Mercy and Truth

Clear Light of Day

2012-02-14T15:14:00.002-08:00

You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again?-Matt. 5:13

In 1933, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote to his grandmother, “The question is really: Christianity or Germanism? And the sooner the conflict is revealed in the clear light of day the better.” Bonhoeffer was able to see in those very early days prior to the maelstrom of the Third Reich that there was a creeping effort afoot to co-opt the German church to serve the rabid purposes of Nazi ideology. Later that same year, over 80% of the audience that turned up for a key church conference wore the brown shirts of the Nazi party. From then on, true Christians were forced underground. The church was thus effectively silenced through intimidation, pressure tactics, and overt political action and made to further the ideology of Hitler’s perverse dreams.

We have witnessed this again and again when oppressive forces seek to make religion subservient to the wishes of a secular state. During the French Revolution, church leaders were at one point forced to take an oath to the Constitution under penalty of losing their positions and were to be prosecuted as disturbers of the public peace if they continued to lead worship in any way. This new Constitution had completely destroyed the role of the church in public life and was opposed by the overwhelming majority of church leaders. On 5 February 1791, all priests who had not taken the oath were banned from preaching in public. Thousands of priests, nuns, and bishops suffered dismissal, deportation, and death as a result.

In the wake of the Communist revolution in Russia, “believers were never officially attacked for being believers, but they were officially attacked for perceived or invented resistance to the state and its policies.” We can read in a document entitled Separation of the Church from the State and the Schools from the Church: Decree of the Soviet of People's Commissars, 12 January 1918, “the free performance of religious rites is granted as long as it does not disturb public order.” In China today the government has a policy for religious management that requires Christians to join the strongly politically-charged National Committee of Three-Self Patriotic Movement or else their various religious activities (including congregation, worship, ceremony, formation of church, construction of church buildings, and evangelism) will be severely restricted and suppressed by various governmental management departments. Totalitarianism always seeks to silence any opposing voice and does so in the name of preserving the public order and the public peace. Despotism never likes to be disturbed.

At the risk of being alarmist, I am seeing some very uncomfortable developments here at home. Christian organizations on university campuses across our land are under attack. At stake is their right to conduct their fellowships according to historic Christian doctrine. Forty one different universities are contemplating challenges to student organizations according to the latest prayer letter from Intervarsity. The Obama administration is in the midst of a serious fight to impose birth control and abortifacient provisions on Catholic schools and charities under the name of health care. Protestants and Catholics alike are rallying to challenge this serious threat to religious freedom of conscience. Presently, our courts are intense battlegrounds arbitrating the rights of Christians to resist the imposition of politically-correct definitions of diversity and marriage.

What I think we are witnessing is an effort to bend Christian doctrine to serve the interests of secular dogma or to silence it altogether. Strident voices are coming out of various closets which have never been heard in public before. Unfortunately, Christian doctrine is proving to be disturbing to the public order. I agree with G.K. Chesterton that, “We do not need a church that is right when we are right. We need a church that is right when we are wrong. We do not need a church that moves with the world. We need a church that moves the world.” Maybe we should be saying, the sooner the conflict is revealed in the clear light of day the better.

Final Exam

2012-02-13T12:52:00.000-08:00

“You shall teach them to your sons, talking of them when you sit in your house and when you walk along the road and when you lie down and when you rise up.” -Deuteronomy 11:19

This is ancient history to most of you and to the general college scene of today. But back in the 1960’s, Mrs. Moe and I faced our final hurdle in our senior year at Wheaton College in a much dreaded ritual known as Senior Comprehensives. The very words of “Senior Comps” struck fear and trembling into student hearts. For three years we pretended that they were afar off and not to be contemplated. But in that last year, we had to run the gauntlet of a 4 hour exam that covered both general knowledge and our major field. Rumors abounded of students who didn’t pass and had to repeat in order to graduate. There was also no real way to study for it. You either knew it or you didn’t. We never saw a score. You either passed or failed. Fortunately, we both survived.

I have no intention of subjecting our high school students to such an ordeal, but the thought is tempting at times. And if I did, the subjects I shared in last Thursday evening’s Parent In-Service would be the heart and soul of it. A number of you were interested enough in them to ask for a copy. I share them with you here and will also send out an electronic copy as well. What I do hope to do is to weave these issues into our high school studies so that as one point or another all students will be able to understand the questions and be able to speak to them from a Christian world view by the time they graduate. I believe that in doing so they will be prepared to be salt and light in our dying culture. It is imperative that we understand what we are up against in the increasingly hostile world in which we live. In disseminating these questions, I covet your eagerness to learn as well by listening, reading, and even researching these topics yourself so that your dinner table conversation can be sprinkled with lively discussion of the issues that matter to our life and times. I will also be sending out a power point presentation for you to help you understand why a Christian world-view is so important and how we are communicating a world-view whether we realize it or not. My simple proposition is this; that all students graduating from RECA should be able to demonstrate the following:

• The ability to make a rational argument concerning the dangers and threats of relativism as opposed to objective truth.
• The ability to articulate an argument for “original intent” as a method of interpreting our Constitution versus the idea of “a living document” and how that will shape our future.
• A full understanding of the effects of evolutionary thinking upon culture, law, medicine, and the rights of man.
• The ability to define what it means to be fully human and what distinguishes us from the animal kingdom.
• A full understanding of what separation of church and state meant to our forefathers (civil and religious) versus today.
• A knowledge of what is at stake in the debate over diversity and multi-culturalism.
• An ability to argue a defense of traditional marriage.
• An ability to articulate the right of religious people to speak to moral issues in the public square from their religious base.
• An understanding of a Christian view towards the environment.
• A demonstrated understanding of reasons for the reliability of the Scriptures.

As I see it, this is where the battle lines are being drawn within our nation for this next generation. Let’s help equip them for the fight. And it is never too early to start. I would hope that bits and pieces of this conversation would be taking place well before high school. We are making disciples for spiritual warfare. Preparing them for college is just a side show.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

The Least of These

2012-01-22T09:59:00.001-08:00

“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’
Matthew 25:40

In the early 1800’s, the driving social issue of the day was the abolition of slavery which we can trace from the intractable campaign of William Wilberforce in England to our own cataclysmic years of the Civil War. Today’s defining issue is that of abortion on demand with all of its related value of life issues including assisted suicide, cloning, and embryonic stem cell research. Anyone familiar with our own history of the pre-civil war era knows of the vitriolic rhetoric regarding slavery that rocked the public square and ultimately divided a nation. Nor could the Supreme Court settle this issue but, instead, heaped fuel to the fire with its infamous Dred-Scott decision which would forever be a stain upon the high court.

In 1973, our Supreme Court opened the floodgates to abortion on demand with its own infamous decision and overturned hundreds of laws across our land. What they thought would be a means of settling a social debate once and for all has not gone away but instead grown to massive proportions. The bleed-over that many visionaries feared is now with us and has also mushroomed the stakes. Not only are we seeing more women suffering from unscrupulous practitioners than ever before, we are seeing a devaluing of all human life especially at the fringes of the social family. This ranges from sex selection abortion to special needs children to the elderly. It also tears at the fabric of our national identity in our ability to defend the rights of all to threatening the health and well being of long standing programs like social security which depend on young workers supporting the old. Immigration is the only way that our present population can preserve its numbers.

I would like every student going through River’s Edge to be knowledgeable about our present and ongoing cultural war and what it means to our country, our health care system, our legal system, our neighborhoods, and our families. The ramifications of this debate are hugely practical all across our society. There is what many are calling a culture of death at work here that seeks to change the way we look at human life at every level. This country has always valued life in any and all situations. It is what has made us great. We can all affirm that America has been great because it has been good, but when it ceases to be good it will cease to be great.

The good news is that we are witnessing a groundswell movement today that prizes a culture of life. For the first time since 1973, more American youth are identifying themselves as pro-life rather than pro-choice. The annual pro-life march in Washington is a remarkable display of youth turning out in overwhelming numbers. When are children too young to understand what is at stake? Lila Rose, one of the leading Christian young crusaders against abortion, was first exposed to the horror of this plague at the age of 9 when she picked up a book in her home. Her course has been set ever since.
This Sunday is the annual March for Life here in Knoxville beginning with a rally at Calvary Baptist Church on Kingston Pike, 2:00 pm (http://trlknox.org/). I would urge you to consider attending this rally with your family to hear our County Mayor Tim Burchett speak up for life. The musical group, Wild Blue Yonder, will be there as well, and I hope they will perform their song that says to “lift up the truth and lift it high; wave it proudly in the face of lies.” It is powerful. This is a chance for your children to see hundreds of other families across our city gathering together to take a stand in the name of Jesus proclaiming that all human life is inviolate. It has always been an inspiring service. Our children need to know that merely being little is not safe anymore.
Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe

December Dandelions

2011-12-18T05:03:00.000-08:00

“They will still yield fruit in old age; They shall be full of sap and very green,” -Ps. 92:14

While retrieving the school sign out front at the end of another school day, my eye was arrested by a yellow flash on the ground in the midst of an otherwise colorless lawn-scape. It was a dandelion stubbornly blooming in the heart of December. I have been thinking about December dandelions ever since. There certainly are not many of them still intent upon lighting up a lawn. This one hugged the earth closely, just barely raising its yellow hand up towards the sky. But there it was, a holdout against winter, a defiant flash of life amidst winter’s grey. Did it not get the word? Such blooms are supposed to go quietly into oblivion this time of year.

I read just last week of an 80 year old woman who also refused to go quietly into the sunset. Another December dandelion. She apparently also did not get the word that old folks are past their prime and need to retire to the sidelines like most sensible persons do. And certainly, she, who knew nothing of Facebook, You-Tube, texting, tweeting, or smart-phones, was obviously a world removed from today’s modern college student. Yet she took it upon herself to begin a letter writing ministry to her church’s college freshmen, away from home for the first time and awash in untold distractions and temptations. She not only wrote them, she wrote them every week. And she prayed. She prayed God’s best for them and that they would find a good church home in their new environment. She looked forward to seeing them at Thanksgiving and Christmas. The result? Church members reported that the “students sought her out and rushed to give her hugs and to say, ‘Thank you,” whenever they came home.” So much for the much ballyhooed generation gap. So much for our constant efforts to shuttle off our church members into age-segregated settings where they can safely relate to their own.

Serious study has shown and demonstrated that this cross generational cross pollination of faith is incredibly important in transferring our beliefs to the second and third generations that follow after us. If our youth do not see faith in action in our lives, woven into the events and values of everyday life, they are much more likely to forsake the faith of their fathers. Putting on a show of faith, going through the motions, does not make a very deep impression. The young usually see through it. But a faith that colors everyday decisions, that confesses mistakes and shortcomings, that deals with temptation and forgiveness in very real terms is a faith that impacts our children and grandchildren in deep and permanent ways.

In this respect, there is always work to be done and a reason for every person, regardless of age, to be on task and mission for God. It is a mission that does not require mobility, financial support, or technological savvy. It simply requires an openness and concern for others, an honesty and transparency to share the important things in life, and the confidence in God that He is still the same today, yesterday, and forever. Our story today is of a grandmother who knew we are all just people in need of God’s touch, regardless of age. It is the story of one who knew there was still work to be done and was willing to do it; willing to be intentionally used by God to touch others.

I remember those days when as a young and lonely freshman, I would eagerly check my college mailbox everyday looking for some connection from home. There were many grey days and weeks when the only mail I found was the college generated junk mail. What would I have given for a touch from a godly grandmother who knew my name and lifted it up in weekly prayer? How much would it have meant to have a December dandelion in my life? A lot. A whole lot. And now that I am entering the December of my life, I pray I do not go quietly. May others still see a flash of yellow amidst the grey. Resolve with me to do likewise.

May the message of God’s mercy and truth be born afresh in us this Christmas,
Mr. Moe

My Turn

2011-12-11T10:32:00.000-08:00

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth....” Matthew 6:19

‘Tis the season for giving. As quickly as the toy stores can fill my mailbox with catalogs, my children tear them open and mark them up with checks and circles around everything they want, want, want! Usually these items reflect that same character logo that is found on every other toy in our playroom. One thing is certain, advertising sells. One year, my little girl got so hung up on Elmo that it started affecting her behavior. Simply put, Elmo had become the idol of a two year old’s life. So we decided it was time for Elmo to move out. Every toy, coloring book, and sticker was put out of sight. Elmo was soon forgotten. My daughter is older now, and the wish list has changed, but, as with many children, a discontented heart can still be a struggle. It’s not just the kids who get caught in the “gotta have it” trap. Consider the adult who decides to surprise the family with that big screen TV to improve upon football with HD perfection; meanwhile, the spouse is scraping pennies to make the budget work. I am sad to think how such Christmas surprises very may well end up causing more resentment than surprise. The enemy will try to use this holiday for his own agenda - to elicit feelings of selfishness, anger, worry, and discontentment just to name a few. He wants to damage relationships, and this season can be a prime time for him to get the job done.

This year we are doing things a little differently. Presents still will come, large and small, but each one will be thought out. Is this good for nurturing relationships? …Or will this present grow our child’s skill and confidence? …Could this present encourage their walk with Jesus? ...And last, have we bought too much? We often say we want to make Christmas about Christ’s birth, but then, at the end of the day, after tons of wrapping paper gets thrown away and the kids’ eyes are weary from play, we might find it was more about us playing Santa. We might even notice the discontentment on faces when that last gift is uncovered from under the tree. A few weeks ago I laid out all the presents I had bought for my children that have been “in hiding” all year to show my husband. Oh my…there was twice as much there as I had thought. Found at a bargain or not, if we gift all of these things we will surely perpetuate the materialistic attitudes that the Bible warns is not for the good of their character. Proverbs 22:6 says “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” This Christmas I hope to ‘train up’ contentment, simplicity, good family traditions, and time spent together focused on our Savior. I plan to be intentional to enjoy my family instead of being a grumbling Martha in the kitchen trying to make the perfect recipe of Christmas.

One particular Christmas, prior to having my own family, I traveled home to Atlanta to be with my parents and my sisters’ families. The much expected family dynamics began to unfold. Money was frivolously spent on presents for each other that we really had only wanted ourselves. My parents always bought us something from Sam’s Club, not because we really needed anything from there, but simply because they liked going to Sam’s Club. The kids ferociously unwrapped presents, barely looking at the one in front of them as they eyed the next wrapped box. Overindulgence overcame sense. The day had become more of an obligation than a desire to repeat year after year. After some discussion, we decided to stop buying presents between families for Christmas. We started a new tradition of playing games instead. Christmas was never the same. Agreed unanimously, it was better! The stress of shopping was gone and for the first time on Christmas day our home was filled with laughter. There is nothing like a round of the game, Finish Line, to draw out relationships that are in need of nurturing. We sat together and listened while one read from the Bible the story of Jesus’ birth. One year we even went to a downtown soup kitchen and served food to the poor.

I encourage you to think about what Christmas needs to be this year, not just what you want it to be. You might just feel inclined to send your “Elmo” back to the store. Perhaps you will add your own healthy traditions that will be passed on for generations. Who knows, Daddy just might end up with a donkey sent to a poor family in his name. (But don't tell.)

Molly Clark

Molly is the mother of Lydia Clark, a K4 student at Smithwood. Molly also helps edit our Thursday News on a regular basis.

