounds.

The reports I am hearing indicate that our younger generation is playing at sin with frightful ferocity especially in the area of intimate relationships. This is true within the church and without. I continue to believe that God’s laws were planted in our midst for our own protection and not simply to spoil our fun. It is our duty to testify to that truth, uphold the law without embarrassment, and name sin for what it is. We must share the bad news before the good news of God’s love and forgiveness makes any sense. I am becoming convinced that this is an important step if we are to reach a generation which has lost its sense of shame. In the meantime, living in this increasingly insecure world demands we stay prayed up each day and rejoice in each day’s blessing of life. Life is worth living, and death only promotes us to glory.

Callings IX

“We pray always for you, that our God would count you worthy of this calling, and fulfill all the good pleasure of his goodness, and the work of faith with power” - 2 Thess. 1:10

Some years ago, John M. Hancock, a Knoxville lawyer, wrote a tribute for man who passed away at the age of 98. His name was Tennyson Walter Dickson, but he was known to his friends as “Slim” because of his tall, lanky stature. Mr. Hancock wrote that Slim “was as much of a positive influence on me as any of my teachers in public school or Sunday School, college professors, ministers, attorneys, judges or anyone else I have ever known in my 41 years of life.” Who was this man who exerted such influence?

John’s first recollection of Slim was as a boy when his whole family went to the S&W Cafeteria on Gay Street for dinner every Thursday night. Slim was one of the waiters there who wore a suit and bow tie, balanced trays on his arms, and poured up glasses of water and milk. In addition to his years of service at the cafeteria, Slim worked as a yardman and gardener for several families in Sequoyah Hills and Holston Hills before donning his suit coat for his regular job at night. Slim worked as such for John’s parents and grandparents and John grew up watching “his meticulous attention to detail, his dedication to service, his humbleness, his gratitude and, most of all, his Christian witness.” He was a deacon and usher at Mt. Zion Baptist Church, but John felt privileged “to see how he lived his life daily the other days of the week, how he sang, prayed, and praised God for the privilege of being able to work. Work to Slim was a true pleasure and opportunity.” Slim worked hard all his life, was never known to complain, and always wanted to find more to do. He worked in the heat of summer and cold of winter, no matter what the weather. “He mowed yards, trimmed bushes, pruned trees, dug ditches, planted flowers, raked leaves, and whatever else was necessary.” He asked for wages so low that most times he was paid twice as much as he asked but which was still lower by far than anything anyone else would work for, if, indeed, you could get them to work at all.

Slim became a part of the family sometimes coming as honored guest and friend. “He prayed many prayers with us in our kitchen when family health problems beset us.” He was there when John’s grandma died and gave the benediction at Grandpa’s funeral. He was the only black man at that funeral and demonstrated that ability to bridge those racial, social, and economic divisions within our society that so trouble us. “I never saw him unless he had a smile on his face. He had that rare quality that allowed him to get along with anyone in any situation.” Just a few years before his death, a roast was held in Slim’s honor at Ramsey’s, a tribute normally reserved for the elite. It was a mark of how deeply his life had impacted the community. Slim came to ask John to speak at that affair with his head bowed and a humble voice. When John said it would be an honor, Slim had to fight back the tears.

Stories like this stir me deeply. It is the story of a man who worked in his calling under the most humble of circumstances and did it as unto the Lord. To him, work was “a pleasure and opportunity.” His character showed through and deeply affected the lives around him. John Hancock, the lawyer, looked to Slim, the waiter and gardener, for inspiration in his daily life and counted it a privilege to know him. And in the end, both city and county officials, pastors, etc. gathered to honor Slim “not for his longevity of life but for the quality of it.” This is the mark of a person who is content and faithful in their calling and who understands that one’s legacy is defined by their character and not their calling. This is in stark contrast to a world blinded by the prestige, power, and pomp of office and station. How often I need to be reminded of this. How much more our children.

Callings VIII

But I trusted in thee, O Lord: I said, Thou art my God. My times are in thy hand. -Psalms 31:14-15

Just when you thought it was safe to make some assumptions about one’s calling in life, I am afraid I have some more disconcerting news. Callings change. Life has its twists and turns, times, and stages. And with these tumultuous events, our callings can also change. David went from being a shepherd to being a soldier and, ultimately, to being a king. God leads us through these times in our lives, and at each stage, we develop skills and take on certain roles wherein we exercise God’s call in service to the Kingdom in uniquely different ways.

While this may fill some of us with hope that one day soon we may be called to move on to something quite different, for many of us change is difficult and threatening. The challenge comes to all of us sooner or later to lay down a calling in life, something we have grown quite comfortable with and good at, to follow a different leading. Moms and dads remember a time when they lived a relatively carefree life as young singles, amiably pursuing studies or the beginnings of a dream career. Then romance and marriage rearranged the center of their lives so that it was no longer the “I” that directed their choices but the “we.” And when children came, it was no longer the “we” but the “they.” Moms, especially, often find themselves having to choose between an attractive career they had carefully prepared for and staying home to do laundry, wipe noses, and run a taxi service. Dads also find their choices become more limited and constraining because their first calling in life has evolved to be that of a father and provider. These choices can be very painful at times. We have all passed by the wreckage of marriages and families where someone felt forced to choose between career and family and made a disastrous decision. The body count is way too high.

