Fear Not

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” -Luke 2:34

Is fear the most common and prevalent of human emotions? If you had said as much, I would be hard put to argue with you. It has long been a companion of mine, anyway. I remember as a pre-schooler watching a house burn in full ferocity and sensing the fear of fire in my young soul and, indeed, in all those around me. I later learned to fear trips to the doctor and sharp needles. Much later, I learned the fear of predatory peers and any kind of public exposure. And no matter what stage of life I found myself, I discovered that I had outgrown one set of fears only to discover another. The fear of marriage gave way to the fear of sudden injuries to my children which in turn gave way to the fear of injured grandchildren. We are riddled with fears of both life and death, success and failure, want or prosperity. Fear haunts all of us either high or low, rich or poor, strong or weak in some way or another. It is part of our frayed humanity that knows that in the end we do not control our own fates.

What better picture of mankind and its fears could we find than that of the shepherds sitting around their small fire, alone in the night, guarding a hard won existence against the unknown beasts of the wild. Man has always found himself gathering together in small clans trying to eke out his living among the hostile elements. And in a sea of darkness that surround them, men cling close to the small fires of hope in cheap gods or false ideologies.

But along comes pure light that splits the night of the shepherds’ blissful ignorance wide open. It is almost more than they can bear. And the very first words of the heavenly heralds of the Christ, the Son of God in the world, are first and foremost, “Fear not.” It is as if God knows and remembers how terrifying it can be living outside the gates of Eden. And truly, these words come at a most terrible time and place in history when Israel lies under the heel of a Roman army and a collaborating ego-maniac of a King. We could say more about the lack of health care, dental science, or any social safety net. It was a hard time to be alive by any chronological standard. But into that human meat-grinder of an age, God shouts His coming with, “Fear not.” Was God mocking our condition or sending a powerful message? I think the latter.

I can identify with poor shepherds living somewhere on the edge of a meager existence against a backdrop of a night of a thousand fears. The fears are real, not imagined. I still need God to break through my dimly lit world and say, “Fear not.” Somehow He is greater than any Caesar, cancerous disease, deranged shooter, or crushing beast of the unknown. Somehow He makes all the difference just by His coming and His presence and breaks the very power of fear. It was good news then. It is good news now. God came into our stable and straw lives and soon put into words the hope He raised: “He that would save his life shall lose it, and he that loses his life for my sake shall find it.” In so doing, He raised our lives to a level of existence that no fear, real or imagined, can touch.

Most folks love Christmas for its beauty and charm. I am finding I need Christmas. It calms my fears and gives me hope. May it do so afresh for you and yours.

Adult Fairy Tales and Christmas

“This child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel;
and for a sign which shall be spoken against.” Luke 2:34

Somewhere we will hear the alarm sounded about the efforts of retailers and civic officials to cleanse Christmas 2012 of any reference to its Christian roots. Holiday trees replace Christmas trees and the controversy is off and running in a blaze of yule log fervor. Pastors preach and politicians rail and the editorials grow vicious with counter accusations thrown up in reply. Is this just a recycled version of the old and traditional debates about ‘the real meaning of Christmas’? I am going to wade into the fray and say simply, “I don’t think so.” What we are witnessing is a conscious and deliberate effort to take a uniquely Christian holiday and sanitize it to make it conform to a new age in which no one should be remotely confronted with anything Christian. It is part of the culture wars and the overall effort to remove all religious voices from the public square. But herein lies the fairy tale.

I have heard Darwin’s theory of evolution described as simply a fairy tale for adults who want to determine their own sexual mores. We are seeing the birth of a new fairy tale. This is for those adults who want to believe that we can enjoy and maintain all the trappings of democratic forms and freedoms complete with the optimism and spirit of the religious impulse without the religion that gave birth to these very ideas. We can now believe that all men are equal without having any base for this bold assumption. Never mind the reformation and the doctrine of the priesthood of the believer or the Biblical assertion that all men are created in the image of God. Likewise, we can now believe that love and the spirit of giving can just spring up naturally this time of year apart from the unmerited and overwhelming gift of God to the world in the advent of Christ. It just springs magically from holly and mistletoe and mugs of hot chocolate.

The myth of a truly secular democracy or a secular Christmas is like a tent without poles. Yes, tent poles are, after all, restrictive to one’s freedom, cumbersome, and offer rigid obstructions to those seeking new forms and directions. But remove them and the tent settles slowly to the ground as the air steadily escapes. This new fairy tale is a story of a magical tent that stays erect and proud and keeps the elements at bay without any poles at all; no more restrictions, no difficult assembly, no rigid limits.

Do we protest? It has its place. Do we abandon the world and leave it to its own devices? There is nowhere to run and start again. Do we weep for the delusions that bind and blind? Always appropriate. But where can we fight this insidious fairy tale best? Is it not within our own homes with our own children? Let us not be afraid to link Christ’s coming with all that is glorious and good in life. The old carols say it best. With majestic imagery they describe how ‘the soul felt its worth.’ What a foundation for a civics lesson. ‘He comes to make His blessings flow, far as the curse is found.’ What a chance to talk about original sin and redemption. ‘The wrong shall fail, the right prevail.’ What a basis for hope and a future. This is the stuff on which our very way of life hangs. Now is not the time for timidity or embarrassment. Christmas is still the greatest story ever told. And the competition has nothing that even comes close to matching it. So feel the freedom to raise a voice and carry this story forth into the void of atheistic nothingness. It is still good news.

Seven Day Solutions

“Thus says the LORD, “Cursed is the man who trusts in mankind and makes flesh his strength,” Jer. 17:5

Two of my grandchildren went venture capitalist this week. Their quest to go into business had been burning all summer but finally their mother concurred and gave them time and substance to embark. One of these fine afternoons we’ve been having, they set up a stand in their front yard after school and marketed lemonade and fresh baked chocolate chip cookies to the world. The excitement was Titanic as they rehearsed their lines (“Order up!”) and engaged the general public. The ambition of a five and eight year old to enter the marketplace is mostly just too cute for words but also laudable. Any impulse toward creative effort, work, and service deserves to be praised. From what I hear, there is an epidemic of twenty-somethings that could learn a thing or two from my Isabelle and Grayson.

“But on the other hand” (as our Fiddler friend Tevia is so famously wont to say), I can easily work up a case of pity for what I call “seven day people.” These are the folk that are either driven to the point of exhaustion by blind and furious ambition or else they are folks trapped in a cycle of endless labor trying to escape the wolves of indebtedness and poverty. You can find these “seven day people” living in both hovels and mansions. In either case, they are severely focused on either getting ahead or just surviving both of which entail seven days per week of constant toil and labor. While we can easily digress into broad questions of poverty, politics, and pride, I would simply like to point out that there are limits to man’s ability to fix his own dilemmas or accomplish his own dreams. There are other factors at play in our quest for prosperity and success that can be equally vital as any work ethic. Believers should know this well, but we can easily forget.

This week a new plan has been rolled out in five different states in another attempt to “fix” our problems in education. You will be proud to know that Tennessee is one of them. I find it dangerously close to being what I call a “seven day” solution. It is the mindset that says what we have been doing is just not working. Therefore, let’s do more of it. Starting in 2013, our state will join Colorado, Massachusetts, New York, and Connecticut in adding some 300 hours of instructional time to some pilot school programs. They will either lengthen the school day or the school year or both. We will call it an “expanded-learning program” and it will all be promoted in the name of “educational reform.” What is truly scary is that there are some radical voices out there who suggest that the only true fix for our educational woes is for our schools to be open six or seven days per week for eleven or twelve months out of the year. One of them just happens to be Arne Duncan, our national Secretary of Education. For some reason, I suddenly get this image of a “quarry slave at night, scourged to his dungeon”1 and see a dispirited child trapped in the chains of endless curriculum as day after day he claws at the rocks of calculus, chemistry, and a secular catechism.

We all confess that the only way to save some children is to just take them away from their parents. But theft is unethical. And to what end? To make our nation more competitive in the world? Are we to make our children the servants of national ambition? And just what is the good life? No one wants to talk about that. And so we have “seven day solutions” chasing phantom ends resulting in a treadmill existence.

Our school’s namesake chapter, Jeremiah 17, speaks to, nay, hammers at the issues of work, rest, poverty, and prosperity (read it slowly and often). Sin and a lack of trust in the living God can banish one to a stony waste in the wilderness as surely as any lack of a good education. And God instituted the Sabbath as His way of advocating for “six day solutions;” never seven. May we be resolute “six day” people in our “seven day” world.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe 1Thanatopsis, William Cullen Bryant

Post Election, 2012

“The grass withers, and the flower falls away: But the word of the Lord endures forever.” –I Pet. 1:24-25

It is over. It is over at last. What was intimated by many to be the election of the century has now come and gone. Yard signs are disappearing one by one. Bumper stickers are being covered up with a new layer promoting innocuous causes like AYSO or Recycle Now. Prophetic voices are now calming themselves; the fever subsiding. Winners are exulting in visions of power and prestige. Losers are crestfallen, quietly looking for exits out of the public eye. And the media are counting their millions in advertising windfalls.