Rejoicing in goodness

2011-12-04T05:12:00.000-08:00

“let thy priests, O LORD God, be clothed with salvation, and let thy saints rejoice in goodness.” -2 Chron. 6:41

What does a volunteer firemen’s fundraising dinner, a day at Dollywood, and a Christmas choral concert have in common? All three represent a picture, in part, of what’s right with the world.

We were overnight in Walden Creek, Tennessee, (population: 50 something?) and didn’t feel like going in to town for dinner. A large sign was set out just down the road promising in big letters a home cooked meal and auction as a fundraising event for the local fire hall. We bit. At the appointed time, the place was packed. Food was in abundance, and dinner was a great deal, just $8.00. This group of volunteers had been cooking 200 pounds of turkey and fixings all day. Home-made desserts covered two tables. A local musical group of middle aged men were playing guitars making some pleasant enough music, easily pleased with themselves. I scanned the rows of lockers and fire hats adorning the long wall. Each one represented a man who took his place in the line out of a sense of pride and honor. Volunteer firemen; must be a rare breed. The ladies who supported them by baking cakes and cookies and serving up 200 pounds of turkey certainly must come from good stock as well. Listening to conversation at the table revealed a local politician who just loved to work the crowd out of a genuine love for God, country, and Walden Creek. There was little other apparent reason for seeking office in such a place. Another was a retired man who had come to find his truest and best calling in life working in a nearby home for special needs children. It was small-town community life at its best; men and women coming together to work for the good of all. It kind of made me proud to be an American again.

Just a few weeks earlier, there was this special day at Dollywood. Dollywood is a slick package of commercial kitsch at its worst, but on the other hand it holds up and embraces so much that is good, even if it is pretend for just a day. Families stroll together hand in hand making a memory for their children or even grandparents. This is not a place where rebels, drunks, and the wild folk would even want to come. It is all about roller coasters and funnel cakes and carved baseball bats; good stuff where kids of all ages can come free of embarrassment. Talent, skills, and crafts are all showcased to inspire us to maybe create or achieve something lasting, something beautiful, something of value, all by ourselves. Costumes took us back to a time when clothes were worn to connote station and to please others. The fun came in small, clean packages of rides and cotton candy and ice cream all without the greasy, carny types who look like sinister, tattooed, fugitives from justice. The hired help were actually helpful. The gospel music flowed freely, without stricture or embarrassment, and pulsed with joy. This was life as it could be, should be; except, of course, for the high priced lunches.

And this week, the area Home School Christmas choir concert put on by 60 young men and women showed yet another picture of life as it could be, should be. The songs poured forth in rich variety demonstrating the incredible abundance of artistic and musical fascination with the story of Christmas over the centuries. Every land, every era has produced musical praise in majestic and memorable manner; all taken by the amazing advent of God in flesh. And that is as it should be. It is impossible to sing these songs of Zion and be mad at the world, or your neighbor. Beautiful as well was the sight of young men and young women, acting in concert, complimenting each other in bold unison or subtle harmony. No room for gender animosities or exploitive manipulation here. Peace reigned as all were held thrall to a director’s lead, a clue for how to find peace when all follow after the Master’s will. And just to have a concert is proof that the world is temporarily, anyway, safe for the arts that warm the soul but serve no real, practical purpose.

In a world gone sour in so many ways, isn’t it grand we can still catch glimpses of the image of God in his goodness in day to day existence? May we keep looking for it, and find it, and cherish it.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Kingdom of God

2011-11-16T19:11:00.000-08:00

“The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field…” Matt. 13:31

Forty five years ago this Saturday, I walked out in front of a room full of people and pledged my life to a lovely young lady. It was a scary occasion where promises were made ‘til death do us part and all of that. A few minutes passed by, and then I was a married man. It didn’t take long at all to pass over that threshold of life alone to life together. Just a few minutes, some exchange of words, a pronouncement, and a piece of signed paper was all it took to redirect my whole life. I was in the club, complete with newly minted wedding band.

As I walked out and down the aisle, not a whole lot had really changed in my personal being. I still loathed broccoli, had my distinct ideas regarding wardrobe selections, and certainly did not like wearing a ring. I conceded that I would wear it for the honeymoon, but then, forget it. Little did I know that a wedding ceremony was just the beginning of a total make-over. Neither one of us suspected as much.

I soon learned that taking off the wedding band at night was just not the thing to do. In fact, I have worn it continually to this day. In fact, this thing called marriage just kept on growing and insinuating itself into every part of my personal life and business. It started affecting the way I dressed, the way I ate dinner (with manners), the way I spoke, and the way I thought about things like birthday cards and Mother’s Day cards. It introduced me to the joys of tacos, real Italian spaghetti, and deep fried okra. Indeed, my wardrobe changed, my manners changed, my music changed, my habits of where I dropped my clothes changed, and even the way I put the toothpaste cap on the toothpaste tube changed.

Then along came some children who changed my life even more drastically than I could ever have imagined. Instead of me being at the center of the universe or even sharing that center with another, now suddenly I only owned a minority share of it. I was willing to forego sleep, change a smelly diaper, and clean up after a knock down drag out fight with green beans and a one year old. How could something that small completely take over and trump my plans for the weekend let alone my finances and all my heart-felt priorities?

With each child, my world was stretched, and I was changed some more. Now that they are gone from the house, I have taken back the rooms where they had set up their separate kingdoms, places where they had freely established their own tastes and preferences independent of mine. But yet, if I were to lose any one of them now, I would be diminished as a person as painfully as if you had cut off an arm. Then there are the grandchildren whose insidious smiles and giggles have taken and stretched my heart to ever new extremes. This marriage thing just will not be contained and keeps on growing, keeps on investing itself like a virus into every portion of my life, and keeps on scaling new ramparts within the most private and selfish parts of my soul. How could I have imagined what an unstoppable flood those wedding vows would loose within me.

So too, the kingdom of God is like a grain of mustard seed, exceedingly small, yet finding root, it sprouts and grows and will not be denied its destiny to occupy a great space, larger than all the garden plants, becoming a tree so that the birds of the air come and nest in its branches. How much like a marriage that begins with a simple oath and then starts its work to bring life where before was just raw soil and a little rain. It is an invasive species in both instances that takes over whatever it touches, reaching its tentacles into every corner, into places that we did not even know existed.

I am not the same man I was 45 years ago for which all of you need be grateful. It is due in large part to a very patient wife but also to the steadfast work of the Spirit of God that refuses to leave me as I am. My faith in marriage tells me that the changes I see are for my best. I can see that clearly now. It was not always so clear in the midst of the stretching. My faith in God says his pruning is also for my good. To have remained the same would have been to settle for a small pot of static plastic flowers, slowly gathering dust, instead of an ever expanding living plant that bears actual fruit. Be glad for life and growth, change and transformation, both mine and yours.

Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe

Night watches

2011-11-15T06:01:00.001-08:00

My soul shall be satisfied … when … I meditate on thee in the night watches. –Ps. 63:5-6

I stumbled through the dark pasture at 5:00 AM with only a single, green, night-vision LED showing the way. The quiet of the night was unbroken by the usual dog alarm. I was straining to hear the lumbering shifting of cows who were out there somewhere in the darkness. Suddenly they were there with at least 8 pairs of glowing eyes all trained on me the intruder into their grassy haven. Fumbling in the dark, I found my spot, trying not to crunch too loudly on those dried and fallen leaves I ordinarily love to rustle. Dried leaves, a crisp fall night, smells of autumn, and the silence of the dead of night all combined to provide a habitation that welcomed me into its dark bosom. The sky was ink black except for every star in the universe peeking through, wanting to be noticed. There, straight above me and standing proud on its handle, was the Big Dipper. I sat in admiration of how it guided southern, run-away slaves who followed their friend, “the drinkin’ gourd,” to safe haven in the north. It is an indelible sign post in the sky that even the most uneducated or simple can follow. Not long after settling in with branches and leaves around me in my freshly made nest, a thin ribbon of light started to dissolve the darkened sky; the hope of a new day.

As the light slowly grew to herald the coming sun, it was almost as if it came as an enemy or intruder to a hundred crows; birds of the day but dark as night. They took to the sky in steadily increasing numbers raising a cacophony of caws and cawing that had a raucous and almost angry sound. Perhaps it was their only way of showing their applause for the dawn raising its curtain after an intermission that had grown interminable. They were sure to spread the word winging their way either singly or in groups, never content to just fly through the air in quiet flight like any respectable bird.

The cows in the pasture were now clearly visible, some slowly rousing themselves, but most content to lie in their beds like any of us when faced with a new day. The grass was gently frosted, proudly showing a hardy claim to life in spite of winter’s warning shots. The burgeoning light occasionally threw sparks of light off a crystalled blade or leaf. The usual whispers of night sounds were suddenly trumped by a chattering squeal not too far off in the distance. It was too irregular for a bird; too high pitched for a dog or coyote. It played upon my imagination as it kept repeating itself in sharp alarm. It then grew silent and was no more. Suddenly my senses were raised to the awareness of living in a world where death stalks us all. Nature is cruel as well as beautiful, and I suspect I was listening to the death throes of some rabbit or small animal caught in the claws of an owl or other predator. And here I was, the ultimate predator, lying in deadly wait for fresh venison for my freezer.

The sun slowly pushed its way over the hill as our little spot joyfully received its warming rays sent out several minutes before from that gigantic nuclear furnace in the sky, some 92 million miles away. My senses were alert for my prey to make its appearance knowing full well how softly and unobtrusively they can insinuate themselves into a staid landscape. While the waiting continued, half-hour after half-hour, I occupied myself with some prayers for church, family, and school. Prayer and quiet, softly combined to fix an iron cord between the human and the divine, arching its way from woods to sky to eternity and beyond, a mystery far greater than all.

Then suddenly, my eye caught movement, and there in front of me was the sight I had longed to see. He had, of course, snuck up on me as if to say, “You need to be watching better than that.” I followed him carefully with excitement welling up within me. But then, as he cleared the brush, I could clearly see his button nubs where antlers will soon grow. “Next year, little fellah, next year.” But still it was a glorious sight to see this beautiful creature filling my sight with cross hairs laid across his heart. Admiration and yet the need to kill and eat; the beauty and the beast within us all.

As the morning spent itself without further success to the hunt, thoughts of success and failure chased each other across my mind. No trophy to take home and yet the time spent sitting, listening, watching, observing, had sharpened my senses to the sticking point. How I would love to drag my students out and sit them in the woods to watch the coming day and see how many wonders they could find, how many thoughts they could capture, and how wonderful a psalm they could write to describe it all. They might also find that time, spent in deliberate slow motion, is not quite so scary after all.

Politics of Change, II

2011-10-28T08:43:00.000-07:00

“Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment.” John 7:24

Conservative or progressive? I decided last week that I prefer G.K. Chesterton’s appellation of “reformer” to either of the two more traditional viewpoints concerning change. Change is the hinge pin upon which all this debate, both modern and ancient, revolves. In what direction are we moving? Is it good or bad? Who decides?

As Christians, we are uniquely situated between this world and the next to offer both friendship and judgment. We embrace this world as God’s gift to us both to use and to tend, fallen though it may be. But we also have a picture of what it was supposed to look like and what it will be when fully redeemed and restored. No one else can offer this perspective of where we came from and where we need to go. Our sense of “change” has a fixed standard, an eternal vision, by which we can measure true progress. Francis Bacon, the father of modern science, wrote back in 1620, “For man by the fall fell at the same time from his state of innocency and from his dominion over creation. Both of these losses however can even in this life be in some part repaired; the former by religion and faith, the latter by arts and sciences.” No need to apologize. We stand in good company.

To make judgments against our culture is the epitome of bad manners these days. The very word, “judgment,” is loaded with sinister connotations and will quickly make for embarrassed looks at modern day dinner parties. Yet that is clearly what we are called to do in the traditions of all the prophetic voices of Scripture. It may mean standing on a street corner and calling on fellow travelers to repent, but more likely, it will impel us to just examine on a daily basis the choices and the voices that confront us and decide which are of God and which are not. To judge is simply to discern truth from error. Those who deny the dichotomy of truth and error are hopelessly lost in an endless maze of aimless confusion. They are to be pitied; not emulated.

But the essential part of discernment is to have a clear vision of what the eternal non-negotiables are. I was raised to never attend movies in a theater. That protest against Hollywood lifestyles died when movies came into everyone’s home on TV. What is the standard that we are communicating, and where do we draw the line? As our culture and technology change around us, we have to have fresh insights into what exactly we are to cling to and what we should reject. This calls for constant, new-wineskin thinking. It is probably the most difficult challenge that each generation faces; to hand down the visions we cherish so dearly to a new generation without the chaff of outmoded forms and traditions. Even for myself, I need to have my visions of faith and stewardship reborn anew as I fight the stultifying agents of age and routine.

So, too, education must never become encrusted with unquestioning, rote repetition of the past. But neither should it be allowed to become a free-for-all sandbox of new and untested theories where innovation is prized for its own sake. Take the field of English for example (as I promised). I continue to believe that words have both power and meaning. (That can be revolutionary enough in some circles.) I do not believe that words should be allowed to fall into the hands of slick lawyers or querulous intellectuals who would shred their meaning for selfish purposes. I do not think they should be allowed to fall into the grasp of skeptics who would lace them with a thousand doubts. And I pledge to resist the perversion of language by pornographic perpetrators in the name of realism or the cheapening of language by trendy shortcuts that deny the power of the narrative or the poetic. I believe that the printed page still can represent the highest ends and accomplishments of mankind and can lead us to the Book of Books that continues to illumine our pathway home. This is my vision that I hope will guide me through the tumultuous waters of change already lapping at the boat we know of as “language arts.” It is also the vision I hope to impart to the next generation, whether they kindle, text, tweet, or blog (four words which were not even in our vocabulary ten years ago).

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Politics of Change, I

2011-10-19T18:32:00.000-07:00

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men.” - Matt. 5:13

Since the decline of American reading habits is now so well documented, we have decided that the future commends us to de-emphasize writing in our curriculum and, instead, begin training our students in the art of producing short video clips for YouTube. We calculate that at the present rate, texting and twitter will supplant the need for day to day communication and that video is the wave of the future in reaching the masses. We will no longer be inflicting endless spelling and grammar lessons on students because of the new, freely abbreviated language emerging in txt & twt.

Do I have your attention yet? Is this scenario so far-fetched anymore? I do think it is time to admit we live in an era of unprecedented change in the field of communications. So should we endorse all this change and hop on board, not wanting to give up the chance to influence this cultural shift in the name of Christian education? Is this new shift a symptom of cultural decline or simply a new ministry opportunity? The larger question revolves around whether you consider yourself a conservative or a progressive.

Conservatism is based upon the idea that if you leave things alone you leave them as they are. But you do not. If you leave a thing alone you leave it exposed to a torrent of corrosive influences and change. A white post left alone soon becomes a black post. So, too, it is with human institutions. Men are natural backsliders. Human virtue tends by its own nature to rust and rot. Witness the moral drift of our oldest colleges, Harvard and Yale, and the similar tale of decline that has accompanied many churches over the years. Simply clinging to tradition as “the way we have always done it” is no hedge against dissolution and decay. I have decided I am no conservative.

