“You of little faith, why did you doubt?” -Matt. 14:31
Pity poor Peter. Here he goes and joins Jesus walking on water, demonstrating beyond words that the Master has power over wind and wave and that he is willing to trust in that by jumping overboard himself. Then, all so shortly after his triumph of faith and example, he starts to doubt and sink. The first impulse to pitch over the side of the boat was his finest moment. His action screamed to all, “Follow me.” But then the wetness of that water had to have drawn his eyes down to his feet, miraculously suspended over nothingness, and the thought had to have occurred to him, “What have I just done?” As soon as the heart started to sink, so did the feet.
Doubt always seems to haunt our finest accomplishments. A long time past in a place far away, I knew of a young man who had spent a carefully calculated year of his life building a house for his young family. The land was paid for. The materials had been carefully laid up in advance. The design utilized rough-sawn boards from a mill. The aim was to be debt free. The house grew steadily all that summer with the help of a few friends and was ready to move into by winter’s first freeze. A good hard freeze did come a bit sooner than expected and a still exposed pipe froze under the house. Alone, he crawled under the house and spent some considerable time with a torch in a fruitless effort to thaw the frozen pipe. Frustration and doubts grew by the minute and were certainly exaggerated by the year’s toil and weariness. Finally, he gave up, and as he emerged from that crawl space, he threw down the torch in a pile of scrap-wood, walked off in dejected defeat, and said to himself, “I’ve created a monster.” The house burned to the ground as a total loss.
I saw that house shortly before it burned. It was beautiful in its artful simplicity; a masterpiece of economy and style. I had praised the plan as brilliant, the workmanship as of the highest order. A single doubt undermined and destroyed the dream of years in one, heart-sick day. But strange as it may seem, I understood the defeated spirit that had undercut my friend. Have not we all experienced the same struggle on a thousand fronts so many times before? None, perhaps, with such catastrophic consequences. But nevertheless, we know the dark moments of doubt that persistently dog our finest moments; especially our finest moments.
My best sermons, my finest prayers, my most labored woodworking efforts, my most profound contributions to conversation or print are almost always followed by doubt. The master doubt planter comes and sows those seeds in the small hours of the morning. “What have you done now? My, but that was silly. Can you actually believe you said (or did) that?” Even the great cooks in my family never fail to place their best creations on the table without disclaimers and doubts. “Is it good? Do you like it?” I think this continued curse to mankind of fear and doubt comes from the same one who uttered those eternally deadly words, “Hath God said?”
It is one thing to live with some healthy humility that includes room for self-imposed questioning. It is quite another thing to see good things, to see hopes and dreams die under a crushing load of doubt. It certainly enters the mind of every newly married person at some point or other, “Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life?” And tragically, far too many succumb to it. We bring children into the world and pour ourselves into their parenting only to confront the horrors of doubt in the lonely moments of our soul.
It was said of Daniel that he could dissolve doubts (Dan. 5:12). We sure could use him from time to time. But his source of strength is available to all; even today. And may we be ever willing to extend hope to the hopeless. It is a ministry as sorely needed as any; the ministry of encouragement. Who about us is peering into the abyss and in need of a steady hand and a good word?
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
The New and the Old
“…there is no new thing under the sun.” -Ecc. 1:9
One of the advantages of being old is that I can remember when new ideas were once old ideas, long since discarded. When I first graduated from Wheaton College in 1966, we learned under the traditional semester system where school started after Labor Day, semester exams were held in early January, and school let out in early June. That’s the way it was back then except we were hearing about a new model of doing school called the quarter system. It was taking root in some state schools and seemed cutting edge and revolutionary. By the time I went back for graduate school two years later, the quarter system was standard in most colleges and universities. The school year was divided into three equal quarters with a fourth quarter available in the summer. Most students liked the quarter system because of shorter class lengths and because they fit neatly between vacation times. No taking home papers and guilt over the Christmas break.