Reflective voices are now trying to make sense of it all. Why did we do what we did? For what reason and purpose were we drawn to this candidate or another? And what will be the effect of new or continued office holders upon life as we know it? Then there are those quirky ballot initiatives that threaten to usher in a brave new world in some of our various states. No one can possibly foresee the effects of these.

For those who rejoice at our national commitment to continue down the same path for another four years, it is definitely cause for some nervous humility even in the throes of victory. We are going down some paths we have not travelled before with our national dashboard flashing some serious warning lights. To claim that all is well and not to worry would be nothing but a brazen display of naiveté and hubris. To trifle with well worn traditions in our lust for continued self satisfaction is always an exercise in tickling the tail of the dragon.

For those who are cast down in the despair of defeat, it is time to reaffirm that kingdoms may wax and wane, but the Word of the Lord abides forever. Whatever notions of truth we may hold, if they are truly true, they will remain so regardless of what politicians and courts may decide. And eventually, all will have to admit to their universality whether they like it or not. Those who see truth clearly can simply take comfort in that they see it before most. Truth has this habit of making itself known, if not by declaration, it will do so through hard and costly error by those who fight against it. Kicking against the goads is never a good idea.

Nations rise and fall as they walk either in truth or error. And we have little choice as to when we are born into a particular people group whether it is at a time of ascendency and fruitfulness or a time of decline and loss. Solomon rode the wave of blessing in Israel’s glory days. Jeremiah, alas, experienced pain and suffering right along with the nation to whom he was sent; a nation who had deserted their God. Regardless of the cultural and political circumstances in which we find ourselves, our job remains the same: to be God’s people shining His light wherever we are. And even in the darkest hour of impending judgment about to be visited upon Israel, God gave Jeremiah a sign for hope. He was to buy a field in Anathoth in spite of the fact that he was prophesying that Judah would be forcibly removed from the land by the king of Babylon. It was a stark and public act of hope in the future in the midst of the looming winds of war which would soon overtake them all. He signed and sealed the deed, called in witnesses, and weighed out the silver on the scales.1 It was an act of total defiance to the disaster that was about to sweep over them.

We are called to be people of hope. We continue to plant and sow, cultivate and grow, all in expectation of a harvest. Regardless of the winds of fortune about us, we still move forward in faith that in so doing we are doing God’s work. Martin Luther once wrote, “Even if I knew that the world would end tomorrow, I would still plant an apple tree today.” Own a piece of the future and buy yourself a field in Anathoth today.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe 1Jer. 32:10

Thanksgiving, 2012

“In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” 1 Thess. 5:17-19

McDonald’s has drilled it into us that we deserve a break today, or any day. Pro-Active skin cream tells us that we deserve clear skin. TV lawyers tell us that if we or a loved one suffers from a host of ailments that we are entitled to certain benefits. Football fans feel they have a right to expect winning seasons from their alma maters. Banks and other businesses remind us regularly of our rights to privacy in all business dealings. College students feel entitled to certain minimum grades for showing up to class and warming a seat. If pressed, we all have expectations, rights, and privileges which we feel are coming to us as a result of either our status, age, sex, zip code, citizenship, or blood type. We exist! We are entitled!

There is one serious casualty with this kind of thinking. Gratitude gets totally pushed off the stage when entitlement shows up. If we feel we are owed the corner office, then when it comes our way we find it difficult to muster those gracious feelings of thanksgiving and gratitude which should accompany such a gift. If we “earned” it and “deserve” it, the whole concept of looking at it as a gift is gone. Compare that to receiving an unexpected blessing, a gift that we had no idea was coming our way. There is joy. There is this thrill of receiving something which we had not earned or was owed to us.

I was biking along a very remote stretch of highway up in some national forest lands one day and was turning around to head back towards home. I had not gone twenty feet when I spotted something by the side of the road. It looked suspiciously like money. Closer observation confirmed to my surprise that a clean, crisp, and totally unclaimed $10.00 bill lay there in the weeds for the taking. I claimed it as a gift, a totally unexpected blessing and reward for my biking exertions of the day. It did not make me a rich man. It would not even pay my gas bill home. But it was a truly unexpected gift. That made it so exciting. I could not wait to tell others about it. And it was a special joy to spend it that very day on some trivial lunch fare. I even had to tell the clerk where it came from. Silly, really, how much joy could come from such small change.

What if I were to sit down to my table every day and look upon my bowl of cereal in the morning and see it as a gift? What have I done to deserve this simple blessing when so many in the world go for days with little or nothing to eat? How many people have touched this product with their investment of time, fortune, and creative energies whereby I get to enjoy the simple pleasures of eating that which I could never create or make on my own? Oh yes, I earned the money to purchase the milk and Cheerios. But even this medium and system of exchange is so far beyond my understanding and remains complicated beyond belief. I am the beneficiary of a country that provides all this built on a sustained currency, a system of laws and government, and upon the spilt blood of thousands who have come before. There is no such thing as my money buying my food for independent me without touching a chain of events and people stretching coast to coast with a cast of thousands.

Even what health and strength is ours to get up and walk through another day is a gift, and we have no right to expect it to continue uninterrupted day after day. Every breath we take is a gift of life itself. Our miraculous five senses are an incredible gift from our creator that bring color, taste, music, texture, and sweet smells into an otherwise very, very bland existence. What would happen if we looked around this Thanksgiving at everything as an undeserved gift? I would suspect that it would be a sure way to drive off the Grinch of entitlement and multiply and magnify our joy. May your Thanksgiving be filled with joy.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

The Patriot

If there is one who does justice, who seeks truth, then I will pardon her. –Jer. 5:1

If Halloween is our cultural celebration of things that go “bump” in the middle of the night, here is my contribution. By this time next week, our general populace will have decided the fate of much of the direction of our nation for the next four years. The fact that such power rests in our own hands is both invigorating and thoroughly scary. Anyone who has seen Jay Leno interview people on the street can easily attest that democracy is a frightening exercise when placed in the hands of people who think that Europe borders the U.S., that the Panama Canal was named after the man who built it, that Florida fronts the Pacific Ocean, and that Africa is the largest country in South America.

I am not sure what is more frightening, however: these people who cannot answer the simplest questions about world geography actually voting or intelligent Christians who refuse to vote because of dissatisfaction with our two-party system? I know and have talked with some in both categories: those who should not be allowed anywhere near a voting booth and those whose voice desperately needs to be heard. It is these whose vote would reflect intelligent citizenship but decline to do so that are the hardest to understand. Add to these the well meaning citizens who have informed opinions upon the issues of the day but just can’t find the time to make it to the polls or who forget to register. Taken together, they could represent a sizable force for good in any local or national election.

What is not hard to understand are the reasons for discouragement when it comes to national elections. True voices of passion and vision rarely get even a fighting chance to survive the bruising primary process. Vicious truth twisters and mockers make short work of Christian candidates who dare to speak for righteousness. The expense of a modern media campaign make compromise with big money almost a given. Candidates shamelessly exploit and manipulate various voting blocks with promises and/or half-truths. And then after the election, as often as not, winners disappoint us with their willingness to make deals with the enemies of truth or they unleash their own hidden agendas. Yes, there are plenty of reasons for weariness or downright apathy.

For anyone disheartened by the cultural backwash around us, I recommend the Book of Jeremiah as relevant and bracing material. Jeremiah found himself living in a culture with a Godly memory and tradition but one which had lost the essence and purity of that faith. Compromise infected the nation from the top to the bottom. The prophets and priests preached superficial messages that proclaimed, “All is well, all is well.”1 The lying pens of the scribes mangled the law into lies.2 The kings and princes were intent only upon dishonest gain practicing oppression and extortion.3 The people themselves had forgotten how to blush.4 And in the face of false teaching at church, the people compounded their guilt: “the prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests rule on their own authority; and my people love it so.”5

Yet in the middle of all this decadence, Jeremiah continued to show a deep love for his countrymen and the nation of Israel. “For the brokenness of the daughter of my people I am broken.”6 He mourned and confessed a temptation to flee to the desert.7 But for all of his brokenness, he did not flee. He continued to raise his voice to warn and rebuke even to the point of embracing imprisonment. Such love is the essence of true patriotism; a love of country that is not blind to fault but pleads for redemption. Hope lay in God’s grace which was willing to pardon even if one man could be found who did justice and sought truth.8

It is my sense that we also need to raise our voice through our vote for any man who shows even a semblance of respect for justice and truth. And as God was willing to reward even partial obedience, let’s not wait for the super pure candidate to rouse ourselves. God said to Jeremiah, “Do not be dismayed. Gird up your loins, and arise, and speak to them.”8 I say, “Gird up your loins, and arise, and vote.” Being dismayed is no excuse.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

1Jer. 8:11 2Jer. 8:8 3Jer. 22:17 4Jer. 8:12 5Jer. 5:31 6Jer. 8:21 7Jer. 9:2 8Jer. 1:17

Scientific Myths

“Buy the truth, and sell it not” -Pro. 23:23

Myth or fact? A woman swallows about 6 pounds of lipstick in a lifetime. Myth or fact? A junior high school student won a science fair contest by circulating a report about the dangers of “dihydrogen monoxide” (water). As part of the blessings of our internet age, we are regularly bombarded by newsy items that often fall into the category of “urban legends.” It has led to the development of websites such as snopes.com whose main purpose is to help sort out truth from fiction.
While the above items do not have much bearing on our lives one way or another (unless you despise eating lipstick), here is one that colors the way we view knowledge, science, and technology. Myth or fact? Scientific knowledge is the only reliable form of public knowledge. If you answered “fact,” you would be at odds with a new book by Steven Shapin entitled, Never Pure: Historical Studies of Science as If It Was Produced by People with Bodies, Situated in Time, Space, Culture, and Society, and Struggling for Credibility and Authority. While it might be interpreted at first glance as some fundamentalist Christian’s attack on the credibility of science, it is helpful to know that Shapin is the Franklin L. Ford Professor of the History of Science at Harvard; hardly a bastion of Christian thought.