Progressivism assumes that through technology and science the human condition is improving every day, in every way. Change is inevitable and natural and leads us on to broad sunlit paths away from the antiquated and primitive past. There are some problems with this assumption, as any student of nuclear war can tell you. Progressives also suffer from the lack of a fixed target, goal, or endpoint. It is hard for them to agree on a set goal because they have no absolute by which to measure “progress.” Progress should mean that we are always changing the world to suit a vision, but it has been found much easier to just change the vision. Schools used to stress striving for various competencies. Then they shifted to building self-esteem. What we have today are students with steadily declining test scores but who feel better about themselves than ever before in history (in documented test results). I decided I am no progressive.

G.K. Chesterton was much more comfortable with the appellation of “reformer” for it implied a certain set form for which we strive. For him the ideal vision must be set, and he looked to the Scriptures for a form that was set and fixed before time began. A reformer sees a certain thing out of shape and sets to put it into shape, knowing well what that shape is. A reformer is fond of this world in order to change it, but is also fond of another world in order to have something to change it to. This I can live with.

I have decided I am no conservative who will cling tenaciously to the dry crust of tradition long after it has been hollowed out and sucked dry of all essence and life. I am no progressive who is slave to a blind belief that change is of necessity both inevitable and good especially when those who propose it cannot define what the good is. I would rather claim to be a reformer, ever vigilant to call us back to the heavenly vision that remains a constant yet needs to be ever reborn in us anew with fresh zeal and insight. It is not by the might of tradition as it slogs along some weary path or the power of the crowd as it clamors for something new and novel but by the Spirit of the ever living eternal Lord that we build our lives or maintain any human institution (apologies to Zach. 4:6). I want to be ready and willing to judge cultural trends as they come and be an agent of cultural reform instead of either a mere, unthinking follower or an intransigent obstructionist.

As for reading and grammar … to be continued.

Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe

Thoughts were freely taken from G.K. Chesterton and his book, Orthodoxy (chapter 7), written in 1908.

Deadly Doubt

2011-09-29T02:03:00.000-07:00

“You of little faith, why did you doubt?” -Matt. 14:31

Pity poor Peter. Here he goes and joins Jesus walking on water, demonstrating beyond words that the Master has power over wind and wave and that he is willing to trust in that by jumping overboard himself. Then, all so shortly after his triumph of faith and example, he starts to doubt and sink. The first impulse to pitch over the side of the boat was his finest moment. His action screamed to all, “Follow me.” But then the wetness of that water had to have drawn his eyes down to his feet, miraculously suspended over nothingness, and the thought had to have occurred to him, “What have I just done?” As soon as the heart started to sink, so did the feet.

Doubt always seems to haunt our finest accomplishments. A long time past in a place far away, I knew of a young man who had spent a carefully calculated year of his life building a house for his young family. The land was paid for. The materials had been carefully laid up in advance. The design utilized rough-sawn boards from a mill. The aim was to be debt free. The house grew steadily all that summer with the help of a few friends and was ready to move into by winter’s first freeze. A good hard freeze did come a bit sooner than expected and a still exposed pipe froze under the house. Alone, he crawled under the house and spent some considerable time with a torch in a fruitless effort to thaw the frozen pipe. Frustration and doubts grew by the minute and were certainly exaggerated by the year’s toil and weariness. Finally, he gave up, and as he emerged from that crawl space, he threw down the torch in a pile of scrap-wood, walked off in dejected defeat, and said to himself, “I’ve created a monster.” The house burned to the ground as a total loss.

I saw that house shortly before it burned. It was beautiful in its artful simplicity; a masterpiece of economy and style. I had praised the plan as brilliant, the workmanship as of the highest order. A single doubt undermined and destroyed the dream of years in one, heart-sick day. But strange as it may seem, I understood the defeated spirit that had undercut my friend. Have not we all experienced the same struggle on a thousand fronts so many times before? None, perhaps, with such catastrophic consequences. But nevertheless, we know the dark moments of doubt that persistently dog our finest moments; especially our finest moments.

My best sermons, my finest prayers, my most labored woodworking efforts, my most profound contributions to conversation or print are almost always followed by doubt. The master doubt planter comes and sows those seeds in the small hours of the morning. “What have you done now? My, but that was silly. Can you actually believe you said (or did) that?” Even the great cooks in my family never fail to place their best creations on the table without disclaimers and doubts. “Is it good? Do you like it?” I think this continued curse to mankind of fear and doubt comes from the same one who uttered those eternally deadly words, “Hath God said?”

It is one thing to live with some healthy humility that includes room for self-imposed questioning. It is quite another thing to see good things, to see hopes and dreams die under a crushing load of doubt. It certainly enters the mind of every newly married person at some point or other, “Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life?” And tragically, far too many succumb to it. We bring children into the world and pour ourselves into their parenting only to confront the horrors of doubt in the lonely moments of our soul.

It was said of Daniel that he could dissolve doubts (Dan. 5:12). We sure could use him from time to time. But his source of strength is available to all; even today. And may we be ever willing to extend hope to the hopeless. It is a ministry as sorely needed as any; the ministry of encouragement. Who about us is peering into the abyss and in need of a steady hand and a good word?

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

The New and the Old

2011-09-23T02:39:00.000-07:00

“…there is no new thing under the sun.” -Ecc. 1:9

One of the advantages of being old is that I can remember when new ideas were once old ideas, long since discarded. When I first graduated from Wheaton College in 1966, we learned under the traditional semester system where school started after Labor Day, semester exams were held in early January, and school let out in early June. That’s the way it was back then except we were hearing about a new model of doing school called the quarter system. It was taking root in some state schools and seemed cutting edge and revolutionary. By the time I went back for graduate school two years later, the quarter system was standard in most colleges and universities. The school year was divided into three equal quarters with a fourth quarter available in the summer. Most students liked the quarter system because of shorter class lengths and because they fit neatly between vacation times. No taking home papers and guilt over the Christmas break.

Fast forward some twenty years later, and I was in the middle of another graduate program at UT, on the quarter system. But lo and behold, all of a sudden a new wave of innovation was sweeping the nation’s universities. It was called the semester system. By the time I graduated, I had a bevy of both quarter and semester credits with higher math called in to calculate their equivalency. We all were assured, however, that the semester system was a much better educational experience with some folks actually trying to pass it off as “new.”

In my old age, I confess to be a bit numb to whatever is being bandied about as being “new” in the field of “education.” I have seen any number of fads come and go; from schools without failure to open classrooms without walls or doors. But most interesting are the old concepts that resurface from time to time as “cutting edge, innovative, reforms.” It looks like we have another one on our hands with the current renewed interest in “community schools.”

Having been raised in community schools back in the days before bussing and consolidation, it perked my interest. I have long lamented the disappearance of small community or, what we used to call, neighborhood schools. These were schools that children could walk to within their own neighborhoods. I grew up walking to school from K5 through 4th grade while living in the city. At Oakwood Elementary, we students even walked home for lunch and then returned for afternoon classes. The school was small, but neighborhood involvement was high. It was a hub for social activities as well as education. We knew and were known by others. Bullies could not hide in some faceless mob. We supported our school with newspaper drives and scout groups. It was our school.

But the neighborhood school concept was soon seen as outmoded. It was clearly shown on a piece of paper that consolidating into larger schools brought greater cost efficiency and made possible greater course offerings and more special services. Greater numbers of students had to be bussed in and student body populations soared. Coaches loved it because it gave them greater numbers to pick from for athletic teams. Administrator salaries grew proportionally. All sorts of new classes proliferated with special teachers. It was an impressive superstructure to behold. No one seemed to notice the increased anonymity that students experienced. The criminal element loved it. And good students had to claw their way to the top to gain access to student government or sports team leadership. Only one student in 2000 was able to claim the prize of being the band, drum major. PTA was a distant and amorphous activity. After-school activities were privy only to those with transportation. And the politics of control slipped away to some centralized district.

Imagine my amusement when this week’s News Sentinel featured a front page story about our superintendent visiting some “cutting-edge” new schools in Cincinnati called “community schools.” They are smaller, given over to high community involvement, and reflective of the needs and make-up of the local community or neighborhood. Guess what? Parental involvement is higher, school buildings function as a social hub, test scores are higher, and everybody seems happier. I love it. What is old is new again. But it is only politically acceptable if we re-label it as “new” and “innovative.” This new wineskin raises some questions, but if done well, it could be a very positive step in returning American schools back towards their former position of greatness. Now, I wonder how long it will be before they re-introduce the possibility of failure? What could we call it? How about “terminal re-direction”? Pardon my cynicism.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Family and the Narrow Way

2011-09-11T12:19:00.000-07:00

“God setteth the solitary in families….” -Psalm 68:6

Relatives and close family members can be both a blessing and a curse. I remember my much older cousin, Gerald, who would come out to our farm when I was a boy and would go rabbit hunting with me in the winter time. Now I could go rabbit hunting anytime I wanted to all by myself. I just seldom did. But when Gerald wanted to participate, it was a high, energy-packed affair that I would not have missed for anything. There were jokes and stories and a thing called male camaraderie; a term I would not have known at that age, but something very real I experienced and relished. It was richer still because we were both Nordmoes; men of the same bloodline, stomping through the winter snow, with guns, celebrating each kill with mutual praise.

Not all was goodness and light within the Nordmoe clan, however. Blessed with several aunts and uncles within a close geographic area, there was always someone not speaking to someone. I listened in on numerous stories of the quirks, foibles, and, at times, extremely hurtful things that were said and done, one to another. I remember one of my favorite uncles falling under the spell of alcohol for a time and putting his whole family through some years of agony and embarrassment. Then there was the crazy aunt who decided to open a restaurant with the gracious help of several extended family members. She may have known how to cook but was absolutely hapless when it came to working with people, most especially family. The grand experiment was short lived with a host of hurt feelings left in its wake.

As a young boy, I remember numerous boring afternoons spent sitting in the homes of my childless aunts and uncles as we made the obligatory visits. Those with cousins were a welcome relief, for the most part, considering that most of them were girls. I endured the aunt who insisted on kissing me. I resented at times the invalid grandmother who spent months living with us. She restricted our family freedom, never spoke to me, and smelled like an old person. Then there was the grandfather who picked trick or treat night to get in an accident far out of town and died shortly after we arrived at the hospital. Spoiled all my great plans. He never spoke to me either, but always there was some obligation to attend to him, the mysterious recluse.

All together, my extended family was quite a collection of average folk with a sprinkle of misfits, misers, loners, perfectionists, gadflies; all born with a general family propensity for stubbornness and aloofness that streaked them all. It was more my nature to run from them than to them. And even now as a grown and soon to be old man, I marvel how our family gatherings seem to gravitate to the funny stories we tell on one another. Our idiosyncrasies are well known throughout the family. So how is it that we should think it a good thing to live together in community? Why on earth would we want to purposefully tie ourselves in with other Christians when we can’t even get along with our own kin? Why sign up for more pain, frustration, and ties that restrict? And God wants to set the solitary in families like that’s a good thing?

I have been dwelling this weekend on how it actually is a good thing, even after spending three whole days holed up in a two bedroom cabin with five other adults and 4 grandchildren. Look at it this way. We have a hollowness at our core, a sin nature that prefers darkness to light. When left alone, we are at our worst. Who would think of swearing in church? Of course not. We have little trouble living the Christian life on Sunday mornings. Even within the family, we experience restraints that keep us in the narrow way. Cain would not have killed Abel had they been in the presence of Adam and Eve. So it is that fatherless boys are so much more likely to end up in prison. We chafe at the restrictions that family members put upon us, especially when they are irritating and spiteful. But even then, they confront us with real life versus the escapism that would tempt us to a life of obscurity where our evil deeds could be hidden under a veil of secrecy and anonymity. God knows best. There is safety in the flock. We need each other if only to bring out the best in us when challenged by another’s weakness. Now, if only I could sell that to teen-agers.

Mercy and Truth,

Mr. Moe

The Man & the Message

2011-09-01T14:48:00.000-07:00

“…for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” -Matt. 12:34

Ad hominem is a Latin phrase that simply means “to the man.” It has come into clichéd usage to refer to an attack upon someone’s work or body of ideas because of a character flaw within the author of that work. We all have an expectation that others will practice what they preach or else we feel somewhat free to ignore what they say. While this is true up to a point, some have hidden behind the inconsistencies of men to deny the truth of God as if that is excuse enough. Hardly so, as Paul would exclaim that God’s truth still stands even though all men be liars. So it is that the earth is still round even should my 6th grade science teacher be found to be a scoundrel, thief, and a wastrel.

Nevertheless, the ad hominem test is one which is still valid and needful today. There is a very strong undertow in our society today that says that a man’s professional life and personal life are two entirely different matters. What a person does in his personal life is none of our business. As a result, we can find college professors who parade by day as respected scholars and by night are producers of pornography with not a blush of inconsistency or shame. How far we have come from Harry Truman who wouldn’t knowingly hire a man who had cheated on his wife: “You know, if a man will lie to his wife, he'll lie to me. And if he'll break his oath of marriage, he'll break his oath of office.”

And in the area of scholarship, I want to know the personal credentials of an author as well as any honors and degrees he might hold. It can often be quite revealing. It tells me of what bent that writer or thinker is and if they have been able to live consistently with the ideas they are propounding. I remember very distinctly sitting in a history of education class as we were exposed to a lengthy exposition of the Emile by Jean Jaques Rousseau. To his credit, it was one of the first major treatises upon the subject of education other than the Bible and described in great detail the ideal education of a child at the hearthside of his parents. What they did not tell me in that class was that Rousseau fathered several children and turned them all over to an orphanage as soon as they were born. I was never able to read that book again without total contempt.

It is long recognized that in all the social sciences and literature that the prejudices and predilections of an author will easily color the results of his research and writings. In knowing these preconceptions, we can understand so much more fully the product of that person’s scholarship and be apprised of his intentions. I was recently interested to discover that, even in the field of economics, morality matters. John Maynard Keynes (1883-1946) was a giant in matters of macro-economics, the finance of nations. He still casts a strong shadow upon the thinking of world leaders including our own. He advocated powerful central governments promoting prosperity through inflationary policies and spending on public works. In his view, a severe public crisis called for deliberate public deficits. Sound familiar? It turns out he was a deeply rebellious intellectual who imbibed a severe atheism in his youth. In his Cambridge days, he was part of a group who “entirely repudiated a personal liability … to obey general rules. We claimed the right to judge every individual case on its merits, and the wisdom to do so successfully. This was a very important part of our faith, violently and aggressively held, and for the outer world it was our most obvious and dangerous characteristic. We repudiated entirely customary morals, conventions, and traditional wisdom.” Part of the wisdom that Keynes repudiated was classical economics which emphasized work and savings in an environment of economic freedom and sound money. He trashed it simply as “Puritanism.”

Do we really want to follow someone who rejects tradition simply because it is old, who violently reacts to anything Christian because it smacks of God, who is totally conceited with his own wisdom because it is “superior”? And then should we trust him with the treasure of nations and the fate of peoples to say nothing of our 401-K’s? Apparently we have, and we will undoubtedly face the consequences whatever those may be. Did no one check this man’s credentials at the door before we gave him the keys to the kingdom? Ad hominem, I say.