When so led, the called man/woman of God will resign and give up his calling with grace and dignity if called to do so by God. This has to be our guiding principle. For young people, their present calling in life is to be a student and learner. At some point, they need to lay that down and enter the workforce. For many of us that was a welcomed change, but some students try to make a career out of school and in the process make a sad caricature of their lives. Once we take on the responsibility of marriage and family, our role as wife or husband, mom or dad, becomes our first calling in life. It trumps all others. Many grand ambitions, at times, have to be laid down to serve this high and holy calling. Doing that with grace and dignity can be one of the most difficult things we ever do. Engineers may end up selling cars, teachers may work an assembly line, or divinity graduates find themselves working in warehouses. While the choices may never be that stark, our priorities must change as our levels of responsibility change.

Likewise, as our children mature and leave, our calling again will change. Nothing is sadder to watch than a mother who will not let go of her children, who finds her only purpose in life in fulfilling that role. We must hold all our callings in life with an open hand whether it be our children, our careers, or our companies and be willing to see what God will call us to beyond these stages of life. This week we observe that time in which Jesus laid down his calling of being a teacher, prophet, and healer to become the sacrificial lamb on our behalf. May we be able to follow His example with equal grace and dignity.

Callings VII

“…for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.” Phil. 4:11-12

“The called man/woman of God is encouraged to embrace difficulty, danger, humility, or success, no matter what might befall them in their calling.” With these few and simple words, the Puritans put an iron rod of discipline into that warm, fuzzy feeling we call our life leading, professional inclination, or God’s call on our life. It is the part of hearing from God regarding a life vocation that is easily ignored or conveniently forgotten. Somehow we tend to focus on the self-fulfillment phase of discovering God’s leading in our lives. I talked to a man this week who takes young people camping and hiking as a full time outdoor recreation director. How thrilling it must be to do what one naturally loves to do and actually be paid to do it. And there is truth there that great joy can be found when operating in one’s giftedness for the glory of God.

But the other side of that picture is that God neither gifts us nor calls us for the joys of self-fulfillment. His callings are for service and His purposes. Self-actualization as a goal in life is perhaps one of the most cruel and poisonous philosophies spread about during my lifetime. It leads inexorably to the bizarre conclusion that, no matter what, God wants us to be happy. From there, all sorts of chaos proceeds.

When teaching our children about seeking their calling in life, the Divine Surgeon General’s warnings need to be firmly in place as well. Warning: your calling in life could entail calculated preparation and tedious study. Warning: your calling in life may entail great danger and opposition. Warning: your calling in life could entail loss and sacrifice. Warning: your calling in life could lead to a life of humble poverty. Who knew God’s call on his life more clearly than the Apostle Paul? And yet, he experienced homelessness, hardship, imprisonments, beatings, shipwreck, nakedness, peril, and ultimately an untimely death. His calling was not about self-actualization but about self-denial. This is a critical factor in following God’s callings for we do not measure the will of God or the validity of our calling by the degree of familial comfort, worldly success, or personal happiness we experience. Politicians are savagely attacked, pastors are beleaguered, teachers are tested, mechanics get bloody knuckles, mothers lose sleep, and missionaries are occasionally and casually martyred. When we know we are in His will, we will endure all things for the sake of the mission. This is what kept Noah working while the world laughed. It enabled David to face Goliath. It filled Shadrach and his friends with courage though the furnace was heated seven times hotter. And it will fill us ordinary folk with the steel we need to survive the rigors of our callings, no matter how strenuous, no matter what the opposition.

And last of all, there needs to be one more important caution. Warning: all degrees of success or fame are equally from God’s hand and are no cause for pride or self-satisfaction. Success can be even more deadly than tribulation. How many have fallen in the midst of personal triumph? Far too many. “The called man/woman of God will equally bear good and evil success as God shall dispense to him. If God prosper him, he had learned not to be puffed up, and if he should be exposed to want, he could do it without murmuring” (John Cotton). May we hide this wisdom in our hearts and those of our children.

Callings VI

“For he that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord's freeman: likewise also he that is called, being free, is Christ's servant.” -I Cor. 7:22

“The called man/woman of God, in serving God, serves men, and in serving men, serves God.”