Fast forward some twenty years later, and I was in the middle of another graduate program at UT, on the quarter system. But lo and behold, all of a sudden a new wave of innovation was sweeping the nation’s universities. It was called the semester system. By the time I graduated, I had a bevy of both quarter and semester credits with higher math called in to calculate their equivalency. We all were assured, however, that the semester system was a much better educational experience with some folks actually trying to pass it off as “new.”
In my old age, I confess to be a bit numb to whatever is being bandied about as being “new” in the field of “education.” I have seen any number of fads come and go; from schools without failure to open classrooms without walls or doors. But most interesting are the old concepts that resurface from time to time as “cutting edge, innovative, reforms.” It looks like we have another one on our hands with the current renewed interest in “community schools.”
Having been raised in community schools back in the days before bussing and consolidation, it perked my interest. I have long lamented the disappearance of small community or, what we used to call, neighborhood schools. These were schools that children could walk to within their own neighborhoods. I grew up walking to school from K5 through 4th grade while living in the city. At Oakwood Elementary, we students even walked home for lunch and then returned for afternoon classes. The school was small, but neighborhood involvement was high. It was a hub for social activities as well as education. We knew and were known by others. Bullies could not hide in some faceless mob. We supported our school with newspaper drives and scout groups. It was our school.
But the neighborhood school concept was soon seen as outmoded. It was clearly shown on a piece of paper that consolidating into larger schools brought greater cost efficiency and made possible greater course offerings and more special services. Greater numbers of students had to be bussed in and student body populations soared. Coaches loved it because it gave them greater numbers to pick from for athletic teams. Administrator salaries grew proportionally. All sorts of new classes proliferated with special teachers. It was an impressive superstructure to behold. No one seemed to notice the increased anonymity that students experienced. The criminal element loved it. And good students had to claw their way to the top to gain access to student government or sports team leadership. Only one student in 2000 was able to claim the prize of being the band, drum major. PTA was a distant and amorphous activity. After-school activities were privy only to those with transportation. And the politics of control slipped away to some centralized district.
Imagine my amusement when this week’s News Sentinel featured a front page story about our superintendent visiting some “cutting-edge” new schools in Cincinnati called “community schools.” They are smaller, given over to high community involvement, and reflective of the needs and make-up of the local community or neighborhood. Guess what? Parental involvement is higher, school buildings function as a social hub, test scores are higher, and everybody seems happier. I love it. What is old is new again. But it is only politically acceptable if we re-label it as “new” and “innovative.” This new wineskin raises some questions, but if done well, it could be a very positive step in returning American schools back towards their former position of greatness. Now, I wonder how long it will be before they re-introduce the possibility of failure? What could we call it? How about “terminal re-direction”? Pardon my cynicism.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
One of the advantages of being old is that I can remember when new ideas were once old ideas, long since discarded. When I first graduated from Wheaton College in 1966, we learned under the traditional semester system where school started after Labor Day, semester exams were held in early January, and school let out in early June. That’s the way it was back then except we were hearing about a new model of doing school called the quarter system. It was taking root in some state schools and seemed cutting edge and revolutionary. By the time I went back for graduate school two years later, the quarter system was standard in most colleges and universities. The school year was divided into three equal quarters with a fourth quarter available in the summer. Most students liked the quarter system because of shorter class lengths and because they fit neatly between vacation times. No taking home papers and guilt over the Christmas break.
Fast forward some twenty years later, and I was in the middle of another graduate program at UT, on the quarter system. But lo and behold, all of a sudden a new wave of innovation was sweeping the nation’s universities. It was called the semester system. By the time I graduated, I had a bevy of both quarter and semester credits with higher math called in to calculate their equivalency. We all were assured, however, that the semester system was a much better educational experience with some folks actually trying to pass it off as “new.”