Mercy and Truth,

Mr. Moe

Bad News, Good News

2011-08-26T07:51:00.001-07:00

“How blessed is everyone who fears the Lord, who walks in His ways.” -Ps. 128:1

Here it is, not even two weeks into the new school year, and already I’ve seen tears; and not from young kindergarten students on their first day away from home. These are moms, and probably there are some dads as well stifling the emotion welling up within them. The carefully nursed expectations of the new year are suddenly dashed as students come face to face with the brick walls of reality. School can be tough. Friendships fragile. Shortcomings revealed. And the grass on the other side of some imaginary fence all of a sudden is ablaze with a vibrant green.

For those with struggles straight out of the gate, I am moved with compassion. Hard starts are discouraging. But if the book of true confessions were written, there are plenty of doubts hanging out in everyone’s anxiety closet. Yes, every family in school, every parent, every student, every husband or wife has one. I have one. It is part of our nature to dwell on the dark side at times, and when we do we see nothing but warts and wrinkles, imperfections and weaknesses, mistakes and fears.

Is the future ahead one of promise or peril? Given our propensity for bad news, we generally fear the worst. The daily news seems to just reinforce our preconception of things sliding down a slippery slope into the abyss of no return. Just thinking about where we are headed can conjure up depressing images something akin to John’s Revelations. But how much of that is fed by a media cycle that feeds upon the bizarre and the sensational? And is there any good news?

I was pleasantly surprised to find that there is. A Christian sociologist from the University of Connecticut, Bradley Wright, has come out with a book entitled, “Christians Are Hate-Filled Hypocrites …and Other Lies You’ve Been Told.” He has explored some modern, commonly held conceptions and found them to be more urban legend and myth than truth. Myth#1: Christians have a higher divorce rate than non-Christians. He did the research and found that evangelicals and those who have greater rates of church attendance are not as likely to go through divorce. Myth#2: Young evangelical youth are leaving the faith in droves. He compared youth of today with the youth of their grandparent’s era and found roughly the same trends. The young are always less religious than the old. In fact, church attendance in the 20th century was greater than in the 19th century. Myth #3: Abstinence programs don’t work. Prof. Wright found that there is a significant correlation between church attendance and abstinence among unmarried youth. Myth #4: There is more poverty and hunger today than ever before. Actual case is that hunger has decreased, but our immediate awareness of what does exist is up significantly. Myth #5: Totalitarianism is on the rise. Truth is that democracy has significantly increased over the past 50 years and is still growing. Besides the obvious tabloid journalism, Christians are partly to blame for our tendency to pick up the black flag of world demise and point to end times near at hand.

We have an enemy that loves to do the same within the looped memories of our minds. He loves to replay my failures and projected fears which are many. But Ps. 128 arrested my attention this week with its beautiful promises of blessing for those who fear him. My marriage and family are far from perfect, but I can unquestionably see how these promises have come to fruition in my life. All of a sudden I am looking at good news instead of bad. My wife has been a fruitful vine, my children like olive plants. I have eaten of the fruit of my hands, and I have lived to see my children’s children. The Lord has blessed from Zion in spite of tears, stumblings, mistakes, and numerable shortcomings. Perhaps we fail to see the prosperity of our Jerusalems because we fail to look for it. May we look for the good news and find cause to be grateful.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Ghostly Mountains

2011-08-22T01:56:00.000-07:00

“As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds His people….” –Ps. 125:2

Yes, I continue to be amazed at the capability of good people, educated people, even good church people, to self-destruct. All we like sheep have gone astray. It is our nature to wander away from the flock and the good shepherd into places we ought not to go. Heedless of danger, we are drawn this way and that by seemingly small and inconsequential enticements that isolate us from our community and expose us to the merciless elements. In the full light of day the dangers are not apparent, but soon the darkness falls about us as compromise leads to habit and habit to fatal addiction. Then the howl of the night reveals our vulnerability as, alone, we face the predatory beasts who easily have their way with us. And to our naïve surprise we discover we are no match for them. Easy pickings for the prince of darkness. Family ties are no defense. Education of no use. Intelligence checkmated. Experience of years for naught. Sophistication and status irrelevant. We are lambs to the slaughter.

But this is a most dreary and morose theme. I dwell on it occasionally as a check to my pride. I am never so smart or wise that moral disaster cannot overtake me. When I think I stand I need to take heed lest I fall. Yet there is another side to this coin. It is one I need to keep before me as well, and it is nothing but good news. We have a shepherd who neither sleeps nor slumbers and knows each of his flock by name. Indeed, we have a keeper who joys over us with singing (Zeph. 3:17). And that keeper is none other than the Lord God who made heaven and earth. No Hollywood super hero or beneficent, powerful transformer can compare to this eternal force in the heavens who counts us as his own.

Besides my fixation with our own inherent human weakness this summer, I have also been pre-occupied with mountains as well. Being face to face with these giants of the earth inspires a sense of reverence and wonder. So when I read of God surrounding his people as the mountains surrounding Jerusalem, I have some very awesome pictures in my mind stemming from my experiences standing amidst the western range of the great Rocky Mountains. One has to pick one’s approach to these mountains carefully as they are formidable barriers to the traveler. We followed trails discovered years ago; trails that would grant access to the carefully secluded lakes and valleys that thrill the visitor with grand views and inviting landscapes. It is there, in these secluded valleys that campgrounds, inns, and even grand hotels love to make their home. These are dead end roads that proudly declare, “End of the line. No other way in or out.” There is something sweetly comforting about being nestled in one of those sheltered coves. Not even great storms have easy access to these havens ringed about with walls of stone thousands of feet above.

So, too, Scripture declares a haven to the soul. Those who trust in the Lord are as Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abide forever. And as the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds His people. I take great comfort in this as I walk a very narrow path. Yes, I see others falling by the wayside succumbing to a thousand follies. Yet, if I trust and abide in the Lord, I will not fear even if a thousand shall fall at my side, and ten thousand at my right hand. It shall not come near me (Ps. 91:7). My eternal soul is secure and safe. The souls of my children can be secure and safe. So long as I continue to trust in the Lord and dwell under the shadow of His wings, I will not be moved.

This world is hazardous beyond our imaginations or the scope of any government to fix. Yet through a life of faith, we can live surrounded by the most majestic of peaks of God’s care and provision. Oh, that we could catch a glimpse of them now and again.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Lifting Eyes Unto the Hills

2011-08-02T18:52:00.000-07:00

“He established the earth upon its foundations, So that it will not totter forever and ever.” –Ps. 104:5

I walked among the mountains of the U.S. and Canadian Rockies this summer, and it troubled my mind as much as it soothed my spirit. I stood on varied colored sedimentary rock that once sat under ancient seas. I was told they were millions of years old and were slowly laid down layer upon layer under alternating shallow and deep oceans. I could see where there were cracks in one layer where the silt had dried under a hot sun and split open into a spider web pattern. These were then subsequently filled in with other material leaving a graphic picture of prehistoric dried mud. Then these sea beds were thrust upwards thousands of feet forming the purple mountain majesties we find so captivating. Following that, the glaciers went to work carving out the valleys and lakes. This, of course, took another few million years. And in the process, we were given a dramatic cross cut view of the mountain itself with its undulating layers pushed up at odd angles. Each layer represented another eon of time for natural processes to complete their work.

Or did it? Old earth, new earth? Which is it? Is the earth billions of years old with its story undeniably written and recorded in rock and stone? It will be one of my first questions when arriving in heaven. I really would like to know. Of course, once there, our questions which we hold so dear will probably seem quite trivial. I still can’t help but ponder this question of earth age. It compelled me to try to reconcile this with Scripture.

I went not to Genesis but to the Psalms to read of God’s hand in creation. In the poetic I hoped to find clues to the graphic. Poetry reaches beyond the concrete and portrays reality in a way that plain narrative cannot. There I found that God was “the one who by his strength established the mountains” (Ps. 65:6). I saw a picture of great convulsions in nature in Ps. 77 where the earth trembled and shook as God moved through the sea following a path through the great waters. Ps. 95 talks of the depths of the earth, the heights of the mountains, and all the seas as being in His hands as He formed the dry land. Ps. 97 tells us that the earth trembles before the Lord and that the mountains melt like wax before His presence. But most graphically, Ps. 104 describes the processes of creation where messengers of wind and fire were involved in setting the earth on its foundation so that it should never be moved. Waters covered the earth as a garment and stood above the mountains. At God’s rebuke the waters fled, the mountains rose, and the valleys sank down to the place He appointed for them. It all sounds very cataclysmic over a much shorter period of time.

And why mountains? They are pretty to look at but nothing can grow on them nor can anyone live there. Did God put them there for pure variety’s sake? I was thrilled to learn that they have a very real purpose. As I stood on a glacier of 1,000 feet thick ice beneath my feet, I learned that 75% of the world’s fresh water comes from glacial run off. The mountains serve a life-giving function in capturing and storing up the winter snows, compacting them to ice, and then slowly releasing them to water the earth. Even the atheist is compelled to admit that the earth seems to be ideally suited to sustain human life. Almost by design. Imagine that. And the mountains have their place in this grand scheme.

As to their age, that mystery is still not known. But I do know that it is the glory of God to conceal a matter (Pro. 25:2). And in His wisdom He has decreed that the just shall live by faith during our sojourn on this earth. I reserve the right to hold the processes of "millions of years" with some serious suspicion. God the creator has veiled his presence from us, to keep us walking by faith and not by sight. And in creation, He has covered His own tracks quite well. He might even be just a bit downright "unscrupulous" in leaving a trail of evidence that would disguise his hand in all of this. The secular scientist has no way of admitting to the agency of a God who can touch the mountains and make them smoke. He can only theorize natural causes. He believes only what he can see. We believe so that we can see.

The unbeliever looks and proudly assures himself that this is a self-made universe so he can declare himself the resident in-charge landlord and sole proprietor. At the bottom, this is nothing more than your garden-variety mutiny in the vineyard (Luke 20) dressed up in the white smock of a learned geologist.

Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe

Rebellion

2011-07-21T19:51:00.001-07:00

“But Samuel said, "What then is this bleating of the sheep in my ears, and the lowing of the oxen which I hear?"-I Sam. 15:14

Biology 101. Sophomore year of high school. I found myself in a class of middle to low achievers. By comparison, I was enough of a trustworthy student to have earned a seat next to the one cute girl in a room full of boys, some of whom were jail material. We sat at two-person lab tables on stools. My partner was a cheerleader, not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but perky and excitable. The class was predictably slow and unchallenging; the teacher struggling against the stream. One day mid-year, I somehow found myself in the possession of a small, plastic crawdad in my pocket. Amid the drone of another dull class, I pulled it out and craftily placed it next to my partner’s elbow resting on the table; then feigned total indifference. Moments later, a shriek rang out across the classroom as my partner fell to the floor in complete alarm. The critter instantly disappeared as my prank had escalated beyond my dreams. Wrongfully assuming my innocence (only “A” in the room), the teacher just warned everyone that those stools could be tricky.

I was enough of a rule keeper in my adolescent years to avoid serious trouble. No charges of petty theft, no cursing or fighting, no truancy, or even a duck-tail haircut. I have never smoked a cigarette to this day. Yet there was a latent edge of rebellion that became a part of my life during that time. It was subtle and manifested itself in curious ways. The teen years are a time of self discovery, and I was no exception. We all wanted to be unique and affirmed; at the same time. I started picking the rules I would obey and the ones I would not. The big ones were “no brainers”, but the small ones became a matter of my prerogative. I resisted and dodged certain chores at home that were abhorrent to me. I started to pick what classes at school I would work hard at and which ones I would skate. I hung with some kids who would steal bowling balls as trophies. I would take a salt shaker from the school cafeteria as a souvenir. Nothing outrageous, mind you, but always a bit of the rebel.

Rebelliousness is in every human heart ever since the garden. “Hath God said…?” was the whisper that led us all astray and continues to echo down through time. Mine was never a threat to society yet it was there, nevertheless. At times, I papered it over as a creative spirit that was not suited to following the herd. “Why should I memorize a senseless list that was in the back of every textbook?” At times my independent streak served me well. One night I was with some friends when they partook of their parents’ liquor cabinet. I, alone, abstained and discovered I had no trouble doing so. But other things I could rationalize with the best.

In retrospect, I can see where this has hurt me over the years. I was a terrible student at language for I would chafe at the drills and any rote work. I forfeited a chance to go into chemical research because I found the discipline too confining. I opened myself up to embarrassment at times for my susceptibility to compromise. My military career was doomed from the start because of my tendency towards “inventiveness.” Yes, it helped me stand alone as a beginning teacher when all the rest went out on an illegal strike. But it was much too late in life that I came face to face with the story of Saul’s selective obedience in I Sam. 15. “… rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry.” It took those words to shake me out of my comfortable delusion. I was not being unique, creative, or expressing my personality. I was rebellious.

How life turns. Now I am the gatekeeper of rules; the enforcer, no less. It is only by the grace of God that I now, too, can say, “To obey is better than sacrifice.” With respect to the authority figures that God places in our lives, my advice now is to listen and follow. If it is not illegal, immoral, or fattening, just do it. We will be the better persons for it. Standing alone for righteousness sake was relatively easy for me. Submitting to authority, convention, or any form of discipline was my moral challenge. Beware the bleating of sheep.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

The "B" Word

2011-07-16T02:52:00.001-07:00

“O Lord, how many and varied are Your works! In wisdom have You made them all;” -Ps. 104:24

There were any number of forbidden words in our household when our children were growing up. Most of them, of course, were of the four letter variety. But one word was five letters long and was known as “the B word.” It is one which we can print here and one which some of you might not even find that objectionable. Quite simply, it was any usage of the word, bored. It just seemed to us to be a crime against humanity for any of our children to proclaim themselves bored in a home located in the heart of the United States of America where toys, puzzles, pens, pencils, and paints abound; to say nothing of books by the boxfuls. If that would not suit their fancy, there was always the resident cat and dog accompanied by periodic episodes of hamsters, rabbits, and chickens. Plus, if push came to shove, there were two other siblings present at all times to either join with in cooperative fun or to torment in some fashion or another. In good weather, there was a full acre of grounds to roam, trees to climb, flush with abundant material for fashioning forts, kitchens, or club houses. To claim boredom was to bring the wrath of Khan down upon their heads.

I must confess to having experienced brief times of boredom. Usually it was at the hands of some speaker droning on and on about a topic of no import (“The History of Hats in Medieval Italy”) in a manner that resembled someone reciting all 415 colors in a paint catalog. Yes, the state of boredom is not just an affliction confined to the young. Adults find themselves sometimes trapped in boring jobs, coming home to boring marriages, and even attending boring churches. How much of this is a prison built of drab, colorless walls wherein they are truly trapped, and how much of it is self-inflicted blindness due to their own inability to see the fascinating that lurks within the mundane? That is a complex question with serious spiritual dimensions.

I suspect that the answer lies more with what is going on within us than with what is going on around us. We have been placed in an incredibly fascinating world. Life abounds around us in astonishing variety, both great and small, and in full living color. This is no black and white world (which, in retrospect, would have worked just fine, I suspect). I am continually amazed how life pervades every conceivable corner of our world in the most hostile of environments. I have seen spiders crawling out of holes in snowfields. Miraculously, some forms of algae and bacteria flourish in the Dead Sea. Even in the deepest depths of the ocean, life has been discovered.