In that simple phrase, we can sum up so much of what the early Puritans thought of the concept of a calling in life. It captures the spirit of Scripture so beautifully which says that inasmuch as we have served the least of our brethren, we have done it unto Him (Matt. 25:40). Our desire to serve God is not to be bound up in lives of cloistered penance and prayer. It is to be lived out in the daily market place where we interact with neighbors, friends, and rank strangers. The banker is to serve his customers as one who seeks to encourage and enable parents to provide shelter for their families, to aid businessmen in developing new jobs and opportunities, and to provide means of savings and investments for the future dreams of child and adult alike. Banking should never be seen as a means of personal enrichment and power. The clerk in a convenience store is there to assist the harried traveler with gas and a sticky bun or whatever to make life for the wayfarer more, dare we say it, “convenient” and to protect the assets of the owner. It is all about service to others who could always use a smile and encouraging word to go with that newspaper or cup of coffee. It is not about exerting the absolute minimum effort while counting down the minutes until shift change or foraging freebies at the expense of the company. The professional athlete dedicates his abilities and efforts to the success of his team and uses his public profile as a role model of good character for the greater good of his community. It is not about personal glory and grandstanding or a means of extorting larger and larger salaries to consume upon himself in gratuitous displays of freedom and excess.

When we and our children understand this, our perspective towards our jobs, towards developing our gifts and abilities should be touched, affected, and changed. We come up from the waters of baptism new creatures, regenerated to newness of life. We need to baptize our dreams of work and wealth, of study and education, of success and fame in the cleansing waters of humility and service. We serve God by serving men. Our work, our talents, and our abilities are means of worship to our maker. It is our reasonable service.

In so doing, we lay down our dreams of glory, our preoccupation with personal advancement, and our predisposition to seek positions of status. And the amazing thing is that when we do this, we find that the pressure to succeed that was driving us with such cruel force is gone. Contentment with our station in life is attainable. We discover joy in our labors that we never knew were there, and we can actually draw strength from the most menial of tasks instead of being drained by them.

Perhaps I am becoming a bit repetitious and tiresome in making this point. I risk it because it is the hinge upon which so much turns. To see work as worship, to see our calling in life as a means of service rather than a means to glory is a means of great freedom from the chains of this world’s values. It also restores the dignity of each person as worthy servants before the Lord no matter what tasks they perform in life. There will be those who will have great reward in heaven for the cups of cold water they have dispensed as sure as there will be those who have operated great levers of power and wealth in this life who will find themselves suddenly ashamed. May you find joy in your work this week, parent and child alike.

Callings V

“Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it….” -Ps. 127:1

Believe it or not, there comes a time in the lives of most young people when they discover that they have particular talents and abilities that distinguish them from others their age. Adolescence is a search for value and self worth, and the first steps are generally filled with faltering, timidity, and doubt. But eventually, young people are pleasantly surprised when, to their amazement, they possess a skill or knack for an activity, a sport, an academic field, or a hobby that sets them apart. I remember prowling about our farm buildings as a teenager, armed with a .22 rifle, hunting sparrows. These birds were a plague upon our barns with their incessant nest building that in turn attracted insects and provided a breeding ground for disease. I had free license to use them as target practice at will. They presented a small and challenging target to my simple, open-sighted, single-shot rifle. Many more bullets missed than hit their mark. But one day a friend drove in as I was on one of my wandering safaris, and as we talked, a flock of sparrows flew into a large, barren tree some 150 ft. away. My friend noted them and challenged me to take a shot. It was a long one for such a target, but I had to try. I laid the rifle down across the roof of his car and drew a careful bead. The gun went off, and a sparrow fell straight down onto the chicken house roof. No one was more amazed than I. But I remember the glowing pride I felt as my friend made exclamation after exclamation regarding my skilled aim. There was joy and pride that I actually might have an ability that was just a bit above the average teenager. I later went on to spend four years on the college rifle team sharpening that skill first developed as a non-descript farm boy.

While shooting a rifle had little applicable life consequences, there were other things that did. I remember a compelling interest in science, my first success as a writer, and the thrill of participating in youth ministry. All were early precedents for the life I have lived. While the act of discovery is an important step in seeking our calling in life, there was one step I lacked and omitted out of sheer ignorance. While it may not have seemed like much at the time, I feel it may have been far more critical than I care to believe. When we do get a sense of the gifts and abilities that God has given to us, it is important to dedicate those gifts and resultant callings to God (Rom. 12:1), asking and relying upon Him to “quicken and sharpen” those abilities (Ps. 127:1-2), not relying on our own strength (Pro. 3:5-6).

Why is this important? First of all, it gives the glory to God. Scripture makes clear over and over that the gifts of the Spirit are given for the proper functioning of the body of Christ. So, too, with natural gifts. It is not about us. When we become self-absorbed with an ability and how it magnifies ourselves, we become hard to live with, and the gift itself can be poisoned and become poison to our souls. The greater the gift and the more public the calling, the greater the danger. I believe this selfish preoccupation greatly complicates our psychological ability to cope with the pressures of juggling a talent, a calling, an ego, and the expectation to “succeed.” When we dedicate our calling to God, we recognize Him as the giver of every good gift as given for the purpose of complementing society as a whole. We become grateful for our part to play, and we learn to depend upon Him to breathe life and wisdom into our life work. It becomes no longer a matter of our own status but translates our gifts into a matter of stewardship and service. That perspective can change everything and fire our hearts to pursue excellence for His glory, not ours.