In my old age, I confess to be a bit numb to whatever is being bandied about as being “new” in the field of “education.” I have seen any number of fads come and go; from schools without failure to open classrooms without walls or doors. But most interesting are the old concepts that resurface from time to time as “cutting edge, innovative, reforms.” It looks like we have another one on our hands with the current renewed interest in “community schools.”
Having been raised in community schools back in the days before bussing and consolidation, it perked my interest. I have long lamented the disappearance of small community or, what we used to call, neighborhood schools. These were schools that children could walk to within their own neighborhoods. I grew up walking to school from K5 through 4th grade while living in the city. At Oakwood Elementary, we students even walked home for lunch and then returned for afternoon classes. The school was small, but neighborhood involvement was high. It was a hub for social activities as well as education. We knew and were known by others. Bullies could not hide in some faceless mob. We supported our school with newspaper drives and scout groups. It was our school.
But the neighborhood school concept was soon seen as outmoded. It was clearly shown on a piece of paper that consolidating into larger schools brought greater cost efficiency and made possible greater course offerings and more special services. Greater numbers of students had to be bussed in and student body populations soared. Coaches loved it because it gave them greater numbers to pick from for athletic teams. Administrator salaries grew proportionally. All sorts of new classes proliferated with special teachers. It was an impressive superstructure to behold. No one seemed to notice the increased anonymity that students experienced. The criminal element loved it. And good students had to claw their way to the top to gain access to student government or sports team leadership. Only one student in 2000 was able to claim the prize of being the band, drum major. PTA was a distant and amorphous activity. After-school activities were privy only to those with transportation. And the politics of control slipped away to some centralized district.
Imagine my amusement when this week’s News Sentinel featured a front page story about our superintendent visiting some “cutting-edge” new schools in Cincinnati called “community schools.” They are smaller, given over to high community involvement, and reflective of the needs and make-up of the local community or neighborhood. Guess what? Parental involvement is higher, school buildings function as a social hub, test scores are higher, and everybody seems happier. I love it. What is old is new again. But it is only politically acceptable if we re-label it as “new” and “innovative.” This new wineskin raises some questions, but if done well, it could be a very positive step in returning American schools back towards their former position of greatness. Now, I wonder how long it will be before they re-introduce the possibility of failure? What could we call it? How about “terminal re-direction”? Pardon my cynicism.
Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Family and the Narrow Way
“God setteth the solitary in families….” -Psalm 68:6
Relatives and close family members can be both a blessing and a curse. I remember my much older cousin, Gerald, who would come out to our farm when I was a boy and would go rabbit hunting with me in the winter time. Now I could go rabbit hunting anytime I wanted to all by myself. I just seldom did. But when Gerald wanted to participate, it was a high, energy-packed affair that I would not have missed for anything. There were jokes and stories and a thing called male camaraderie; a term I would not have known at that age, but something very real I experienced and relished. It was richer still because we were both Nordmoes; men of the same bloodline, stomping through the winter snow, with guns, celebrating each kill with mutual praise.
Not all was goodness and light within the Nordmoe clan, however. Blessed with several aunts and uncles within a close geographic area, there was always someone not speaking to someone. I listened in on numerous stories of the quirks, foibles, and, at times, extremely hurtful things that were said and done, one to another. I remember one of my favorite uncles falling under the spell of alcohol for a time and putting his whole family through some years of agony and embarrassment. Then there was the crazy aunt who decided to open a restaurant with the gracious help of several extended family members. She may have known how to cook but was absolutely hapless when it came to working with people, most especially family. The grand experiment was short lived with a host of hurt feelings left in its wake.
As a young boy, I remember numerous boring afternoons spent sitting in the homes of my childless aunts and uncles as we made the obligatory visits. Those with cousins were a welcome relief, for the most part, considering that most of them were girls. I endured the aunt who insisted on kissing me. I resented at times the invalid grandmother who spent months living with us. She restricted our family freedom, never spoke to me, and smelled like an old person. Then there was the grandfather who picked trick or treat night to get in an accident far out of town and died shortly after we arrived at the hospital. Spoiled all my great plans. He never spoke to me either, but always there was some obligation to attend to him, the mysterious recluse.