The Psalmist exclaims, “O Lord, how many and varied are Your works! …the earth is full of Your riches and Your creatures.” These are the words of someone who has come face to face with the wonder of wonders, an infinite God who sets the universe as His table and yet numbers the hairs on our head and calls us by name. Made in His image, we were meant to live in full appreciation of the vast panoply of wonders imbedded in creation. He calls to us through it, and we are audience to the beauty and complexity of it all. The work of the Holy Spirit surely amplifies God’s voice to us in creation and stirs in us the ability to praise Him “…majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders” (Ex. 15:12). To be obsessed with ourselves is the fountainhead of boredom. To look heavenward is to discover not only who we are but the magnificent stage we stand upon. In the midst of our mindless hours, the key to victory over boredom is to break free of our self pity and look out upon the miraculous that surrounds our every step.

Children, go out and play! Look under rocks, scan the skies, smell the leaves, observe the ants, dig in the earth, unlock the secrets of a seed, and marvel! And in becoming as little children ourselves, we, too, can enter the kingdom where we discover God’s most remarkable world and raise our voice in praise.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Parenting

2011-06-25T11:00:00.000-07:00

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

Another milestone in our year has come. Registration for next year’s classes is upon us. For me, it is that bend in the road where I mark another year of dreaming for the future of RECA while realizing that one more year of sharing life together with you is winding down. For you, it is that time of committing your students to another year of school with River’s Edge. I am well aware as I have walked this road with many of you that this means a choice of continued sacrifice and dedication to a hard and narrow path. In choosing River’s Edge, you are not taking the path of least resistance. If we were to practice truth in advertising, I would find myself marketing RECA in the words of Churchill, “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” Not a very great advertising slogan indeed.

What can I say to encourage you in this good work? Good parenting is nothing less than “blood, toil, tears, and sweat.” Did we expect any less? In truth, I had little idea of what I was getting myself into in bringing home that first baby from the hospital. No, I did not know all the labor involved in raising a child into adult hood. Perhaps that was a good thing else we might not have gone there. God, in His wisdom, introduces children to us when they are small, cute, and cuddly. By the time we realize they can become sassy, feisty adolescents, it is too late. We have already committed ourselves, heart and soul.

Whatever state of blissful ignorance that may have surrounded bringing children into the world, it soon dissipates. We realize we have a job on our hands. In God’s wisdom, He continues to draw us into deeper waters where we must lose any focus we might have had on ourselves as being the center of the universe. Marriage starts it. Children cement the deal. Parenting will take us farther than we had ever planned and cost us more that we had ever bargained. But also in God’s wisdom, the more we die to self, the more we gain.

Parenting is tough if we do it right. If we shun the work, however, and try to do it on the cheap, it can come back to haunt us as a nightmare that never goes away. My heart bleeds for those I know who have reaped that whirlwind. Our experience in parenting was much as yours is now. A lot of work, work, and more work. A lot of tears along with the laughter, and a lot of self-doubts as to how it would work out. But let me point out some joys at the end of the rainbows (following the storms) that I remember so clearly. One day you too may get a phone call from your son or daughter who tells you that they are graduating from college … with honors. It was the one you worried most about. Then there is the day when you will stand before a solemn assembly and give them away in marriage to a godly mate, knowing full well they have come to that point, fully chaste, and still walking with the Lord. It hardly gets any better than that. But yes, it does. There is that day where you will put your feet under their kitchen table for the first time as they serve you a home cooked meal and feel the earth move beneath you. And after they move away, there is that heart that overflows with gratitude when they come to visit, genuinely glad to see you and you them. They share family reunions as adults on equal terms where the jokes flow and new memories are made on a level we never knew possible. Then there are the quiet Sunday mornings where we rise, just the two of us, and head for church knowing that all three children are doing the same thing, miles and miles away, without being told. How blessed we are. It was all worth it. Of course, then there are the six grandchildren that are thrown in for good measure and now we share in the pain and pleasure of supporting that great work except we get most of the fun while mom and dad get most of the work.

Whatever it takes, in terms of love, discipline, time, and effort, even another year at River’s Edge perhaps, it is well worth it in the end. You, too, will reap in good season if you faint not.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Sheltering

2011-06-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. –Eph. 6:13

For those who don’t know or recognize it, “sheltering” has become a dirty word. It has been accused of keeping company with words like censorship, intolerance, narrow thinking, bigotry, suppression, and fanaticism. “Sheltering” to most of us, however, is synonymous with protecting, caring, shielding, and defending. King David was a “shelterer” over 2000 years before internet filtering as he wrote, “I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes: I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me.” (Psalm 101:3) But somehow our culture has taken the basically Christian idea of forbearance and twisted it beyond recognition so that intellectual maturity is measured by what we allow and entertain and not by what we forswear.

I am still of that old school that judges a beautiful house by the good things it contains and not by its non-discriminating tolerance for junk, animals of every sort, and filth beyond measure. Sure, a clean, well-kept house makes me feel uncomfortable if I were to think of entering while in my garden boots and dirty work clothes while a mud hut would not make me feel in the least bit hesitant. Keeping intellectual house in today’s world, however, seems to put a value upon making the bats, roaches, snakes, and pigs all feel welcome.

I just reviewed the website of the American Library Association and went to their section celebrating banned books. After perusing the list of challenged or banned books which they champion as a defense of our 1st amendment rights, I felt strangely dirty. The last time I felt that way was after entering some squalid refugee huts in the Dominican Republic where dirt and disease were everywhere around me. I yearned for a shower and some soapy disinfectant. Paul says we are to destroy speculations and every lofty thing raised up against the knowledge of God, and to take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Cor. 10:5). Paul’s desire is simply to be clean. We mark our humanity by what we do not allow as well as the things we tolerate; perhaps more so. We have forgotten that being a person of “discriminating tastes” is a compliment.

Ed Dunlop, who writes for The Old Schoolhouse, has an interesting article out entitled “Homeschool Dads; Guarding the Castle.” He draws a strong parallel between the protective features and functions of the medieval castle and the task of guarding our hearts in today’s dark and hostile world. “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life” (Pro. 4:23) is his key verse. I would urge you to link on to the article at www.crosswalk.com/homeschool/11604986/ to read in full. Protection of hearth and home in medieval Europe was the name of the game in self-preservation. So it is today if we are to protect our hearts from being destroyed by a thousand and one evil values that come to us wrapped in the comic strains of a hilarious TV show or blatantly fed to us by a smooth tongued panelist putting a slick spin on sin.
The arena of battle today is our minds which are so accessible to the powerful and ever-present media that surround us. I feel it pressing in on me. It is where I live or die spiritually. J. M. Njoroge, an apologist for Ravi Zacharias ministries writes, “… the power of ideas is most clearly demonstrated in the absolute effectiveness of the Tempter’s strategy in the Garden of Eden. How did Satan succeed in driving Adam and Eve away from God? Not through demon possession or illness, and not by overpowering their will: he succeeded by planting an idea in their mind. Ever since the human race bought the lie that we can actually become gods ourselves in place of God, we have been willing—even resolved—to do our enemy’s bidding. The key arena for this spiritual battle has been our minds.” May we all, parent and child together, find shelter for our minds in the cleft of the Rock that shadows a dry thirsty land.

Mercy and Truth,
Mr. Moe

A Single Eye

2011-06-16T02:32:00.000-07:00

“The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!” -Matt. 6:22-23

I can think of no more sensitive part of the body than the eye. I can cut, stab, tear, or bruise any part of me and endure, but a small grain of sand in my eye leaves me groveling and helpless. My one yucky memory of army bayonet training is to feint a stab at my enemy’s eyes. He will instinctively protect. Eye surgery is the stuff nightmares are made of, and most of us retain memories of some sort of procedure we hope never to repeat. Yet we all desperately need eye surgery of the most radical kind; to have our eye rendered “single.”

I borrow liberally today from a sermon John Wesley preached in his waning days when he labored under an acute concern for his followers as they were steadily emerging into new found prosperity and respectability. The sermon was a solemn and stern warning to his flock. “What the eye is to the body, intention is to the soul.” What has captured the intention of the human heart? What does it aim at? Where is it looking for fulfillment and purpose? Wesley hammered and hammered this theme with a desperate sense of urgency that seems so needful today. ‘If thine eye be single,’ singly fixed upon God, ‘thy whole body,’ that is, all thy soul, ‘shall be full of light,’ shall be filled with holiness and happiness. And again: If thine eye be single; if God be in all thy thoughts; if thou are constantly aiming at Him who is invisible; if it be in thy intention, in all things small and great, in all thy conversation to please God, to do not thy own will, but the will of him who sent thee into the world; if thou canst not say to … him who made thee for thyself, “I view thee, Lord, and end of my desires;” –then the promise will certainly take place: “Thy whole body shall be full of light:” thy whole soul shall be filled with the light of heaven; with the glory of the Lord resting upon thee. It is only then that we should be able to “pray without ceasing” and “in everything give thanks.”

We live, breathe, and swim in a world filled with distractions. The media is everywhere blaring at us, assaulting our senses with a Madison Avenue finesse that has perfected seduction to a high art form and science. Our wheels easily take us places wherever our heart desires and wherever our instincts for entertainment lead us. Our prosperity enables us to consume at a level never before known in the history of the world. Our driven culture plies us with activity upon activity consuming our time with amazing efficiency. It is also an increasingly visual world we live in where old timey circus freak shows, gaudy and cheap in their obvious trickery, are now replaced by digital special effects that are all but impossible to discern from real life. We now live with one foot in the Star Trek “hollow deck,” a roomful of space-age illusion. No wonder we struggle with having a “single eye” fixed on God. No wonder I do.

A distracted and dissatisfied soul is not a modern invention by any means. Wesley lamented in his day, the hungry soul, like the busy bee, wanders from flower to flower; but it goes off from each, with an abortive hope, and a deluded expectation. But nothing in this world has the capacity to satisfy the human soul no matter what great labors of pain or skill are taken to extract it. “A fool may find a kind of paradise upon earth, (although it is a grand mistake), but the wise man can find none.” Nothing in the realm of the senses or fame or riches or knowledge can replace the peace of home that is found only in God. Love the Lord with all thy heart, mind, soul, and strength. If this guiding principle be left to rust or disuse, to decay in the warm compost of our mall culture, then what is left to direct our understandings, passions, affections, tempers, all our thoughts, words, and actions? How great our darkness will be.

Those of us who cherish old British literature know well the recurring theme of parents who wished their children to “marry well.” Wesley fought tooth and nail against the very thought of it. Dare you sell your child to the devil? You undoubtedly do this… when you marry a son or daughter to a child of the devil; though it be one who wallows in gold and silver. Beware of the gilded bait! Death and hell are hid beneath! This was plain talk of the creeping darkness that comes when first principles are lost. Sobering words but somehow needful in the summer of our distractions.

Mercy and Truth,

Mr. Moe

Introverts

2011-06-09T03:46:00.000-07:00

“In the secret place of His tent He will hide me…” -Ps. 27:5

We introverts have to contend with a bad rap. How often have you heard a neighbor or fellow worker interviewed after some mad man has run amok and you hear, “He was always quiet and kept to himself.” A certain sinister reputation attends those who can be characterized thusly. There is a good deal of misunderstanding regarding introverted personalities, and it affects quite a few of us. Modern studies show that up to 50% of our American population may be considered “introverts.” I confess I am exhibit “A.” As far as I can remember, I was quite content to play by myself be it a sandbox or with blocks as a child or picking up my .22 cal. squirrel rifle and heading into the fields with my dog as a teen. It was not until much later that I began to wonder if something was wrong with me.

Adam McHugh has written a book entitled, Introverts in the Church: Finding Our Place in an Extroverted Culture. A major premise is the acknowledgement of a present day environment that prizes extroverted personalities that corresponds to the rise of our modern media. The heroes of our culture are the gregarious, hard-charging social leaders who can light up a room or electrify an audience be it on TV or in the church. Introverts readily acknowledge that they are not so gifted or even interested in attempting such a role. As a result, feelings of inferiority often develop as they see themselves not measuring up to our cultural models held in such high esteem. Introverts are often criticized for appearing stand-offish or even arrogant. This further tends to isolate them and deepen their insecurity.

In actuality, McHugh argues that introverts are neither anti-social or shy. He associates shyness with an unhealthy fear of social situations. Introverts are not shy but simply do not feel a pressing need for the company of a group. He cites brain research as showing that introverts have a physically demonstrable more active brain revealed by larger blood flow to differing parts of the brain. When an introverted child was queried by a parent why she didn’t play more with others, her innocent response was that she had plenty of activity going on in her own head. It appears that introverts have a great need to spend more time processing what is going on inside and do not need the external stimulation coming from voices around them as much as their extroverted cousins. When put into situations that demand a high level of social interaction in a compressed period of time, they can demonstrate actual physical symptoms of acute exhaustion because of the overload of such mental activity. Introverts prefer the company of one or two friends to the company of a group. They tend to think deeply and be very loyal to the friendships they do make.

As a parent, one always tends to worry about the child who is quite content to entertain themselves. They are quite easy to raise, but secretly we wonder if they are alright and if they will be as successful as their extroverted brothers or sisters. After all, we want our children all to be leaders, quarterbacks, captains, and class presidents. Adam McHugh challenges us, and rightly so, to look for the gifts that introverts bring to the table whether in the church or in life. In my mind, King David appears to me to have been a raging introvert. Content to spend his youth in the pasture tending sheep, he burst upon the Hebrew stage as a result of an intensely strong inner spiritual life cultivated in private. He took the reins of government reluctantly rather than through personal ambition. Throughout his life, the Psalms reveal a deep thoughtfulness and delight in a personal relationship with God alone and not in crowds of adoring subjects. History is replete with examples of introverts making tremendous contributions to progress in all the arts and sciences. Introverts make great mates, fathers, and mothers. Do you have one in your family? Worry not. Learn to prize them, encourage them, and cherish their unique giftedness. They may one day be the rock you need to lean upon.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Purpose

2011-06-07T05:52:00.000-07:00

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” Rom. 8:28

All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Paul McCartney and John Lennon looked down from their little hill of fame and fortune and wrote a song of despair and fruitlessness attempting to characterize all the little people around them who seemed to live pointless and anonymous lives. Poor Eleanor Rigby. She lived “in a dream waiting at the window, wearing a face she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for?” Equally pointless was the poor priest, Father McKenzie, “writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear. No one comes near.” Poor Eleanor Rigby. She “died in the church and was buried along with her name. Nobody came.”

Through the pure thoughtlessness of a mortuary worker, a room full of us sat quietly a few weeks ago as we waited for the funeral service to start, and we were treated to a clanging incongruencey. The receiving line had ended, the family had taken their seats, the podium was still vacant, and the only sound in this perfectly quiet room was the canned music coming from the speakers while the beloved lay in peaceful repose before us. In soft, tinkly tones, Eleanor Rigby played out as the last song before the service began.

All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Fred Chamberlain was anything but an Eleanor Rigby or a Father McKenzie. Most folks who die at age 103 have outlived all their friends. Yet the room was full of people who had come to pay tribute. The photographs and memorabilia placed about showed a life rich in meaning and productivity. The pastors who spoke (he had lived through several) told story after story of someone who had lived a life of service and had made everyone Fred touched the richer for it. His love for the Lord was beyond question. His church was his second home.