What Never Pure attempts to point out is that our modern cultural assumption that scientific knowledge is “real” knowledge because it is supposedly free of the biases and prejudices of flawed human beings is more myth than fact. While not an enemy of science per se, Shapin desires to lower the rhetoric that surrounds scientific knowledge and “bring some realism and humility to the very human practice of science.” Much of the god-like reverence to modern science we see today stems from a book written in 1874 by William Draper entitled, History of the Conflict Between Christianity and Science. In lofty tones, Draper declared that “science and religion were necessarily at war; the one representing the expansive force of the human intellect, the other obscurantism and dogmatism.” While many today are not quite as optimistic about the ever expanding beneficence of modern science, it still is assumed by governments, education, and social institutions that scientific knowledge is the only true and verifiable form of knowledge accepted without question in the public forum. What this myth overlooks is that science is still a very human undertaking and prone to all the passions and foibles of mankind. Even after “laboratory tests prove…”, the scientist must still establish the credibility of his claims and in so doing he calls upon the whole gamut of human expression and argumentation.

Modern man has also attributed a certain degree of infallibility to the scientific method. Shapin rightly points out that there is no one scientific method. Scientists do not even know how to quantify and define with wide agreement any singular method. Some use induction; others deduction. It seems that there is much more interest in and reverence for THE scientific method among artists, social scientists, and historians than in the field of the natural sciences.

In a week where we celebrate the mysteries and the power of science, it is well to remember that it yet bears the stain of human reasoning. It can still be twisted and manipulated for ideological ends and bent to serve our selfish interests. If nothing else, modern science has amply demonstrated its need for containment and direction by the soft sciences of philosophy, history, and theology lest it prove itself a destructive Mr. Hyde that comes out raging well beyond the control of its kind hearted host, Dr. Jekyll.

By the way, women do not consume anywhere near 6 lbs of lipstick in a lifetime. And yes, Nathan Zohner (14) of Idaho Falls did win a science contest by proving how many became alarmed at the dangers of water when cloaked in scientific terminology.

A Warning About Curious Wonder

“I wisdom dwell with prudence, and find out knowledge of witty inventions.” - Pro. 8:12

In the late 1600’s, a privileged young boy named Peter Mikhailovich lived a carefree life in the Russian countryside largely free to explore, learn, and play as he chose. Of royal birth, his immediate family was sidelined by a reigning regent who pushed them and the young heir out of the affairs of court and away from the seat of power. A restless and inquisitive youth, Peter, by virtue of his royal rank did away with his formal tutors and threw himself into a world of his own making. He gathered other youths as his playmates who took to the field to play army like any pre-teen is prone to do. The only difference was that he had access to the royal armory and could order up real muskets, cannon, and a steady supply of gunpowder. His war games grew to involve hundreds of youth and also a few hundred soldiers on loan for temporary duty. It was a boy’s dream life that was to prove immensely practical in his later days when he inherited the reigns to the entire Russian army.

A war in the Crimea interrupted his play as he turned 16. His soldiers and equipment all left suddenly to fight in a real war. Ever curious, the young Czar apparent turned to other interests as he had an insatiable appetite to see how things worked and to watch craftsmen create and build. Even at the age of 12, he had ordered a carpenter’s bench and mastered the use of woodworking tools of every kind. He became a master at the lathe and the hobby followed him all his life. He became a stonemason and a blacksmith. He learned how type was set and books were bound. Then, in 1688, he became fascinated with the sextant and soon obtained one that came all the way from France. Marveling how the sextant could measure distance to far away objects, he finally found a use for math, geometry, and ballistics which was a challenge for someone who could barely subtract and divide. A study of geography soon followed in which he saw the outline of his native country measured against the global world.

In this constant thirst for knowledge, he soon realized that the best tutors were from outside Russia where the west had far outstripped Russia in the arts and sciences. He found in a graying Dutch merchant named Franz Timmerman a ready companion and teacher. So it was that Peter and Timmerman spent some summer days poking around a rural royal estate and discovered an old storehouse. Ordering it to be opened, Peter discovered an old decrepit boat stored upside down. It was unlike the typical Russian river barge, and Peter was completely fascinated at Timmerman’s claim that it could sail with the wind and even against the wind. Ordering up a craftsman, they found another Dutchman who was skilled in boat building. The small lifeboat-like craft was soon sailing up and down the river Yauza with the future Czar of all the Russias at its helm.

So began Peter the Great’s lifetime obsession with access to the sea for his landlocked nation and his thirst for Western science and technology to lift backward Russia into the 17th century. Peter eventually called that small boat “the grandfather of the Russian Navy” which today is the proud possession of the Russian Naval Museum in St. Petersburg. Peter was to move heaven and earth and fight a protracted war with Sweden to win access to the sea and build his namesake, St. Petersburg, on top of a swamp on the Baltic. He knew that no country could achieve greatness without foreign trade which meant access to the sea which meant a modern navy.

Never underestimate the curiosity of a child. Feed it and you might be soon amazed where it ends up. We trust that this next week will be filled with curious wonder for you and your student as you depart from your regular assigned studies to follow your heart. Good sailing; even into the wind!

Boring School Policy

(part 4 of a 4 part series on literature)
Pity for a few moments your local neighborhood Christian school administrator who must preside over a curriculum which honors God but also prepares students for further academic pursuits with a first rate education that includes exposure to some of the “greats” of the literary world. It is a thin line which he must walk. Over the past few years as our school has entered the nether world of secondary education, quite a number of voices have made themselves heard over our literature choices for the high school classes. It has been an education in and of itself. Choices were made and defended. Choices were made and regretted. Through it all, several guidelines have emerged which are leading us through this literary minefield.

First of all, there must flow some general edifying theme that should lift up the human spirit to higher virtues or the heroic. It is certainly acknowledged that moral virtues can be taught through stories of the negative. Scripture records many such stories in which bad examples warn us of paths not to follow. A good Christian literature teacher can take just about any literary work and use it to teach virtue simply from bad characters following bad choices. This, however, places us in a very teacher-dependent mode. Not all of us are so trained or so inclined to search out positives in a jumble of negatives. There are enough literature choices out there that do include heroic themes or where virtue is discussed or portrayed in positive terms. This will rule out those works that are dark, severely depressing, or end in meaninglessness where life has no purpose. Modern literature especially is rife with such examples.

Secondly, it must not be full of gratuitous (unwarranted, unnecessary, unessential) violence or vulgarity which masquerades as realism. Much of modern literature goes out of its way to shock or describe in detail that which only serves to titillate the unsanctified parts of our imaginations. While acknowledging that some “acclaimed” literature does contain the vulgar or profane, it is not our part to drag our students through material that is plainly over the top with salacious scenes or vocabulary. We leave such highly controversial decisions in the hands of parents alone to make those choices.

Thirdly, there are literature choices that are commonly made for high school course work that demand a high level of literary criticism to understand the redemptive qualities of a particular work. We prefer to leave such study to a college level curriculum, again because this places high demands upon all involved to be able to delve into them and separate the wheat from the chaff. Highly teacher-dependent coursework at RECA leads to frustrated parents who must then operate in the dark guessing at direction and purpose.

Fourthly, we do wish to adequately prepare students for college by not avoiding some truly standard literature selections just because they contain some objectionable vocabulary or because certain adult themes are treated therein. They must first pass all the criteria above and be suitable for the age level of our students. Principle #3 of our Guidelines for difficult or controversial topics says it best: (students) are to become increasingly proficient in distinguishing between good and evil and increasingly inclined to reject the evil in favor of the good by learning to evaluate all with which they come into contact by the standards and examples contained in the Word of God. By doing so, they will develop the ability to reach others without sacrificing those habits of thought, attitude, and conduct which are distinctively Christian and necessary for true obedience to the Lord. (RECA Policy Manual, pp. 48-49)

In reading this portion of our policy manual again, I was impressed. You may want to do so as well.