All together, my extended family was quite a collection of average folk with a sprinkle of misfits, misers, loners, perfectionists, gadflies; all born with a general family propensity for stubbornness and aloofness that streaked them all. It was more my nature to run from them than to them. And even now as a grown and soon to be old man, I marvel how our family gatherings seem to gravitate to the funny stories we tell on one another. Our idiosyncrasies are well known throughout the family. So how is it that we should think it a good thing to live together in community? Why on earth would we want to purposefully tie ourselves in with other Christians when we can’t even get along with our own kin? Why sign up for more pain, frustration, and ties that restrict? And God wants to set the solitary in families like that’s a good thing?
I have been dwelling this weekend on how it actually is a good thing, even after spending three whole days holed up in a two bedroom cabin with five other adults and 4 grandchildren. Look at it this way. We have a hollowness at our core, a sin nature that prefers darkness to light. When left alone, we are at our worst. Who would think of swearing in church? Of course not. We have little trouble living the Christian life on Sunday mornings. Even within the family, we experience restraints that keep us in the narrow way. Cain would not have killed Abel had they been in the presence of Adam and Eve. So it is that fatherless boys are so much more likely to end up in prison. We chafe at the restrictions that family members put upon us, especially when they are irritating and spiteful. But even then, they confront us with real life versus the escapism that would tempt us to a life of obscurity where our evil deeds could be hidden under a veil of secrecy and anonymity. God knows best. There is safety in the flock. We need each other if only to bring out the best in us when challenged by another’s weakness. Now, if only I could sell that to teen-agers.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
Relatives and close family members can be both a blessing and a curse. I remember my much older cousin, Gerald, who would come out to our farm when I was a boy and would go rabbit hunting with me in the winter time. Now I could go rabbit hunting anytime I wanted to all by myself. I just seldom did. But when Gerald wanted to participate, it was a high, energy-packed affair that I would not have missed for anything. There were jokes and stories and a thing called male camaraderie; a term I would not have known at that age, but something very real I experienced and relished. It was richer still because we were both Nordmoes; men of the same bloodline, stomping through the winter snow, with guns, celebrating each kill with mutual praise.
Not all was goodness and light within the Nordmoe clan, however. Blessed with several aunts and uncles within a close geographic area, there was always someone not speaking to someone. I listened in on numerous stories of the quirks, foibles, and, at times, extremely hurtful things that were said and done, one to another. I remember one of my favorite uncles falling under the spell of alcohol for a time and putting his whole family through some years of agony and embarrassment. Then there was the crazy aunt who decided to open a restaurant with the gracious help of several extended family members. She may have known how to cook but was absolutely hapless when it came to working with people, most especially family. The grand experiment was short lived with a host of hurt feelings left in its wake.
As a young boy, I remember numerous boring afternoons spent sitting in the homes of my childless aunts and uncles as we made the obligatory visits. Those with cousins were a welcome relief, for the most part, considering that most of them were girls. I endured the aunt who insisted on kissing me. I resented at times the invalid grandmother who spent months living with us. She restricted our family freedom, never spoke to me, and smelled like an old person. Then there was the grandfather who picked trick or treat night to get in an accident far out of town and died shortly after we arrived at the hospital. Spoiled all my great plans. He never spoke to me either, but always there was some obligation to attend to him, the mysterious recluse.
All together, my extended family was quite a collection of average folk with a sprinkle of misfits, misers, loners, perfectionists, gadflies; all born with a general family propensity for stubbornness and aloofness that streaked them all. It was more my nature to run from them than to them. And even now as a grown and soon to be old man, I marvel how our family gatherings seem to gravitate to the funny stories we tell on one another. Our idiosyncrasies are well known throughout the family. So how is it that we should think it a good thing to live together in community? Why on earth would we want to purposefully tie ourselves in with other Christians when we can’t even get along with our own kin? Why sign up for more pain, frustration, and ties that restrict? And God wants to set the solitary in families like that’s a good thing?