I doubt he had ever received any slick advertising telling him that for $29.95 he could have a copy of a “Who’s Who” with his name in it. The world has never seen Fred’s name in lights. His highest position of leadership in this world was probably the role of deacon at a little no-name Baptist Church. Yet I count him among the ranks of some of the most fortunate of men for he typified for me someone who truly lived a fulfilled life. He had found not only had known who he was and had discovered the rich sense of mission that comes in knowing Christ, Fred had a deep sense of purpose for his own gifts and abilities. He was a worker. I think he found great satisfaction in laboring with his hands. He was a commercial baker for much of his life but came home and baked up countless more loaves of bread to give away. He took delight in fixing things, even things that weren’t his. He served for awhile as a deputy helping where he could. And his service as deacon was an embodiment of everything that word could mean. Retirement? Who can say when he ever quit working. He fashioned windjammers from pop cans, Christmas orbs from hundreds of transparent solo cups, and for his 100th birthday celebration, he fashioned homemade ornaments from thousands of beads tied on ribbons. His smile and cheerful disposition made him welcome everywhere. His loyalty and service to family, a model. Yet he felt himself unworthy of any mansion or crown on the other side. A simple place of service would do.

The hollow sounds of Eleanor Rigby could not mock this man. His life was above it all. No contest. May we all do as well in finding and living out God’s purposes for our lives without complaint, be they humble or profound.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

Mission

2011-06-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

I will redeem you with a stretched out arm, and with great judgments:” -Ex. 6:6

I have always been a junk collector. I still have an old plastic tire gauge vaguely in the shape of a pistol the size of which would fit in a child’s hand. It doesn’t work. It never did. I found it in the dirt walking to school one day when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. Something drew me to it. My imagination enhanced its form and function into any number of uses: a secret tool, a mini-gun, a spy gadget. What one person had carelessly discarded, I had picked up and redeemed as a treasured collectible, a toy, a real find.

I still have a hard time passing up someone else’s throwaways. I can see uses for just about anything. Some are genuine treasures others have just overlooked and left to rust in neglect. I found a hand plane in a junk store in my early days of discovering the joys of such tools. It was covered in rust and dull as a brick. $8.00 redeemed it from the shelf and a life of benign neglect. A number of painstaking hours in the shop brought it back to life. The rust gone, the wood refurbished, and the blade brought to a razor’s sharpness, this tool now sits in a place of honor in my wood shop and is one of the sweetest cutting of all my planes. I can take off paper thin slices of wood with an effortless push while it makes this little “swwizz” sound that is music to the ears.

Redemption, as I see it, is God-work. It is the central, over-arching theme of history since the fall. God seeks to redeem man from the effects of that infernal disaster in the garden and convert his rebellious creatures into sons and daughters that will reign with Him in heaven once again. He promises not only to raise us up as new creatures in Christ and give us one day a heavenly body, He also promises a new heaven and a new earth. At best, all our environmental efforts will only slow down the steady decay of our planet. God is coming again to restore creation to its original intended form: lions lying down with lambs, children playing near the adder’s hole.

There is no greater mission in life than to participate in God’s mission. Only He can fully bring this work to completion, but it is given into our hand to play a significant part in this supreme work. There is no greater task, no greater challenge, but to join in this business of redeeming a fallen world wherever we touch it. Immediately, Christians think of redeeming lost souls, and that is undoubtedly the most exciting work of all. “He that winneth souls is wise,” we read in Proverbs. Yet we need also to see the bigger picture for it gives meaning and direction to even the most common of labors or the most exotic of the arts and sciences.

I cannot look at an overgrown lot or a patch of wild woodlands but see all the possibilities of quiet walkways, gardens, scenic overlooks, cleared picnic spots, and young trees that would produce lumber of value someday if only they were thinned, pruned, and given a modicum of tender care. Nature by itself is wasteful, producing both weeds and fruit. When we tend nature, we redeem it to stem its self destructive tendencies and greatly improve its productivity. When the scientist looks at a crippling disease, he sees nature gone awry and begins a search for a cure to end the reign of sin that would disfigure and destroy. The policeman seeks to restore order to a world that would end in chaos if left to its own devices. The housewife seeks to redeem each day’s confusion resulting from just meeting our daily needs. Dirt and dust spring up everywhere and the stains of daily living must be resisted at every turn. Parents train up children by spending much time and care in redeeming a future citizen and honored saint from the rough, self-centered lump of clay given into their midst.

The second secret of living a fulfilled life is getting a sense of mission, a vision of what we are to be about. There is no greater work than joining with God in the work of redemption. Enlist your children, now.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

I am what I am

2011-06-01T04:35:00.000-07:00

“But by the grace of God I am what I am” -I Cor. 15:10

Who am I? I admit I still couldn’t give you a complete and definitive answer to that question even after living with myself for these 66 years. We see through a glass darkly, but there is coming a day in which we shall know even as we are known. Until that day comes, I must dwell content with knowing only an outline of the shadows of who I am. I can tell you a lot about myself now, but when I was 12 and 13 years old, I had hardly a clue as to who I was. The only true ground of being in my life at that time was a distinct experience of God’s love for me for which I was very grateful. I had come to know that I was a child of his and precious in his sight. That was a huge help. Other than that, I could not begin to grasp just what kind of person I was and what gifts or abilities lay within. It was as though I walked the ground of my being, to which I held clear title, but had no way of telling what lay beneath my feet be it hard clay, fertile loam, rich in mineral wealth, or barren dirt.

It was told me the other day that this is the first of three things necessary to living a fulfilled life: to know who we are. That question has sharp and definite spiritual dimensions with tremendous doctrinal overtones. Yes, we need to know who we are in Christ for that is our true destiny. It is cause for Biblical study, teaching, and meditation for our enemy is out to steal, kill, and destroy the image of God in which we were made. He can do that through poisoning our minds with a thousand negative thoughts.

Yet there still remains a huge area of existence which we naturally question on this earthly plane. Who am I? Am I super intelligent or just average? Am I gifted at anything in particular, or am I totally talentless? Am I a people person or is a life of humble service in the shadows my lot? Am I a verbal person able to bend ears to my voice or do I make a fool of myself when speaking openly? Am I an independent person who needs no friends, or am I desperately lonely without others? Am I creative or better off following directions? Am I blessed by heredity to position, power, and great expectations, or am I doomed to anonymity?

The Apostle Paul had an acute identity crisis first priding himself as a persecutor of the church and then discovering a totally new self after being thrown down in the dust of the Damascus road. From a Pharisee of the Pharisees, he became a believer and eventually described himself as “the least” of the Apostles. With time, he came to accept this tortured progression, and he made a short but classic acknowledgement of the peace that he had made with himself. “I am what I am.” In that simple phrase, he declared that he had looked within and was no longer wishing he were something else other than what God had created and placed within him.

Our children are desperately plagued by questions of who they are. These questions reach their tortuous peak in the transition years between elementary and high school. Eventually they will come to know who they are as human beings, complicated yet gifted, creative yet flawed, unique but yet so familiar. In the meantime, we can help them by affirming the gifts and propensities we see emerging in them. We can build a wall of protective and assuring love around them that will withstand the doubts sown by the enemy. We can help them understand who they are in Christ as children of the Heavenly Father with all the rights and privileges therewith.

One day, we pray, they will be able to say with a sense of acceptance and contentment, “I am what I am”: not as a resignation of slothful indifference, but as a prayer of gratefulness for the uniqueness by which they have been created. And from there they go on to find a sense of mission and purpose for that uniqueness. May we be instruments of His grace in opening young eyes to the treasures beneath their feet.

Mercy and Truth, Mr. Moe

grandparents

2010-09-16T15:35:00.000-07:00

“… I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith …which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois….” -2Tim1:5

My wife and I have totally different perspectives on grandparents. My experience was threadbare at the best, disappointing at the worst. By the time I was of age to take in and remember, only two grandparents were left; a grandfather on my mom’s side and a grandmother on my dad’s side. Grandpa was a rather reclusive figure who loved to fish but never took us fishing, who retired to a little farm I never remember visiting, and who was an artist and musician who never shared his gifts with us. My grandmother came to live with us not long after I started school. She was cold and distant, a bit grumpy, and soon beset by delusions of a relived childhood. We knew her presence only from the weight of her restrictive presence upon the family as mom labored hard to care for her and retain a victorious spirit in doing so. I did not realize, at the time, that anything was amiss in all this family dynamic. My brother and I simply did not know anything else. But there was an elderly couple that are favorably remembered. Thea and Jake were childless and quite old but were still fun to visit. There were treats such as milk and cookies, some stray candy, robust jokes, and even doting comments now and then. Somehow it was not robbery to have to steal moments from our play time to visit them. Their home was a warm and inviting place, and we did not resent being dropped off there for a few hours when mom and dad were out of pocket. Today, I have no idea who they were or how they entered our lives, but their names still evoke good memories as my brother and I had come to know that we were the gleam in someone else’s eyes.

My wife, on the other hand, knew her grandparents well for they were all the home she knew for the first 4 years of her life. That home became her emotional and spiritual anchor as they were her refuge amidst a storm of dysfunctional parenting. She learned a love for fresh cornbread, wilted (or “kill’t”) lettuce, the smell of fresh, plucked feathers off a chicken that grandma had just killed with a deft twist of the neck, knitting on the backyard swing, ever fascinating stories of deeds and kin long past, sitting together on the front porch rocking chair during a rainstorm, plucking and eating raw green beans out of the garden, and a hundred other endearing facets of simple, southern living. But most of all, she remembers being the apple of their eye; simply adored and treasured. Whether it was the words they spoke to her or the proud bearing in front of others, she knew the love that was there, that it was strong and real. She is still a sucker for a gentle rubbing of her hands, just like grandma used to do. Those grandparents were simple country folk but possessed a fountain of folklore, colorful expressions, and were lovers of Jesus that left behind a rich, rich tapestry of memories; enough to fill a book. They left such an indelible mark on her that she credits them with actually saving her from a life of bad choices.

Being a grandparent now gives me the opportunity to leave behind a treasury of memories. I have a unique role to play in this pageantry of life, and I hope I can do the part justice. I have opportunities to enrich the lives of my little ones in a way that only I can do. Moms and dads do their part, but who but I can play the special games the kids have never seen before, who can make the bottom of their piggy bank ring with unexpected and unmerited favor, and who but I can share a ride down the hill in the Nordmobile? It is that little bit of frosting on top of their cake which makes life sweet and memorable. Grandmas and grandpas can be such a blessing. If you have them, encourage them, treasure them. If you don’t, go adopt some. There are still plenty of Thea and Jakes out there for the taking.

media

2010-09-09T15:28:00.000-07:00

“So then, brethren, we are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free.” KJV Galatians 4:31

I am old enough to remember living through the 1960’s when revolutionary changes were rocking our cultural world. We didn’t realize it at the time, but “free speech” agitation on college campuses opened the gateway for all forms of profanity in the public forum and the right to protest, nay, denigrate all cultural norms and icons. Black Power salutes on Olympic platforms and the burning of the American flag as protected rights were some of the inevitable results. In the midst of the storm, it was hard to assess the damage or long term effects.

We are going through a wind storm of change at the present, and it is hard to see just where it will land us. One thing is for sure, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore. Our children are not just using technology at a pace undreamed of ever before, they are becoming obsessive and compulsive in their use of it. The Kaiser Family Foundation reported the results of a study in January saying that daily media use among young people had risen to 7 hours and 38 minutes per day, 7 days per week. When you separate combined use such as listening to an ipod while texting, the number rises to 10 hours 45 minutes per day. Either easily eclipses any full-time job.

That is not all bad news in the eyes of many. Our young are developing multi-tasking skills and honing them to a degree unparalleled in previous generations, a very positive outcome in an increasingly competitive world where efficiency is paramount. Young people are also totally fearless when it comes to new technology and embrace it eagerly with a thirst that is unnerving to their parents. There is also a familiarity with accessing untold numbers of sources and prodigious amounts of information that continues to amaze their teachers. Powerful graphics and visual effects are as much a part of their daily repertoire of available tricks as riding a bicycle or bobbing a yo-yo was to my teen-age peers.

The concerns are piling up as well. Tom Kersting, a student assistance coordinator as well as a psychotherapist, worries that the new media is creating “digital zombies” whose addiction to this flood of instant entertainment and communication is having a negative effect upon the way in which youth think, process information, and relate to one another.* Because they communicate in short, quick bursts of information, they are having a difficult time developing critical-thinking and problem-solving skills. Kersting is concerned that students are losing the ability to communicate in person with one another, a definite skill that is necessary to navigate complex social situations. Teen-agers now are confessing that they would rather text than actually talk on a phone. Another psychologist, Andy Yeager, questions its effect upon the development of the teen-age brain in its ability to plan ahead, foresee consequences, set long-term goals, and work through them. English teachers are horrified at the mutilation of our language and all constraints of grammar that are now passing for common, everyday, acceptable usage. Taken together, we easily share a “collective shiver” at future prospects.

My simple and unlicensed lament is the loss of basic manipulative skills I see in the rising generations. I look to them to untangle my drivers and internet options, but they look to me for help in hanging a picture. Studs? What are those? Sheet rock? You mean it’s hollow? Painting a wall is like learning a foreign language. Cooking is something the Colonel does. Sewing is an ancient art. And a dripping toilet is something only a plumber could possibly understand. Perhaps I exaggerate. Yet I feel the corrosive effects in my own life as one who was raised to “do it yourself.” My fingers spend more time at a keyboard than manipulating the strings on my acoustic guitar. I have to pry myself away from email to work in my shop. I do not want to become a one-dimensional person, bond-servant to an electronic mistress whose siren call has already enslaved so many. May we be wise enough to recognize the obsessions and compulsions of our age and keep a healthy distance.

        *Knoxville News-Sentinel, 8-10-2010, p. D2, “Hours spent plugged in change kids thinking”

conflicts and fears

2010-08-25T15:23:00.000-07:00

“…Conflicts without, fears within.” -2 Cor. 7:5 NASV

How do you know if you are alive? Besides the obvious, Paul gives a succinct and honest clue as he opened his heart wide to the Corinthians in a very transparent moment. He summed up his present existence with four words, “Conflicts without, fears within.” That little phrase captures so much of human reality. Sounds like life to me. Hopefully your conflicts don’t assume the proportions that Paul experienced as he was chased around the Mediterranean by stone throwing mobs and other unhappy customers. Yet, who among us does not feel the daily tension of conflicting priorities, the demands of our many jobs, and the feedback of differing opinions? And fears? My anxiety closet is never empty. There lurks a thousand assorted beasts of every sort that love to go bump in the night and rattle their chains to let me know they are still there.

If there is some bliss in early childhood, it is the minimal presence of either of these two commodities to any intense degree. There are many childhood tears, but they fade fast and memories heal with amazing speed. Yet, all so soon, children, too, will feel the pinch of daily tensions as they begin to experience life that doesn’t always agree with their preconceptions and self-centered wishes. And fears start to grow like June weeds in the fertile plots of young imaginations.