Wading in Polluted Streams

“And now I am no more in the world, but these are in the world,” - John 17:11

One of the lesser known credentials in my resume is the fact that I was once a state certified, grade 1, wastewater treatment plant operator. For close to 15 years I tended the small sewage treatment plant at my work among other duties as a chemical laboratory analyst. I became quite familiar with contamination in the biological realm as well as with toxic chemicals in the laboratory. Safe and sanitary practices were crucial in handling any of this material. So it is as Christians that we must learn to deal with the morally toxic materials in the world in which we live.

I wish it were not so, that we could live in a toxic free zone where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day. Unfortunately, we must live out our lives here on earth behind enemy lines where the prince of this world attempts to reign supreme with all the filthy and vile essence that he can possibly manufacture. As believers, we have renounced the world, the flesh, and the devil and seek the narrow path leading to salvation. Holiness is our goal. In the first few centuries after Christ, there were serious multitudes of individuals who fled to desert caves and the wilderness in an attempt to live apart from the temptations of the world. Some of these holy hermits became famous for their simple lifestyles and then had to cope with the adulation of the world they had attempted to shun. Others discovered soon enough that wherever the human heart is, there sin still stubbornly dwells and must be put to death daily.

To those who love literature, this is especially challenging today. How do we walk in a way honoring to God and still dwell with both feet on this earth, eyes and ears wide open? One thing should be clear from the outset. We should never expose ourselves to that which is not in the least edifying nor for which no good reason exists for us to do so. Good laboratory workers never go out of their way to risk exposure to deadly situations just for the thrill of it or to show off for their friends. It defies all sense.

Yet I was called to daily interact with serious biological agents and deadly chemicals all as part of my job which had enormous benefits to many, many people. I had a good reason to expose myself to these perils. But in so doing, I had received training in the proper and safe way to deal with them and was provided with the proper equipment to protect myself. Dealing with the less-than-wholesome that the world records in its literature is much the same. Whether it be exposure to the profane or the mind-twisting deviousness of godless philosophies which we must navigate, we need proper training and protections built into our lives in order to emerge unscathed on the other side. Parents and teachers should fulfill this primary role.

Paul took words from the memorials pagans had erected to open doors into their world and preach the gospel. If we are to be in this world and be salt and light, we must likewise be somewhat knowledgeable of the world around us if we are to be effective witnesses. This will periodically take us out of our own comfort zones to build a bridge to unbelievers. But having a good guide is crucial. I would never advocate learning about existentialism by jumping in and reading existentialist literature. Why reinvent the wheel? Others have spent lifetimes studying it and need to be listened to as trusted mentors before sampling these polluted streams for oneself.

Living in this world is risky. Some things are to be avoided at all costs. Other dangers we must learn to live with on a daily basis. Wisdom is to know one from the other and to learn the skills of coping with the latter.

So what is real?

“Shall vain words have an end?” -Job 16:3

Some lawyers spoke up the other week in New York state’s highest court and argued that dancers at a local strip club should be entitled to the same tax benefits as the Bolshoi Ballet or any other “artistic” group. Given the prevailing moral fog surrounding “artistic expression” and what constitutes pornography, they will probably win. Thus far at River’s Edge, we enjoy a much simpler set of rules that are uncluttered by the delicate discernments of elite legal minds. We still manage to know evil pretty much when we see it.

Yet there is a strong groundswell movement particularly in literature that began back in the 19th century and has vexed Christians for some time and still continues to be a source of debate, even here at RECA. It is simply called “realism.” It began as a reaction in the art world to the romantic idealization or dramatization of the previous era. Soon spilling over into the literary world, it focused on portraying “objective reality” of life as it really was even if it was sordid or ugly. Thus, we soon saw portrayals of the evils of industrialization and could read about the lives of common people be they high or low. It was as natural as night follows day that profanity and vulgarity of every kind should eventually find its way into artistic works of even the highest order.

It doesn’t take too much of a literary scholar to recognize that the wheels have come off this buggy of “realism” that we have been riding proving once again the old adage that what one generation tolerates in moderation the next will indulge to excess. If one wants to write “realistically” today, all you have to do is lace your manuscript with a rich assortment of profanities and vulgarities. It is your proof or prima facie evidence that you have been faithful to real life. Anything less than this is obviously a sanitized Hallmark-channel piece of fluff that merits no serious respect. This is nothing but flawed logic at several levels.

Modern portrayals of army life, especially, require navigating some of the most profane passages known to man; a steady barrage of expletives that continues with machine-gun rapidity. But I was in the army once; with real soldiers, real people. Shocking as it may seem, many did not talk like that. In fact, those whose vocabulary seldom included words of five letters or more were in the minority. So what is really real?

False also is the notion that one cannot write “realistically” without being offensive. The Bible contains some of the most realistic narratives ever put to paper. Biblical heroes are never perfect. There is always that mixture of ecstasy and agony such as is common to man. In fact, we see villains converted, the saintly fall, and plenty of just average people called to live out extraordinary lives in spite of themselves. Yet the Bible does not stoop to rubbing our noses in graphic detail we would just as soon not know. The scriptural authors all understood that our nature can be titillated by evil as well as repulsed by it and attempt to strike a wholesome balance.

If one wishes real “realism,” go to the book of Job to hear him cry out in the midst of his pain, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust him.” Go to Shakespeare where his distraught Hamlet broods, “now could I drink hot blood, and do such bitter business, as the day would quake to look on.” Go to Melville as he takes you inside the mind and heart of the ever vengeful Ahab who “sleeps with clenched hands; and wakes with his own bloody nails in his palms.” By contrast, these reveal much of the coarse literature of our day to be mere collections of the cheap, the tawdry, and the gratuitous; the lipstick of pseudo realism upon the pig of shallow thinking and writing.

Whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely, of good report; think on these things. (from Phil. 4:8)

Two events have taken place in the past month that call for commentary. One is a local news item that barely found mention in our local press and the other was a world away in Russia that has grabbed international headlines with equal condemnation on both sides. Both bear a resemblance on basic issues of artistic freedom of expression. On our local scene, our Knox Co. high schools issued a required reading list for their STEM Academy that included the new novel, Robopocalypse. More than one set of parents took a brief look at what their students were being asked to read and found it repulsive for its prolific use of profanity. Those who asked for an alternative reading assignment were granted one, but those who registered their protest publicly were pilloried by an even larger group who defended the choice as relevant, just, and even laudable. Those who objected were exposed to charges of book-burning, censorship, and moral prudery. A public survey of parents who understood the issues at hand might have revealed a whole different majority opinion, but that was never done. Unfortunately, the forces for liberalism-leading-to-license are always more vocal in their expression and unafraid to sing praises at the holy grail of artistic freedom. It trumps all other concerns. When the controversy did reach the press, the school system defended itself with a recitation of its duly sanctioned process by which book selections are made. Those who were involved in the process fell back to the baseline defense that the profanity contained in the book was nothing worse than what students have heard before and something they hear every day in the hallways of their schools. So much for elevating standards of taste and expression.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, members of a punk-rock band whose name I cannot even print here for reasons of tastefulness were sentenced to two years imprisonment for “hooliganism motivated by religious hatred.” They had burst into the central shrine of the Russian Orthodox Church, the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, and interrupted praying people with blasphemous accusations against God, the Orthodox faith, and the clergy. They pleaded in highly profane terms a “punk prayer” to the Virgin Mary to oust President Putin. That people like this particular band exist and harbor their contempt of religious beliefs is not new. What is noteworthy is the open letter of support for the band from Paul McCartney which said, “I hope you can stay strong and believe that I and many others like me who believe in free speech will do everything in our power to support you and the idea of artistic freedom.” Again, this unquestioning allegiance to artistic freedom trumps all other concerns. No acknowledgement was made of the extreme persecution that Christians had suffered during the reign of Communism that had leveled the original building while the socialist faithful romped in glee desecrating every vestige of faith. No mention was made of the 200,000 clergy that were killed nor of the 500,000 other believers who lost their lives in Stalin’s orgy of hate. Historical sensitivity was also sacrificed at the altar of artistic freedom in McCartney’s banal blather of support.

What is lacking in all this obsequious reverence for “artistic freedom” is the realization that not all expression is either good, true, or beautiful no matter how “artistic” it purports to be. Indeed, some things are plainly gross, vulgar, and coarse. It used to be that our national culture promoted the good, the true, and the beautiful while relegating the gross, vulgar, and coarse to the oblivion which it so richly deserved. Occasional voices can be heard lamenting the “coarsening” of American culture, yet no one wants to pass judgment on what is or is not “coarse.” I, for one, will avoid using any public bathroom at UT if at all possible to avoid the visual and verbal assault that takes place in any of the stalls. Why should it be such a surprise that many of us do not want to hear, see, or read or expose our children to that which is plainly vulgar? I remember some years ago a cartoon showing literature professors toting away a stall door with great delight having discovered some original and great “poetry.” Are we now there? If so, we have sadly lost our way.