I have been dwelling this weekend on how it actually is a good thing, even after spending three whole days holed up in a two bedroom cabin with five other adults and 4 grandchildren. Look at it this way. We have a hollowness at our core, a sin nature that prefers darkness to light. When left alone, we are at our worst. Who would think of swearing in church? Of course not. We have little trouble living the Christian life on Sunday mornings. Even within the family, we experience restraints that keep us in the narrow way. Cain would not have killed Abel had they been in the presence of Adam and Eve. So it is that fatherless boys are so much more likely to end up in prison. We chafe at the restrictions that family members put upon us, especially when they are irritating and spiteful. But even then, they confront us with real life versus the escapism that would tempt us to a life of obscurity where our evil deeds could be hidden under a veil of secrecy and anonymity. God knows best. There is safety in the flock. We need each other if only to bring out the best in us when challenged by another’s weakness. Now, if only I could sell that to teen-agers.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
Thursday, September 01, 2011
The Man & the Message
“…for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” -Matt. 12:34
Ad hominem is a Latin phrase that simply means “to the man.” It has come into clichéd usage to refer to an attack upon someone’s work or body of ideas because of a character flaw within the author of that work. We all have an expectation that others will practice what they preach or else we feel somewhat free to ignore what they say. While this is true up to a point, some have hidden behind the inconsistencies of men to deny the truth of God as if that is excuse enough. Hardly so, as Paul would exclaim that God’s truth still stands even though all men be liars. So it is that the earth is still round even should my 6th grade science teacher be found to be a scoundrel, thief, and a wastrel.
Nevertheless, the ad hominem test is one which is still valid and needful today. There is a very strong undertow in our society today that says that a man’s professional life and personal life are two entirely different matters. What a person does in his personal life is none of our business. As a result, we can find college professors who parade by day as respected scholars and by night are producers of pornography with not a blush of inconsistency or shame. How far we have come from Harry Truman who wouldn’t knowingly hire a man who had cheated on his wife: “You know, if a man will lie to his wife, he'll lie to me. And if he'll break his oath of marriage, he'll break his oath of office.”
And in the area of scholarship, I want to know the personal credentials of an author as well as any honors and degrees he might hold. It can often be quite revealing. It tells me of what bent that writer or thinker is and if they have been able to live consistently with the ideas they are propounding. I remember very distinctly sitting in a history of education class as we were exposed to a lengthy exposition of the Emile by Jean Jaques Rousseau. To his credit, it was one of the first major treatises upon the subject of education other than the Bible and described in great detail the ideal education of a child at the hearthside of his parents. What they did not tell me in that class was that Rousseau fathered several children and turned them all over to an orphanage as soon as they were born. I was never able to read that book again without total contempt.
It is long recognized that in all the social sciences and literature that the prejudices and predilections of an author will easily color the results of his research and writings. In knowing these preconceptions, we can understand so much more fully the product of that person’s scholarship and be apprised of his intentions. I was recently interested to discover that, even in the field of economics, morality matters. John Maynard Keynes (1883-1946) was a giant in matters of macro-economics, the finance of nations. He still casts a strong shadow upon the thinking of world leaders including our own. He advocated powerful central governments promoting prosperity through inflationary policies and spending on public works. In his view, a severe public crisis called for deliberate public deficits. Sound familiar? It turns out he was a deeply rebellious intellectual who imbibed a severe atheism in his youth. In his Cambridge days, he was part of a group who “entirely repudiated a personal liability … to obey general rules. We claimed the right to judge every individual case on its merits, and the wisdom to do so successfully. This was a very important part of our faith, violently and aggressively held, and for the outer world it was our most obvious and dangerous characteristic. We repudiated entirely customary morals, conventions, and traditional wisdom.” Part of the wisdom that Keynes repudiated was classical economics which emphasized work and savings in an environment of economic freedom and sound money. He trashed it simply as “Puritanism.”