School presents a liberal dose of both conflicts and fears. Students are roused from their summer doldrums and challenged to do battle with multiplication and algebraic functions, gerunds and participial phrases, Napoleon and the dissolution of European kingdoms, phylums and taxonomic ranks, and all that good stuff. Some take the conflict in stride. Others get snowed under. For all of them, it is work, nevertheless. And then there is that class/peer thing. Others are watching, listening, and always eager to pounce on any excuse for a good laugh. Laughter is so delicious, so wonderful, except when it comes at our expense. Life would be so much simpler if it were not for those “others” who include or exclude, applaud or jeer, appreciate or diminish, love or ignore. Adding to any child’s list of fears are those overheard conversations that echo up hallways in the most sacrosanct refuge for a child, the home. Children can sense when adults are worried, have their moods, or are wrapped up in fears of their own which spill out at times like a glass of overturned milk.

I guess what I am trying to say is that kids are human, too, experiencing conflicts and fears in full measure. Paul rejoices that God comforted him by the coming of Titus who was himself encouraged by the Corinthians. We, as parents, are Titus to our children bringing good news with a personal touch that gladdens the heart. If the Apostle Paul needed a piece of good news and a friendly face in order to bear his trials, how much more our children need this as well. And as the Corinthians encouraged Titus, so we grandparents need to encourage our grown children laboring through the child rearing years. Letters are great and Paul used them to maximum advantage, but the personal presence of Titus did something for Paul that nothing else could match.

In looking back, I ask myself now, “Did I hug my kids enough, or extend a gentle touch (that powerful but under-rated human connection that says so much yet is totally wordless)? Did I pull apart from my own worries and preoccupations enough and invite myself into the quiet rooms of their inner worlds; and once there, offer a listening ear interspersed with words of truth and encouragement?” Paul did not shrink from using emotive words like “beloved” in addressing the Corinthians. Did I tell my kids that they were my beloved and precious ones? Paul corrected his children but then rejoiced when they corrected their course. “Great is my boasting on your behalf” and words to that effect. Did I boast enough of their good choices and let them know it? I wish I could remember more clearly doing so. May you remember unmistakably and have no doubts or regrets.

margins

2010-08-19T15:18:00.000-07:00

"Go ahead of me, and keep some space between the herds." -NIV Genesis 32:16

I have just come through what was, I believe, the most crammed full, jam packed, strenuous, stress filled week of my year. I am not complaining, really. I just hope that was it and that it is over. And I imagine it was near-so for many of you as well. Getting summer wrapped up and gearing up for another school year is always stressful for families. Our staff has had a double portion getting ready for your families as well as preparing their own for the first day of school. We are constantly trying to streamline our prep week to take as much stress out of it as possible, but in spite of our best efforts, it is what it is: a runway strewn with sharp objects, substantial litter, some stray goats, a few serious potholes, and some occasional landmines. But we got off the ground somehow in spite of them.

Now I am in the business of searching about for some routine in my life whereby I can find and set a pace that I can afford to maintain over the long haul. Another week like the last one would push me dangerously close to taking up coffee drinking or other some-such risky behavior. And it was not all the school’s fault. I was contracting the dropping of trees, finishing a leftover kitchen rehab job, visiting with family passing through, orchestrating a men’s breakfast, overseeing a new roof installation on our back porch, attending a sing-fest, teaching Sunday school, and entertaining church dinner guests on Sunday. I did skip the Deacon’s meeting that week but only because my children from Texas were in for less than 24 hours.

That I survived the week was admirable. That I would consent to such a crazy schedule, questionable. That I would allow this to continue, sheer madness. The word that has come into my vocabulary this week is margin. I am realizing the value and need to build some margins into my life. Margins give hope to any printed page. A page printed from edge to edge is perceived as tedious, tiresome, overly busy, and fills one with dread at the thought. So, we too, need to frame our lives with some margins of peace so that we will not become drained of all life and substance. Americans, by nature, live very full lives. We love to run, build, play, work, and live life filled to the brim. But if we leave no margin for error, no margin of time to refresh and rebuild, we run the risk of a serious crash landing.

I took some serious time off this summer in a deliberate attempt to get ready for the madness that began last week. It helped get me through, I am sure. We know full well the wisdom of saving money for a rainy day so when lean times come, there is something to fall back on. In the area of relationships, Scripture tells us that mercy shown to others creates a well of reserve for us when we need it. Forgive and you will be forgiven. From the beginning of time, God made provision for man to rest one day out of seven. He knew we needed that. But even that is not always restful for us Christians who love to fill that day with church busyness.

I couldn’t help but notice that Jacob sent his flocks ahead in coming to meet Esau for the first time in years and carefully spaced them out to give Esau time to reflect upon his brother’s desire for reconciliation. Our minds need time to process things, to turn them over in our hearts. Quiet reflection is the greatest scarcity of our age.

Margins. Sitting quietly on a front porch is not necessarily wasting time especially if it allows us to be fully ready to respond in full measure when hard duty calls at an unexpected moment. Spending a quiet evening home is not always a wasteful thing if it enables us to face the next day refreshed and ready for battle. May the Shepherd of your soul lead you beside some quiet waters, and may you keep some space between your herds.

ambassadors

2010-07-28T15:10:00.000-07:00

“...he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors,
as though God were making his appeal through us.”
2 Cor. 5:19-20 NIV

I can’t help it. I watch people at Kroger’s and Lowe’s and at times it fills me with a curious sadness tinged with despair. So many people pass by looking so ordinary and even their demeanor communicates “ordinariness.” And many are obviously submerged in despair and unhappiness or are burdened down with afflictions of multiple kinds. To travel down past the homeless shelters and missions in town these days brings a definite sadness as I see figures in doorways or sitting on street corners waiting, forever waiting but never seeking. The sadness creeps into my bones until I cannot think about it, and I must simply pass on. My theory is that 95% of us are so terribly ordinary, totally undistinguished in any way, and would probably never qualify as one of “the beautiful people.” Every morning my mirror reinforces this theory with alarming force. Our talents, intelligence, and charm are usually quite ordinary, as well, leading many of us to come to the frightful conclusion in our more daring moments that we, indeed, are quite average. This combination of the commonness of the common man coupled with the overwhelming spiritual lost-ness of so many people in general can be depressing if it were not for the promises of Scripture.

First of all, I must constantly remind myself that we are created in the image of God. It is a concept that will change any life if properly and fully understood. A friend in ministry to inner city children writes, “Ronnie is an example of how God is freeing some of our teens from ( those) labels. He has been bitter towards his dad (and let me say he has reasons) but the bitterness has made him angry at everyone. At camp a counselor spoke into his life, “Your dad gave you his name, but God gave you His image. You don’t have to be like your dad.” Those words set Ronnie free. He’s not angry any longer. His summer has been amazing! He even felt the need to apologize to his dad for the way he felt. That action was a “God” thing—I know many adults who would not do that. Ronnie is allowing God to mold him into His image.” It also changes the way I look at people, even that balding man shuffling his way across Lowe’s in his ugly shorts with the protruding waistline and the aimless look on his unshaven face. There is something God-like there if I will but look closely.

Secondly, there is available to all who would choose to walk in it, a high and holy calling as ambassadors for God and given the ultimate mission of helping reconcile the world unto Himself. Look up any ambassador on-line and you will see a polished person of impeccable credentials who epitomizes the best of the best. They are addressed as “His (or her) Excellency,” “Mr. (or Ms.) Ambassador,” to recognize their position of prestige and power as representatives of a whole nation. It is an exciting job with much honor. So, we too, are called to be ambassadors of Christ to a lost world. There is no more awesome calling or mission in life than this. Christ wants to operate through us as his vessels to accomplish his continuing work on earth. Whether it be from a polished pulpit or through a cup of cold water given in His name, the work of Christ is world changing, and we get to be a part of it!

The good news is that there are no mean or obscure lives. Or at least, need not be. “Average” need not describe our lives nor those of our children. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, all can achieve the rank of ambassadorship fueled with a life mission that will propel us throughout our years with a sense of purpose and excitement. And credentials? We have them in spades. We are seated with Christ in heavenly places (Eph. 2:6). We are completely new creatures in Christ (2 Cor. 5:17). We are the children of God, joint-heirs with Christ, whereby we cry, Abba, Father (Rom. 8:15-17). Talk about connections.

There is no reason for anyone to live a common, non-descript, obscure life if they walk in the power of the Holy Spirit. In this sense, there are no average students at River’s Edge nor should you have any in your household. They are all bound for the rank and office of ambassadors for the King. I pray we awake in them this year their destiny in Christ and fire them with a vision for what they can be through Him who strengthens us for all things.

suicide

2010-06-23T15:06:00.000-07:00

“Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart.” 2 Cor. 4:1

Summer is all about fun in the sun and all that good stuff. I hate to spoil the mood, but I come to you with some good but somber reflections regarding suicide. It is the 11th most common cause of death in the U.S. and takes the life of an American on average every 17 minutes. The highest toll is among the elderly over the age of 60 who account for 40% of the statistics. Being in that age group, I speak to myself first of all. But the most disturbing trend is among our youth. It is the 2nd most common cause of death among teens.

I have been studying 2 Corinthians, chapters 3 &4, and I think I see an antidote and a way to suicide-proof our children and grandchildren. Paul writes at length about the indwelling power of the Spirit of God to transform a life and to empower it for the work of the ministry. Moses had a ministry that was glorious in his day yet it faded and only worked death through the Law. We have a much superior ministry of the Spirit that produces righteousness (3:9) and liberty (3:17). It is the same ministry of the Spirit that empowered our Lord to “…preach good tidings unto the meek; … to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn; to appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.” (Isa. 61:1-3). Paul makes it quite clear that we are not adequate in ourselves for such things (2:16, 3:5) but that this is the work of the Lord; that our adequacy comes from God.

“THEREFORE, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart.” (4:1) Suicide claims as its victims those who have totally lost heart. They have lost sight of any purpose for living and certainly of any role in God’s kingdom as His royal agents and ambassadors of Christ. We have this treasure, the ministry of the Spirit of the living God, in earthen vessels that brings purpose to life and hope to every circumstance. Those who have a clear understanding of the ministry and mission that they have been given by God may be afflicted but will not be crushed, may become perplexed but will not despair, may be persecuted but will not feel forsaken, and may even be struck down but cannot be destroyed (4:8-9). They are immune to the despair that breeds thoughts of self-destruction.

I am picturing three little boats in History that were built with very humble purposes in mind but ended up shaking the world. One was a small and simple sailboat that sat neglected for years in an old cabin in Russia. A young prince named Peter discovered it one day, retrieved it, and learned a love for sailing. His dreams escalated from there as Czar of all the Russias to seek for his country a warm-water port on the ocean that would bring Russia into the modern age and make her a world power. Another simple fishing boat sat on the shores of the island of Elba in the Mediterranean where it served no major purpose until Napoleon Bonaparte appropriated it one night and escaped his exile to return to the mainland where he went on to force the world to a bloody showdown at Waterloo. Another simple rowboat here in America went on to great fame as the boat that carried General George Washington across the Delaware, a critical and victorious turning point in the American Revolution. In each case, the boat was nothing, but the personage it carried was everything.

If we can instill in our children (as well as the aged) a sense of destiny as to the personage of the Holy Spirit they carry within them and the grand purposes He is about, we will not have to worry about them becoming another grim statistic. They will not lose heart. Nor will we.

play

2010-04-08T15:00:00.000-07:00

“I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” John 10:10

The resurrection and play: two disparate terms but beautifully joined together in C.S. Lewis’s classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Susan and Lucy witness the resurrection of Aslan who recovers his strength only to indulge in a purely, playful romp with the two girls. “Catch me if you can!” he cries as he leaps across the great stone table. “A mad chase began. Round and round the hilltop he led them, now hopelessly out of their reach, now letting them almost catch his tail, now diving between them, now tossing them in the air with his huge and beautifully velveted paws and catching them again, and now stopping unexpectedly so that all three of them rolled over together in a happy laughing heap of fur and arms and legs.” It is a wonderful portrayal of joy unspeakable and full of glory, wholly suited to the occasion of occasions.

I was challenged by Mark Buchanan’s book, The Rest of God, this weekend. In exploring the proper dimensions of the Sabbath rest, he poses the question, “Do you play enough? Do you risk enough and bask in God’s creation enough and do some things for no reason other than that you’ll be dead soon enough anyhow, so why not live a little now?” As Americans, we are very much driven by the twin taskmasters of time and utilitarianism. Play does not come easy. There is always way too much work to do. Play seems wasteful and uncomfortably close to slothfulness.

Buchanan argues that there are many things that cannot be proven to be of any utilitarian usefulness but that life deprived of these things becomes dull, drab, and lifeless. Imagine a world without ice cream cones, spring picnics, slow hot showers, fireplaces, and front porch swings. None of these things will add to the gross national product, enhance our intellect, hone our skills, or make us better neighbors. “But they just might make us feel more alive, more ourselves, and that’s use enough.”

At 5:00 AM this very Tuesday morning, I stepped out of a simple and rugged shelter on top of Mt. LeConte in preparation for an early start home. I looked up and was immediately arrested by the drama of that opening prequel to the day. The half-moon was still proud in the clearest of skies making my steps quite known but yet not so bright as to mask a thousand stars sprinkled across the velvet heavens. A trace of a left over vaporous cloud stretched across the lower third of my field of view highlighted by the moon’s deft rays. And uppermost in the unfolding drama was the perfectly straight and brilliant white contrail of a high flying jet who winked his little red light at me while heading for the moon. As far as I know, no one saw it but me, and I caught it at its zenith form of perfect composition. A matter of minutes and the picture was ruined. It was at that moment I felt very much alive. The whole business of climbing 5 miles up some 3,000 feet just to stare at the world below doesn’t make a lot of sense. But it afforded a wonderful taste of that Sabbath rest that restores the soul.

I have to agree that play can be subversive. “It hints at a world beyond us. It carries a rumor of eternity, news from a kingdom where Chronos [time] and utility are no more welcome than death and Hades and the ancient serpent. When we play, we nudge the border of forever.” I trust that your totally useless Spring Break was full of the joy of the resurrection of the One who came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly; a life which includes some time “…producing nothing but adrenaline, laughter, and memories.”

the heart

2010-03-25T14:51:00.000-07:00

“I will bring the blind by a way they did not know.” ~Isaiah 42:16

Mily Cyrus is portrayed on the cover of Parade magazine this week as an emerging teen who declares with new found certainty, “I know who I am.” We would only pray that this is as true as it is remarkable. I certainly had no idea of who I was at 17 and still struggle at age 65. Just who am I? I am afraid I have much more in common with the Apostle Paul than I do with Mily Cyrus. Paul, that mighty defender of the faith, openly admitted, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”

I have a young friend who is one of those folks who has the appearance of polish and success written all over him. He is an educated professional with a wife and newborn child. Together they radiate the model young Christian family. Well-mannered, well-spoken, prosperous, athletic looks, and knowledgeable in all manner of Scriptural truth, he epitomizes for me any young man’s dream or ambition. He shared with me his story-book upbringing in a Christian home in the hills of West Virginia where he spent every Sunday in church and where he met his wife-to-be as a teenager in the church nursery. He says he was raised in “Mayberry” and was every bit the good son that would conform in such a setting. Yet he looks back and declares that as a young man he was every bit a rank sinner that was fully headed for and deserving of hell. It was his own secret self that was out of control that could also admit with Paul of being the chief of sinners. I sat a bit stunned at hearing this self-deprecating description. The disparity of image and truth jangled my sensibilities.