“And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in the streets thereof.” –Zech. 8:5

My parents and teachers were all guilty of gross child abuse when I was growing up. How could any self-respecting parent open the front door in the morning and tell a 1st grader, “School is that way. Get going.” Yet they did. Every day. It was a one mile walk along a busy, 4-lane thoroughfare. The school did throw us one plum in giving us four crossing guards and some nifty stop signs that lowered into the street when we had to cross over. They were manned by the big kids, probably 6th graders, and all us younger boys could only dream of one day getting that prestigious job. Mid-morning and mid-afternoon we were turned out on a large, fenceless playground of asphalt and dirt to make our own way in the world for a 15 minute recess. It was totally unsupervised to my best recollection. If there was a teacher out there with us 200+ kids, it was an ineffectual token force. We were left to the mercy of bullies, steel monkey bars, brain-banging teeter totters, avaricious marble players, and overly mature girls. Still, we looked forward to it and discovered nooks and crannies around the school house where we could run, hide, roll, and tussle to our heart’s content.

At noon, they made us go home for lunch. Another mile walk and then return. We all beat it back as soon as we could so we could continue any game left over from recess before our hour was up. The walk home after school was the best as we could go in twos or threes with our best buds and maybe stop off at the corner store for some gum if anybody had some pennies.

Summertime was a blur of backyard romps with our dog, hours of sandbox excavations, and days of wandering the neighborhood. By fourth grade, it had to be raining to keep me inside. I would leave the house in the morning and be gone for hours just wandering the neighborhood. I had a totally irresponsible mother who trusted I knew where my food bowl was and would come home when hungry. We had a small pack of boys who claimed the vacant lot out back as our own. We climbed trees, dug holes, built forts, rode bikes, and periodically tormented one another when we weren’t the best of friends. Some days would find us walking downtown Rockford, some 3-4 miles away, just to check out the department stores, pet shops, and to ride the one and only escalator in town. Occasionally we wandered through the local railroad yard dodging trains while hunting souvenirs.

In fifth grade, we moved to the country where my dad tried his hand at farming. Instead of wandering the city, I learned to wander the woods, discover a river, hunt pheasants, and shoot tin cans at the farm dump. It was heaven. By means of contrast, Jeremy Lloyd wrote a piece in Sunday’s paper saying that outdoor play for American children has declined by 50% in the last two decades. Air conditioning is much to blame along with a plethora of electronic entertainment. Yes, it is risky sending kids outside where bees and ticks lurk and predatory strangers hide behind every bush. Yet, not letting kids get out is risky as well. Lack of physical activity can lead to a hideous list of afflictions from obesity and its related diseases to asthma, osteoporosis, stress, depression, and ADHD to name just a few. Many positive correlations exist between healthy children and outdoor exercise, and these have been substantiated in study after study. Lloyd cites better concentration, better grades, healthy brains, normal weight, and better sleep. “The key is to get outside in nature and engage in more unstructured playtime.”

So maybe my parents weren’t so abusive after all. Thanks, Mom, Dad. By the way, the up-coming campout is guaranteed to wear your kids out with a total overload of chasing, tree-climbing, scootering, bike-riding, and critter hunting, all in the grand outdoors. Their sleep will never be sweeter. Promise.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

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

Day one consisted of a rather brutal dose of reality as we began our trek into the Shenandoah National Park. From lives of ease and comfort, we were suddenly thrown into a demanding hike with packs bursting with everything we would possibly need and then some for our 100 mile, ten day hike. The plan was to reach Calf Mountain shelter that afternoon, 7.5 miles into the park. That would be a short day, but with a late start at 2:00 PM in the afternoon and our packs as heavy as they would ever be, it was still a significant challenge for our first day. We gained and lost some 2000 feet in the process plus encountered a dozen or more fallen trees that had yet to be cleared from the trail. It was enough to make our green legs sore and stiff by morning. Day two brought the first real test as we stretched our aim in order to reach our next ready water source, Blackrock Hut. It turned out to have the most delightfully cold and clear running spring of our whole trip, but it came at the expense of 13 hard-won miles of steady hiking and another 3000 feet gained and lost. Our young hikers were pushed to their limit. We adults were straining to keep pace as well; especially with our over-sized and over-weight packs.

Everyone experienced some aches and pains that night and into the next day. I kept asking each one for a twice daily report of all their assorted sore places and none were exempt. But I kept promising that it would be better tomorrow. Some looked at me with doubt written all over their face. I kept telling myself that it would be better the next day and drew some comfort from that as I nursed my own hopes and doubts. I had remembered that on previous trips that it always seemed to take a couple of days before I gained what I called “my trail legs.” Somehow, I had still not obtained them, and I began to question.

Day three was shorter; only eight miles with 2000 ft. of up and down. Spirits began to pick up and complaints lessened. But day four made up for the easy one with 14 miles of more ups and downs than we cared to remember. By then, however, our legs had adjusted, our harnesses had become familiar, and the pace became steadier. Finally, our team was admitting that, “Yes, the first three days were the worst.” We had hiked through the pain of this new means of existence and our bodies had acclimated to the stresses and strains. It was reassuring to realize that we now could actually do this without experiencing constant pain. Our strength grew and the endurance levels increased.

It is a valuable lesson to learn with any new activity in life. In the beginning, there will be times of discomfort, stress, and even pain until either/both our bodies and/or spirits become adjusted to the distress placed upon them. We have to learn to “hike through the pain.” It is essential for any athlete to transcend initial resistance in order to gain a higher level of strength and endurance. So it is also essential in a marriage to “hike through the pain” of those initial months and years of adjustment. Students who have had to struggle through a tough class, nearing despair at times, and who emerge successful on the other side are much more assured of success in graduating from any and all schools they attend; more so than those for whom everything comes easy. Resistance overcome through persistence creates strength whether it be sports, relationships, or academics.

By now, some of you are already encountering hardship in this new year whether as a student, parent, or teacher. I am already hearing of some aches and pains associated with the hills we are now climbing. It is time for us to reassure one another that it will get easier. Our part for now is to “hike through the pain.” Stay the course. Better days are ahead. Be encouraged. You will soon get your “trail legs.”

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?” –Isa. 43:19

 Lots of excitement this week in Lake Woebegone. School has started. There were loads of new pencils, backpacks, water bottles, erasers, books, notepads, and calculators making their debut. New outfits were laid out by moms and worn with pride by freshly scrubbed students with new haircuts. New teachers were waiting to greet them in new and different classrooms. Newness was everywhere. For some, the thought of actually changing classrooms for every subject was a totally new and welcomed concept. What an adventure!

 It takes a very strong spirit or a totally low-key personality to not experience some sort of first day jitters or an early morning visit by the ghost of premonition. One of our students awoke early and insisted on calling Mrs. Garzony, his new first grade teacher, to confess that he had forgotten everything he had learned in kindergarten. One mom had to deal with a profound theological question as her son asked if Adam and Eve had never sinned would there still be school? Another 6 yr. old student spent much of that first morning in the bathroom in an attempt to calm all the butterflies he was experiencing. 

For many, there was lots of joy bouncing around the halls as old friends came into view. It was a lot of fun simply to observe these reunions and the renewal of common bonds. Others were plainly eager to delve into the whole new River’s Edge experience leaving behind memories of bullying or public school worldliness. Some were looking forward to making new friendships after some years of relative, home-school solitude but yet a little scared at the prospect of bridging the gap to the unknown. 

I, too, was faced with many unknowns as new classes began in new places on new schedules with many new teachers. And it is always a source of fascination as this complicated apparatus called River’s Edge stirs back to life after a summer of quiet. Would it cough, chug, or even misfire as it stirred itself into motion? Fortunately, I was able to marvel at how all the planning and preparation had paid off as it sprang into action like a well oiled machine, humming with strength and speed. The sight and sound of it is infectious.

 New beginnings are exciting. And our God is the God of new beginnings. At the core of this is a very liberating thought and message that stirs us toward the future and frees us from the past. Indeed, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away…. For those of us raised in the Christian West, it is not a terribly new idea. But for those mired in the swamp of Eastern religion, it can be revolutionary. Hindu teaching binds all present beings to the deeds of previous generations. The suffering we encounter in this life is simply a result of bad karma from a former life. If we fall victim to a crippling disease, it is our just fate and punishment for previous sins. And to help someone under the bondage of such affliction would be to interfere with cosmic justice. Roman stoicism was just as crippling in teaching that one was obliged to suffer whatever nature and fate sent his way. Whole civilizations were hindered in the process.