Do we really want to follow someone who rejects tradition simply because it is old, who violently reacts to anything Christian because it smacks of God, who is totally conceited with his own wisdom because it is “superior”? And then should we trust him with the treasure of nations and the fate of peoples to say nothing of our 401-K’s? Apparently we have, and we will undoubtedly face the consequences whatever those may be. Did no one check this man’s credentials at the door before we gave him the keys to the kingdom? Ad hominem, I say.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
Ad hominem is a Latin phrase that simply means “to the man.” It has come into clichéd usage to refer to an attack upon someone’s work or body of ideas because of a character flaw within the author of that work. We all have an expectation that others will practice what they preach or else we feel somewhat free to ignore what they say. While this is true up to a point, some have hidden behind the inconsistencies of men to deny the truth of God as if that is excuse enough. Hardly so, as Paul would exclaim that God’s truth still stands even though all men be liars. So it is that the earth is still round even should my 6th grade science teacher be found to be a scoundrel, thief, and a wastrel.
Nevertheless, the ad hominem test is one which is still valid and needful today. There is a very strong undertow in our society today that says that a man’s professional life and personal life are two entirely different matters. What a person does in his personal life is none of our business. As a result, we can find college professors who parade by day as respected scholars and by night are producers of pornography with not a blush of inconsistency or shame. How far we have come from Harry Truman who wouldn’t knowingly hire a man who had cheated on his wife: “You know, if a man will lie to his wife, he'll lie to me. And if he'll break his oath of marriage, he'll break his oath of office.”
And in the area of scholarship, I want to know the personal credentials of an author as well as any honors and degrees he might hold. It can often be quite revealing. It tells me of what bent that writer or thinker is and if they have been able to live consistently with the ideas they are propounding. I remember very distinctly sitting in a history of education class as we were exposed to a lengthy exposition of the Emile by Jean Jaques Rousseau. To his credit, it was one of the first major treatises upon the subject of education other than the Bible and described in great detail the ideal education of a child at the hearthside of his parents. What they did not tell me in that class was that Rousseau fathered several children and turned them all over to an orphanage as soon as they were born. I was never able to read that book again without total contempt.
It is long recognized that in all the social sciences and literature that the prejudices and predilections of an author will easily color the results of his research and writings. In knowing these preconceptions, we can understand so much more fully the product of that person’s scholarship and be apprised of his intentions. I was recently interested to discover that, even in the field of economics, morality matters. John Maynard Keynes (1883-1946) was a giant in matters of macro-economics, the finance of nations. He still casts a strong shadow upon the thinking of world leaders including our own. He advocated powerful central governments promoting prosperity through inflationary policies and spending on public works. In his view, a severe public crisis called for deliberate public deficits. Sound familiar? It turns out he was a deeply rebellious intellectual who imbibed a severe atheism in his youth. In his Cambridge days, he was part of a group who “entirely repudiated a personal liability … to obey general rules. We claimed the right to judge every individual case on its merits, and the wisdom to do so successfully. This was a very important part of our faith, violently and aggressively held, and for the outer world it was our most obvious and dangerous characteristic. We repudiated entirely customary morals, conventions, and traditional wisdom.” Part of the wisdom that Keynes repudiated was classical economics which emphasized work and savings in an environment of economic freedom and sound money. He trashed it simply as “Puritanism.”
Do we really want to follow someone who rejects tradition simply because it is old, who violently reacts to anything Christian because it smacks of God, who is totally conceited with his own wisdom because it is “superior”? And then should we trust him with the treasure of nations and the fate of peoples to say nothing of our 401-K’s? Apparently we have, and we will undoubtedly face the consequences whatever those may be. Did no one check this man’s credentials at the door before we gave him the keys to the kingdom? Ad hominem, I say.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe
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