 The message of the gospel is that one can be born anew and start over regardless of the sins of the past; both ours and those of our parents. In fact, each day our God promises that we can be washed anew from the stains of yesterday however serious those stains may be. It should be a cause for great rejoicing and bring hope for our future both short term and long. No one need remain captive to the chains of sin and guilt. We only err when we undervalue the importance and power of this liberation of all liberations or when we presume upon it thereby trampling it underfoot as something terribly common; something that is owed to us. May we not lean to either of the two extremes of either forgetfulness or presumption. And may you find your new beginning this year as intoxicating as ever. Rejoice! His mercies are indeed new every morning!

 Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

But the Lord of hosts will be exalted in judgment, and the holy God will show Himself holy in righteousness. –Isa.5:16

The weather had cooperated famously.  We were three days out in the Smokies backcountry with blue skies, cool temperatures, and the last trace of those dry days that manage to find us from out of the far north every late spring.  In our group, we had four young RECA students trying out their legs on a 29 mile hike that wound its way around some of the most unvisited and remote corners of the park.  Everyone had done well in keeping up the pace and distance and were proving themselves to be able backpackers.  We had traveled and camped alone and met but very few hikers out in the backwoods.  Each morning and night we shared the Word around the campfire and regaled ourselves with stories, jokes, games, and that rich fellowship which only believers can know.  It was as good as backpacking gets.

Our last day took us back to civilization as we walked out along the Abrams Falls Trail with a planned lunch stop at those beautiful falls.  We were the first ones there that morning and had a few minutes of quiet solitude before the Saturday crowd started to arrive.  Lunch on the trail is always a favorite time of mine and to experience it with a view is a special treat.  As we sat strung out along the edge of the water munching on our snacks, I was somewhat alone finishing my snacks and looking forward to taking a dip in the cool waters.  Two students were already in, and I was not about to let them be the only ones.  It was the right time and temperature where one could just wade in fully dressed confident of drying off all too quickly as we would finish our hike back to the waiting van.  

With no warning, we were suddenly assaulted by a view none of us needed to see.  A young and comely lady had slipped out of her clothes wearing the bare minimum of what passed for a swimsuit and was parading slowly into the waters in front of us.  One minute I was at peace with the world, but the next I was doing battle with the world, the flesh, and the devil.  In truth, my spirit was being assaulted and abused by a naïve stranger who had no right to spoil all that was pure and right and holy that day.  It was a moment of helpless vulnerability to the thoughtlessness of another.   I am sure we all tried not to notice and to keep ourselves from staring, but the spectacle was unavoidable.  We finished up and left sooner than I would have wanted, and I had to wrestle with this disturbance in the force that tore into an otherwise perfect trip.

I was convicted just a short while later of what I should have done.  Everything in our culture screams against this, but I think we have a right, nay, an obligation to speak out publicly when we are confronted with such a voyeuristic display.  I was responsible in bringing out several young people into the wild where had I coached them about the dangers of snakes and bears.  I would have vigorously defended them against any such attack.  Watch out.  Next time I will be just as proactive against spiritual attack, and it could get embarrassing.  Don’t stand too close.  “Young lady, I have brought some young men out here to contemplate God’s creation and think on higher things.  They don’t need to see you like that.  I don’t need to see you like that.  Could you please wait until we are gone or get under the water and stay there?”

The world these days revels in Matthew 7:1, “judge not that ye be not judged.”  It is the spirit of our age.  Whatever goes on in public is none of our business to frown upon in any way.  All men (and women) are entitled to do whatever is right in their own eyes.  Ripping this one verse out of the context of the whole scriptures is just not sustainable.  Judging between good and evil is the heart and soul of God’s Word and flows from Genesis to Revelation.  Speaking out against evil should come as natural as the three young men standing before the fiery furnace.  Condemnation is God’s job, not ours.  But He expects us to raise a voice of resilient protest when we are made, through no fault of our own, co-participants in any scene involving unrighteousness.  If nothing else, we speak with our feet.  But we can open our mouths to call attention to the presence and reality of God in any situation especially where we or those in our care are coming under attack.  Make no mistake.  A stark, visual appearance can be an attack even if no words are said. 

I was saddened by a group of teen-aged Christian girls who showed up to help at a ministry center this past week dressed in the skimpiest shorts imaginable.  The youth leader stood by mute and unnoticing.  Parental judgment was obviously lacking.  We can do better.  We must do better.  Our Lord is exalted in judgment.  He shows himself holy in righteousness.  We can honor Him by having the courage to exercise some good judgment.  Our culture sure won’t.

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Liberalism's Illiberalism (part two)

“No servant can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be devoted to one and despise the other.” -Luke 16:13 Liberalism at the crossroads: that is where we find ourselves today. Classic liberalism has taught us much and been successful in creating some of the most diverse yet unified nations the world has ever seen. Still today, there are parts of the world that desperately need a generous dose of this medicine. But modern liberalism is tearing at the social structure in ways that portend divisiveness and open conflict. Psychologist Jonathan Haidt observes in a new book, The Righteous Mind, that Americans have traditionally embraced six major moral concerns: caring for the weak, fairness, liberty, loyalty, respect for authority, and sanctity. His studies suggest that hardcore, modern liberalism affirms the first three, caring for the weak, fairness, and liberty, while conservatives affirm all six. Modern liberals find conservatives rather alien and when push comes to shove, they see conservatives “as motivated by irrational fears such as racism or ‘homophobia’ … rather than as morally serious beliefs about the common good.”* The tricky part about affirming loyalty, respect for authority, and sanctity is they “require the preservation and transmission of robust and commanding moral truths.”* This comes only from a religious base. Hence, the inherent and widening divide between religious communities and the newly predominant forces of modern, secular liberalism. The simmering conflict over what constitutes marriage is a classic case in point. Modern liberalism seeks to “empower” sexual minorities to live whatever lifestyle they so choose. A traditional understanding of marriage has been affirmed in referendum after referendum by the people only to be overturned in the courts and in a few liberal legislatures. The new definition of marriage is not being put in place by popular consensus but rather by force from above. Religious communities are seen as mean-spirited grinches and narrow-minded bigots. “But no social order can be entirely neutral about moral truth. Diversity cannot be infinite. …Not everything can be permitted; some things, even some ideas, must be prohibited.”* And our Christian faith stands in direct opposition to the idea that people are happier when free to decide for themselves what is right and wrong. We believe that men are slaves to sin and have not the power or vision to deliver themselves from that bondage. It is only as we submit ourselves to the lordship and authority of Jesus Christ that we can be freed from the tyranny of sin and the slow death it brings. As God’s life-giving authority penetrates deeper and deeper into our being, we truly become the free creatures that God intended from the beginning. True freedom is the power to do what we ought rather than the power to do as we want. In 1979, Bob Dylan wrote in a song, “You’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed. You’re gonna have to serve somebody. Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord, but you’re gonna have to serve somebody.” Or, as the Apostle Paul put it, “you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin resulting in death, or of obedience resulting in righteousness”(Rom. 6:16). It is never a welcome message in this world, however. Up to now we have learned to live in tension with these different voices in our community. But today, the lifestyle-liberationists have identified religious voices as direct roadblocks to their aims. And dialogue has given way to demagoguery. Once again, we are hearing the crowd cry out, “Crucify him, crucify him.” It is the world’s way of silencing the opposition. May we find it in our hearts to forgive them for they know not what they do. Mercy and Truth, *First Things, May 2012, p.5, “After Liberalism.” Mr. Moe

Liberalism's Illiberalism (part one)

“…and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” –John 8:32

I am a liberal. Shocking, I am sure. But then so are you. I am, of course, speaking here of the classical sense of the term dating back to the 1600’s when liberalism first emerged and then flowered in the 1700’s. In the process, it knocked kings off of thrones, de-established national churches, and affirmed religious freedom, civil rights, and individual liberties. In order to understand liberalism, one must keep in mind the state of things against which it rebelled. In that day, the divine right of kings gave them absolute power over all persons and property. Religion was established by governments and enjoyed total monopoly, country by country. Constitutional government was seen as a heretical threat to the established order and the common man was viewed as incapable of ruling himself through any kind of participatory government. Authority was situated in persons, royal or ecclesiastical, rather than law.

John Locke was extremely influential in enunciating the basic tenets of classical liberalism. Thomas Jefferson considered Francis Bacon, John Locke, and Isaac Newton the three greatest men who ever lived. Alexander Hamilton and James Madison along with others of the founding fathers were also deeply influenced by John Locke. Portions of the Declaration of Independence such as “the long train of abuses” and “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” were lifted in part or whole from the writings of John Locke. His thoughts on religion became the basis of the separation of church and state arguing that no civil magistrate could ever hope to deduce what is the one true and right church nor compel belief on the part of others.

Classical liberalism has flourished for hundreds of years principally here and in Europe. It has worked remarkably well, everything considered, spawning great freedom and prosperity. Today, it is in trouble. One only has to read the papers daily to see that we are descending into an increasingly polarized society. Even secular voices are decrying the lack of “civil discourse.” And we are witnessing the galloping ascent of a new form of totalitarianism becoming known as “the dictatorship of relativism.” In this brave new world, nonjudgmentalism or tolerance becomes the supreme virtue that steam-rolls all others.

Classical liberalism meant defending the dignity of the individual against coercion and domination. Modern liberalism drinks from the fountain of John Stuart Mill (1806-1873) who focused on cultural or moral empowerment. We are not truly free unless we have the means to do what we want. Mill rebelled at the tyranny of any dominant social consensus desiring the freedom to undertake “experiments in living.” Today’s liberals champion social and cultural rebellion as a means of empowerment, expanding the limits of freedom so people can live as they please: lifestyle liberation.

Conservative Christians who stubbornly cling to certain moral absolutes are seen to stand in the way as an impediment and a threat. Classical liberalism argued from a strong base of principles and firm convictions. Modern liberalism today imposes their self-proclaimed “mainstream, majority status” as the club they are not in the least hesitant to use. They trump all argument by fiat because they can. Conservatives are to be denounced rather than debated. We are being driven into exile and forced to wear labels such as “mean-spirited” and “divisive.” It is very telling when civil issues are determined more by name-calling, political sloganing, and ridicule than by honest engagement.

Classical liberalism is fast descending into the abyss of absolutism of a new and different kind. In so doing, it will destroy itself by separating itself from its biggest ally and strongest base. Get ready for some interesting times. (…to be continued)

A Tale of Three Cities Concluded

Westminster Abby in London is half church and half graveyard of the greats. To be buried there is among the highest honors that England can bestow. It has its share of English kings, nobles, and great poets for sure. But easily eclipsing them all would be Sir Isaac Newton. I was pulled along through the majesty of the place by the anticipation of standing at his tomb and monument. Sir Isaac had contributed more to the development of modern science than any other man alive until that time (or perhaps even since). Newton’s Principia Mathematica became one of the most important and influential works on physics of all times. He formulated the basic laws of motion and the universal laws of nature that unraveled the great mysteries of science of his day. He invented calculus as well as gave birth to the classical theories of mechanics and optics. Alexander Pope summed it up succinctly in his couplet, "Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night; God said, Let Newton be! and all was light." The scientific history of the modern world could be written in terms of Before Newton and After Newton. More significantly, Newton, the consummate logician, held deeply to the necessity of God to sustain and hold all things together. He believed that the beauty and regularity of the natural world could only "proceed from the counsel and dominion of an intelligent and powerful Being." His place in this hall of champions, ensconced in a holy shrine dedicated to God’s glory, is without dispute and wholly natural.

How ironic is the fact that not many years hence Charles Darwin would be laid to rest not many feet away from Newton’s tomb. Here was a man who had invented a world where God was no longer a necessity, where all the beauty and regularity of the natural world emanated from sheer chance and the drive of living beings to merely survive. Considering all the reverence of the place that swept our thoughts skyward, Darwin seemed terribly out of place. God seems to have tolerated Darwin’s ultimate insult with his usual patient equanimity and granted him a resting place. He who bore the mocking of his killers while nailed to a cross is surely not all that troubled by a bookish naturalist who was quite content to live a life defined by blindness to the eternal.

I sought out Newton to pay homage, I passed over Darwin as one who glances to look at a tragic scene, and then eagerly looked for a man who epitomized great accomplishment in the moral realm, William Wilberforce. His body and monument are separated by some distance, but both were well known to the uniformed docents that patrolled the scene. The grave was near the entrance, and it held its fascination. But the monument transfixed me with words of praise that echo down the ages. Born in 1759, Wilberforce served nearly half a century in the House of Commons. “In an age and country fertile in grand and good men, he was among the foremost of those who fixed the character of their times.” That was a tribute earned through years of steady devotion to a high and noble cause when few would pause to even give lip service and many stood in great opposition. “His name will ever be specially identified with those exertions which, by the blessing of God, removed from England the guilt of the African slave trade, and prepared the way for the abolition of slavery in every colony of the empire.” This was a protracted struggle that consumed a lifetime of service in politics at great personal cost. “In the prosecution of these objects, he relied, not in vain, on GOD; but in the progress, he was called to endure great obloquy (humiliation, disgrace, mortification, infamy) and great opposition.” The perseverance of William Wilberforce against all odds is legendary. To all his life in that political mudpit, however, “…he added the abiding eloquence of a Christian life.” Because of this and his steadfast dedication to principle, “He outlived … all enmity” and “died not unnoticed or forgotten by his country.” Let us not forget as well.

May God grant us some men and women who will fix the character of our times, who are ready to endure years of obloquy for the pursuit of righteousness, and who will outlive the enmity of their age for the sake of a better age to come.

Dry, Dry Bones

“Put them in fear, O LORD; Let the nations know that they are but men.” -Psalm 9:20

The valley of bones. That is about all I could think of as we walked through the remains of the Roman Forum, that once proud seat of authority that held sway over all the known world of its day. We walked on the streets where proud Caesars once walked, where orators like Cicero held audiences in awe, and where legions tramped proudly on their arrival home from fresh victories across the seas. This was the equivalent of our National Mall in Washington, D.C., our sacred stretch of green that stretches from the Capitol, past the Washington Monument, over the reflecting pool, all the way to the Lincoln Monument. Only in Rome, everything was more concentrated as a result of the lack of motorized transport. One could easily walk from the Coliseum to Palatine Hill, from the Circus Maximus to the Pantheon, and from the Baths of Nero to the Senate House. The streets were all paved, unlike many great cities even as late as the 18th century. And the buildings were massive structures made of solid stone and marble. Caesar Augustus boasted that he had found Rome brick but left it marble. We have ample evidence of this and many descriptive passages to chronicle the glory that was Rome. Modern re-creations of the complex of temples, baths, palaces, government buildings, and entertainment venues that was Rome at the height of its glory leave one aghast at this concentration of wealth and beauty. There was never a city like it or surpassing it since. One could walk for blocks and blocks, miles perhaps, and see nothing but majestic marble monuments on par with the Parthenon in Greece in terms of costly grace and beauty.

And the Romans built everything to last. Thousands of miles of roads were constructed of four different layers in order to meet a construction standard of endurance for 100 years. Many have lasted 2000 years and are still in use today. Their engineering miracles are best seen in their system of aqueducts that brought fresh water into the heart of their cities. There were at least seven separate aqueducts that supplied Rome with its plentiful water supply that made its sanitation standards unequalled until the 19th century. Some of these are still operative today. Everything they constructed seemed to be built with an unequalled ability to endure. Much of the Coliseum still stands today even after 2000 years of invasions, erosion, neglect, outright theft, and predations of nature. Yet its foundations are secure holding up thousands of tons of walls and floors. We wandered its halls and passageways and marveled at its similarity to a modern stadium long before football, soccer, or baseball were even a thought.

So what had reduced this proud city, this cradle of an empire, this forum that concentrated the opulence and power of the world’s rulers for hundreds of years to a marble scrap yard; a valley of bones? Oh, how the mighty are fallen. It surely would have been thought absolutely impossible in the second century that this palatial setting would ever disappear under tons of debris and become a market place for farm animals, despoiling the very ground, and a refuge for the homeless and the criminal sort. Nor would it be thought that the proud Roman race would totally disappear in the sea of crisscrossing currents of humanity.

Their forum is dead, their language is dead, and their bloodline is untraceable. The mighty buildings of stone and marble are gone with the exception of a few which were saved in large part because of their later use as Christian churches, another triumph of a once sworn enemy. Walking among this valley of bones produced no thrill of triumph over a pagan foe, no urge to tramp up and down upon the ruins of a city that once enslaved the world. It produced, rather, an intense feeling of humility that bore witness to the transient nature of accomplishment, even when carved in tons of marble. What took ages to build was destroyed in a matter of days and years. There is no room for the boasting of man in kingdoms or monuments of grandeur. They do not last. These ruins testify mightily to the frailty of man in the flesh, even at his finest. “No man can lay a foundation other than the one which is laid, which is Jesus Christ.” (I Cor. 3:11) No one.

Rousseau Revisited

“The LORD knoweth the thoughts of man, that they are vanity.” -Psalm 94:10-12

On our last day in Paris, we were given the gift of one hour to wander the historic left bank and told to meet our bus on the steps of the Pantheon, a majestic building enshrining some of the great heroes of French history. I could not resist. I made for this grand crypt at full speed eagerly anticipating the opportunity to stand before the remains of some of the great names that had gripped my interest a half-world away amid library carols and university debates. Here lay one of my heroes, Victor Hugo, who wrote that grand tale of mercy and truth, justice and love, vengeance and redemption: Les Miserables. I entered the cavernous building with anxious thoughts of the few, fleeting moments I had to discover the tombs of both the saints and sinners housed there, all tucked away in various alcoves posted with signs and directions written in totally incomprehensible French.

I dodged and darted until I could stand in a moment of raw reverence before Hugo’s tomb and pay my respects. But I must confess, it was not Hugo’s tomb that held the greatest fascination for me but rather my arch nemesis, Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Being French has to be difficult for when you look to those men who have played such a huge role in shaping the history of that country, it inevitably includes some of the grandest “Moriarities” of the modern age. Such is the case with this Pantheon of heroes. Along with Hugo, Louis Braille, and Marie Curie you find the savage beast of Marat and the seductive, deeply disturbed, Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

I was drawn as by a magnet to find his resting place, a curious wooden box with a peaked roof. In carved relief, an arm appears from a cracked door on the end holding a small bouquet. Appropriate, I thought. From the bosom of death and decay that was his life, he held forth to all of France a bouquet of cut and soon-to-wilt adolescent ideals presented with a gripping narrative that was his gift. His private life was “a record of almost uninterrupted squalor and misery.” “Every friendship, whether with men or women, concluded with a quarrel.” He imagined enemies everywhere “until, in 1778, he died, paranoid and almost catatonic.”* Yet his writings portrayed life lived in the most exquisite of philosophic and limpid Utopianism. His characters frequently stopped to rhapsodize and sermonize on the human condition giving naïve, adolescent ideas the gravity of apparent truth. The effect was incredibly successful in an age tired of arid rationalism and cynicism. He ravished the soul of his countrymen to the point that much of the high flown rhetoric of the French Revolution was informed by the precepts and ideals of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Robespierre, that devil in a fine suit who presided over the Terror, was a huge fan of Rousseau and absorbed all his writing, travelling to visit him before his death. Rousseau was unique in that his writing appealed to poor and rich alike, seducing them with empty phrases that had a ring of virtue and endearing sentiment. It had the widest imaginable influence upon his countrymen. He was to the French Revolution what Jefferson was to ours, only combined with the simplistic appeal of an Oprah Winfrey and the narrative power of a Stephen King.

The ideals of the French Revolution soon unleashed the horror of the Terror. From the ashes of that came forth Napoleon who ransacked as much of the world as he could both with armies and ideas. Curiously, a man named Vladimir Lenin some years later looked to the tumult of the French Revolution for his inspiration in spreading a new revolution that would enslave half the world in its idealistic chains. I cannot help but link the Cold War, Korea, and Vietnam to a chain of events going all the way back to Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

Standing there in front of Rousseau’s tomb, I was seized by a school-boy impulse. I wet the tip of my finger and applied a touch of spittle to the railing surrounding his bones. A contemptuous act, I admit. It should have been a tear for all the suffering that has flowed in his wake. But somehow tears would not come. The momentous gravity of the vanity of it all sapped my more gracious instincts. Perhaps next time.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe *Paris in the Terror, Stanley Loomis, 1964

Separating Man from Beast

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine” - Proverbs 17:22

There was a woman who went to see a lawyer about getting a divorce. The lawyer started to ask her some routine questions. “What are your grounds?” “Well, we have this big farm,” she replied. “Do you have some sort of grudge?” “No, my husband’s never built one, and we have to park outside.” “Well, does he beat you up?” “Are you kidding? I get up two hours before he ever does.” “Look, Lady. Why do you want to divorce him?” “Because I have never been able to carry on an intelligent conversation with that man!”

Humor: the ability to see that something is funny. It is a marvelous human trait that almost defies definition yet so distinctly separates us from the animal kingdom. A car drove up next to me at a stoplight the other day and two young ladies suddenly erupted in laughter that carried through two, rolled up windows. It hit me squarely. Not only do we as humans feel guilt so keenly as apart from apes, we also laugh; often, communally, contagiously, and at the slightest pretext. Someone makes a joke and the next thing we hear this unique and totally unintelligible sound emanating from one another that is somewhere between a sneeze, a cough, and a wheeze yet wholly different. And everyone’s laugh is just a bit different from the high pitched squeakers to the muffled snorters to the gasping gaffawers. Record, freeze, and separate out these sounds from a person’s normal speech, play them back, and it is almost as embarrassing as appearing in public in one’s underwear.

We find humor in such incredibly different situations. We see humor in the ironic. “I signed up for an exercise class and was told to wear loose-fitting clothing. If I HAD any loose-fitting clothing, I wouldn’t have signed up in the first place!” We see humor in the unintended. “Customers who find our waitresses rude ought to see the manager” (sign in a Nairobi restaurant). “Feeding animals picking plants prohibited” (sign in the Smokies). We find humor in exaggeration. Here are three exercises to help prepare you for a hospital experience: (a) drink a quart of Sherwin-Williams Eggshell One-coat Coverage Interior Flat White #2. Then have your child stuff his slinky down your throat. (b) Put a real estate agent’s ‘Open House’ sign on your front yard and lie on your bed dressed in a paper napkin with straws stuck up your nose. (c) Put your hand down the garbage disposal while practicing your smile and repeating: “mild discomfort”.

And who doesn’t love those misprints in church bulletins? “Don’t let worry kill you. Let the church help.” “Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our church and community.” We love to laugh at ourselves when words come out of our mouths that make no sense. “If we don’t succeed, we run the risk of failure” (Bill Clinton). “Smoking kills. If you’re killed, you’ve lost a very important part of your life” (Brooke Shields, during an interview to become Spokesperson for federal anti-smoking campaign). We even laugh at the obvious. “Why are men just happier people? Your last name stays put. The garage is all yours. Wedding plans take care of themselves. Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.” And we laugh at the mistakes of one another. Here are some notes from parents sent to school after children were absent. “Please excuse Ray Friday from school. He has very loose vowels.” “Please excuse Lisa for being absent she was sick and I had her shot.” “Please excuse Roland from P.E. for a few days. Yesterday he fell out of a tree and misplaced his hip.” Don’t laugh too hard. We are saving yours for future publication.

And then there are the things your kids say and do. A K5 student recently announced to her class that her family had cooked their cat in a pot. It turns out the cat was cremated, but not at home. And another was on a trip and declared his desperate need to use the bathroom while mom was pumping gas at a stop. She said, “Well let’s go, now!” And so he did.

Laughter is the delightful proof of our unique humanity; and good medicine to the bones. Practice daily.

Graveyard Exam

“Remember the former things long past, for I am God, and there is no other.” –Isa. 46:9

Last Friday some 22 of us, students and adults, stood in the graveyard of the First Presbyterian Church. And it posed all sorts of questions to us; sort of a well-stocked pantry in sod and stone of questions and queries that spoke to us from the ground. History has a way of doing that, placing us back in time and confronting us with difficulties and deep matters that are, in their particulars, largely unknown to us but yet entirely within the pale of possibility for us to experience once again in some form or another. This grave yard held a host of stories that ghosted our imaginations with things that go bump in the middle of the night of our comfortable lives.

There were tombs of the rich and famous, William Blount plus three Tennessee senators lying alongside common folk and at least one murderer. We have little choice with the company we keep once we are passed and are certain only that rich and poor, the famous and the infamous, will one day lay down their bones in the dust together having faced the great leveler, death. How do we then continue to look at questions of fame and status, achievement or anonymity, wealth or poverty in light of this common end?

We saw the graves of a common family, uncommon in only one respect. They had lost and buried six children over time, some just days old, others somewhat mature in years. How would I have done under such a burden as that? Would I have kept faith with my Lord, the woman I had married, and with life itself and the promise of fruitfulness? Where would I find the strength to continue on to bear forth those final two babies after the first four were gone?

We saw the concrete evidence of the plague of civil war that swept Knoxville in its train. We have little feeling for the depth of hostility that was wreaked across a once stable community. We heard how soldiers once grazed their horses in this sacred space, knocking headstones all about with careless indifference. Would we ever be so situated where the demands of blunt practicalities would compel us to sacrifice and trash our otherwise treasured traditions? How then would we do? We learned that when the Union Army finally “liberated” Knoxville, all of the local pastors except one were run out of town for their days of Confederate sympathizing. Will we ever be placed in time where ungodly causes are being championed by godly, theologically astute, men of position operating in the majority? How closely then would we cling to Truth and stand accordingly?

The tomb of Abner Baker tells a tragic story of politics, hate, and revenge. Abner’s father, Dr. Harvey Baker, was a physician who was known to treat Confederate and Union soldiers alike. One day a small band of Union bushwackers or renegades broke into his home and shot him through a closet door behind which he had hidden. After the war, Abner, who was a Confederate soldier, returned home and sought out his father’s killers. He found one downtown in the courthouse and killed him there. Confined to jail, Union sympathizers broke him out soon after and hung him. He is buried in this graveyard with the tallest of all the grave markers standing proudly over his resting place. On it is written, “A martyr for manliness and personal rights. His death was an honor to himself but an everlasting disgrace to his enemies.” A whole host of questions flew up at me. Would I, like Dr. Baker, receive friend or foe at my door in the middle of a deadly fight and be willing to bind up their wounds alike? Would I ever be so possessed of hate so as to take personal revenge for a great injustice? Would I ever be sympathetic to vigilante justice that would take the law into its own hands? And could I ever become complicit in crime by lionizing a killer in the name of “manliness and personal rights”?

History has a way of confronting us with ourselves. And so we go there to ponder our future.