I am always intrigued by the spiritual journey stories when interviewing new families as they join with us here at school. Many of them indicate they have dull testimonies because of having accepted Christ at a young age in a Christian home. Indeed, a dull testimony is what you desire for your children as well. We would not wish the heartbreak of a prodigal-come-home testimony on anyone. The risk and pain is too great. Yet, I have come to understand that all of us who name the name of Christ, no matter of age or experience, have been fished out of the miry pit of sin by the grace of God. We were all standing in the cesspool of lost-ness, alone and covered in guilt, totally unworthy of any merit or favor. We may have been the elder brother who stayed at home, but we were as equally in need of a savior as any who have traveled to a distant land to waste our substance in riotous living “…for there is no difference: For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”

I think it is easy to become confused as to who we actually are. Those of us who have lived the straight life all these years can easily grow comfortable with our middle-class, respectable selves and assume a creeping smugness that belies our actual nature. Jeremiah laments that the human heart is desperately wicked, who can know it? Such a picture of who we actually are is not popular or cheerful. It kind of reminds us of Jonathon Edwards’ sermon, “Sinners in the hands of an angry God,” a picture or message we do not necessarily enjoy. While I would dare suggest that Edwards rename his message, “Sinners in the hands of a just and holy God,” I think he had the rest quite right. We are all quite deserving of eternal damnation. This perspective should do two things for us. It should help us bear a posture of true humility as those who have “nothing in our hands to bring.” Secondly, it should renew within us a sense of profound joy that we, who were lost, have now been found. Though we were blind, we now can see.

It should also make us fully aware that our children, though good and pleasant and obedient on the outside, still need a new heart and a cleansing that only God can give. And when they blow it, we should not be shocked. They are, like we, emerging from the pit and the miry clay of sin into which they were born. That is the real truth of who we are and the most vital truth of all.

The Rivers Edge Advantage

2010-03-11T14:30:00.000-08:00

“A perverse man sows strife” -Pro. 16:28

You have been there and known the difference.  It may have been a class,
a work place, or even church where you noticed a huge shift in the general
atmosphere within a short period of time after a change of just a few
personnel within that group. It sometimes happens when even one
particular person leaves that the whole demeanor of the group changes
for the better. There is greater openness, more laughter, and even
episodes of joy break out where there was always a bitter edge to the
relationships afore.  It demonstrates the power of one.  Scripture proclaims
that where there is no talebearer, strife ceases (Pro. 26:20).  Sinful
attitudes on the part of a few have a way of reaching out and contaminating
the mood and tone of a whole group.

I remember a number of episodes where group dynamics shifted dramatically
within a short period of time and affected my feelings and attitudes.  The first
involved my high school church youth group.  As a teen-ager, I grew up in a
relatively small church with a peer group of about 20 youth.  Many of them were
related but more importantly, they were secretly living a double life style.  They
did their churchly duties in deference to their parent’s wishes, but at school and
away from church, they were flirting with all the worldly stuff that they could get
away with.  Church youth activities were thus laced with ambivalent feelings on
my part.  It was not a safe or accepting place, and God was definitely not the
center of interest.  I felt estranged and alone.  After I was off at college, the
makeup of the youth group changed dramatically as youth groups are wont to do.
I found myself sucked in whenever I was home and during the summers.  We
became a family and even the least of these was affirmed in some way or another. 
Those friendships continue to this day.

As a young boy, my parents moved to a farm in rural Illinois, and I found myself at a
one-room country school with four grades.  After acclimating, I experienced a
tremendously bonded group of children who affirmed one another in many ways.
I enjoyed school and looked forward to the studies that were quite up to speed in
spite of the many limitations that such a situation entails.  Well, good things like
that can not be allowed to continue, and so the county built a brand new junior high
school and bussed us all to town each day.   Hence, my 7th and 8th grade years
found me swimming in a social pool that was downright terrifying at times.  It
colored my whole middle school experience and was less than satisfying in many
ways.

Many parents at the middle and high school years right now are puzzling as to the
best academic path for their students. We live in a highly competitive age, and we
want to give our students the best edge possible.  But I urge any in this category
to think in terms of the learning environment as well as all of the course offerings
that a school such as Farragut High School could afford.  A student’s performance
can be colored by the dynamic of the group that inhabits any particular class.  I
first learned to love History because of a friendship with another student who
relished with me the chance to discuss the subject matter and the teacher’s
eccentricities.

We, at River’s Edge, have a vision for our new high school that it become a place
where like-minded students will be able to bond and form positive friendships
that will color their attitudes towards the subject matter in a positive direction. For
this purpose, we hope to involve students together in activities ranging from
student government to mission trips. We desire to create a place where students
feel safe from ridicule, worldly peer pressure, and negative attitudes. But more
than that, we desire to bring students together who actually enjoy the challenge
of math, who have a love for the arts, or who delight in literature.  The right kind of
student chemistry can be priceless in developing a passion for learning,
something that will seldom happen in a place where students feel threatened or
burdened with hostile forces arrayed around them.  Our new school will be small
but that can turn into a tremendous advantage as we recruit students who are
people of passion and character.  It is the River’s Edge advantage.

Twenty Questions

2010-03-11T14:25:00.000-08:00

The Twenty Most Pressing Issues to be Faced by the Next Generation

1. Law, culture, and politics: Will the homosexual lifestyle become a protected sub-group with all who speak against it be deemed guilty of ‘hate speech?’ Is there room for religious based knowledge in the public square? What will happen when all religious views are excluded from public life? What is the true definition of “religious freedom” enshrined in our Constitution? What does the separation of church and state really stem from?

2. Education I: It says in Daniel 12.4 that "people will be running to and fro and knowledge shall be increased". Then Paul says in II Timothy 3:7 that people will be "ever learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth". So from that perspective, I think we should be concerned with "What to teach and how to teach it" as educators. What can we teach that will enable our students to be able to "discern between good and evil" and what do they need to know to avoid "the tree of knowledge of good and evil". These are deep issues with no simple solution.

3. Education II: Will the public schools destroy themselves on the opposing priorities of raising standards and insuring that all students graduate? What will Christians do in the face of this protracted stalemate?

4. Technology I: the kids of this generation have instant communication and know all kinds of things that grandparents don't know. How will we control the influx of knowledge that they are receiving from all of these devices? And should we?

5. Technology II: Although we are able to communicate instantly from almost anywhere in the world, we are an increasingly isolated people. How do we balance this “time for which we are fitted and chosen”? We must keep fellowship with God and His believers, we must battle all of the increasing lures of time and resources, and, yet, we must remain sane while doing so.

6. Technology III: King Solomon said, “There is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which it may be said, ‘See, this is new’? It has been in ancient times before us. ” Perhaps modern challenges are, at the core, not new challenges, just restated, rehashed problems of old in somewhat different scenarios. Technological development has a way of magnifying what is already in the human heart. It is a means of enhancing the capabilities of man to promote good or evil in a swifter, more efficient, more effective manner, to make one either more productive or more destructive. Technological development, while benign in and of itself towards good and evil, most certainly has an impact. Technological development changes the scenario so that exercising the sin nature is relatively easy and effortless, perhaps as easy as pressing a button. However, the same technology can be used to promote God’s truth to the world in a more efficient manner than has ever been possible before. One person, regardless of age, money, or influence can be a world missionary from his own home. I propose that a worthy challenge we have as a generation is, “How can we use the technological resources available to us in creative ways, to impact this generation for Jesus Christ?” and “What dangers do technological development present to us because of the nature of the human heart?”

7. Environment I: The synergistic effects of multiple contaminants on the human body and environment. (In layman's terms, we have some understanding of how single contaminants impact us and the environment at different concentrations but how do they work together to impact us when they are mixed and what effect do different mixes have on impacted individuals).

8. Environment II: What is the true impact of humans on our environment and how should that affect the regulations that govern our lives. (The global warming issue falls under this question but it is much broader than that single issue.)

9. Culture and faith: “How do we teach and strengthen our faith and dependence on God when we live in a society of gross over abundance?” He has been to Ukraine a couple of times on mission trips. He is awed by how much they do and how happy they are with so few resources. A friend of our living in Ukraine has told us more than once that when a Ukrainian moves to the States, their faith often dies.

10. Economic: If and when the economy collapses in some way or another under the crushing load of debt currently being amassed, how will our children survive and flourish? How can we best achieve financial independence for families in a world economy founded on unstable premises? How much of the world’s system do we buy into and how creative do we need to be in regard to education and job training?

11. Science and sociology: What does it mean to be “human” and what, if any, distinguishing features and rights separate us from the animal kingdom?

12. Culture and politics: What foundational principles are at risk when we elevate diversity as a supreme value as opposed to the Christian consensus upon which this country was based?

13. Medicine and politics I: What protections need to be placed upon human life? How has legalized abortion affected our attitudes towards the sanctity of all human life? Can we contain our schizophrenic viewpoints without a total breakdown of the American health-care ethos?

14. Medicine and politics II: What will be the future of medical care in view of its spiraling costs, government interdiction, and uncontained litigation? Can we manage to find a creative, affordable, and compassionate alternative for our families and the body of Christ?

15. Culture and Faith: Pornography has become one of our major industries, and its allure and ease of access has penetrated nearly every home in America at some point in time. Can we stem this tide personally or as a nation, and can we rescue marriages, families, and the participants in this deadly trade from enslavement and destruction?

16. World politics: What will be the ultimate result of the push for a global economy and one-world culture? Is nationalism totally dead? Are cultural differences real or imagined?

17. Culture and religion: How can we reclaim generations of children raised without fathers and turn their hearts toward the Heavenly Father? How can we uphold the standard of the sanctity and inviolate status of marriage and extend compassion to the single parents laboring under heavy burdens of raising children by themselves? How do we balance mercy and truth in this tender sphere?

18. Culture and politics: How do we retain any cultural, legal, and political identity as a nation when immigration continues to be largely uncontrolled? What forces are actively arrayed against controlled and restricted immigration policies? What will the face of our country look like 50 years from now? Are there any redemptive aspects of this shift in population make-up?

19. Economic growth, population: How will the declining birth rates remake the countries of the world and change the economic balance of world power?

20. Religion: Who will win the battle for the hearts and minds of the 10-40 window of world populations: Christianity or Islam? Will Islam continue its aggressive expansion or wither in the face of rapid communications growth?

Questions

2010-03-04T14:17:00.000-08:00

“Then there arose a question between some of John's disciples and the Jews about purifying.” -KJV John 3:25

Education, like youth, is wasted on the young, or so the saying goes. Like any proverb, there is an element of truth present that makes rebuttal difficult. I must admit that much of my education was poured upon me at an age when my maturity level was largely impervious to either truth or the disciplines necessary for mastery. In today’s educational jargon, we would use the word “readiness” to describe that state of being where a child is actually ready or not ready to receive the assigned lessons.

A painful memory for me comes from my senior year in high school when, for one reason or another, I decided to pick up the book, “The Brothers Karamazov” by Dostoyevsky and read it just for fun. Now there is an oxymoron for you: reading a Russian novel “just for fun.” I am not sure it can be done. Russian novels are always daunting especially as the progression of characters passes the two dozen mark. Yet, there I was, proudly carrying a black paperback copy around school and earnestly pressing my way through it. To my credit, I actually finished it. The trouble is that I could never tell you what it was really about. I was driven more by vanity and show rather than any intellectual pursuit of truth. I loved the reaction from teachers and other students who were so duly impressed by my literary tastes. It was a totally hollow experience.

In high school, I was simply and totally unprepared for the questions and issues raised in the book. Now, I have been challenged once again to read “The Brothers Karamazov” as one of the top 100 books every person should read in their lifetime. There are many compelling reasons for placing the book in this elite position and many would argue for its inclusion as it deals with many of the great issues of life, love, and faith that thinking adults are prone to contemplate. I am pondering taking another turn at this famous novel, this time bringing with me a lifetime of experience that has made me aware of the great issues and questions of life.

If I have a bone to pick with many upper level History and literature books, it is that they do not always identify what great issues are being addressed in the pages and pages of text that are provided. I always made a point to never promise my young History students that they would leave my class with all the answers. I did hope that they would take away an understanding of what the great questions were. One cannot appreciate an answer unless one understands the question. Reading the book of Romans is daunting to a young reader unless one understands that there is great tension between faith and works and a history of debate as to what is the real basis of salvation.

What I would like to do is challenge my readership with coming up with a list of the 20 top questions or issues of our day be they theological, social, economic, political, or environmental. We have just been examining the question of the basis for human dignity. It is a question for our age because of the challenge of secular, Darwinian humanism. Former generations never even questioned this because there was such wide agreement. Not now. So what issues would you nominate as the top 20 questions facing this next generation? I encourage you to submit your entries as a comment. Try to focus them as tightly as possible preferably no more than 100 to 200 words max. We will then comb through them, and our staff will argue the top finalists. Feel free to submit 1, 5, or all 20.

It is my hope to use this as fuel for thought and direction in our middle and high school classes. It will be a curriculum that is problem driven by the challenges our children will actually have to face.

History

2010-02-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

“Let them bring forth, and declare unto us what shall happen: declare ye the former things, what they are, that we may consider them, and know the latter end of them; or show us things to come.” -Isa. 41:22

I do not believe that I have yet to see a pithier job description for a historian than Isa. 41:22. It is in the context of a mock challenge that the Lord issues much as Job was challenged to answer if he had comprehended the earth in its breadth or could number the clouds. As daunting a challenge as it is, the true historian attempts to do just that, to look closely at the former things and declare what actually happened and from there make predictions on how nations and peoples will follow in suit when like conditions mature in the same order. The book of Proverbs is a collection of prophecies based upon observations of past behavior that indicate probabilities of outcomes from future behavior. We have that ability to learn from the past in order that we might not repeat the same mistakes. But human behavior is bewilderingly complicated and conditions rarely ever recreate themselves exactly. Then there is the Lord who can interject His hand at any point and turn the events of man to serve His eternal purposes. These things taken together make the job of a conscientious historian incredibly challenging.

We should never underestimate how important that job is in laying down paths for future generations to follow. Solomon’s Proverbs declare his purpose from the outset to “instruct in wise dealing, in righteousness and justice and equity” (Pro. 1:3). These things can be taught, he maintains, but not without a foundation of knowledge based upon past history and insightful observation. I was thrilled to pass by a quote in our History Fair from William Penn, the American pioneer of religious freedom in Pennsylvania, who said, “Men must be subject to God or ruled by tyrants.” How interesting that way back in the late 1600’s this man had such insight into human nature and History that he could make such a bold pronouncement. There is no more relevant truth for our age than this. We are in the middle of a flood tide of effort to take liberty to the limits of license and time will tell if the wheels will all come off of our society with the only remedy, despotism, not far behind.

It was a joy to see our school reveling in the stories and costumes of bygone eras. We must cherish these stories both for our inspiration and the dire warnings they contain. I look to Abraham Lincoln to see the power and beauty of self-deprecating humor utilized to teach and lead others. I read the story of Theodore Roosevelt to see a lust for life in both robust action and scholarship. I thrill at the hunger of Peter the Great for knowledge of things great and small, the new, and the unexplored. I am humbled by the wisdom of Alexander Solzhenitsyn gained almost exclusively through suffering. I am amazed at the grace of Booker T. Washington in handling disadvantage and discovering the joy of work well done. I shudder at the history of Lenin to see a man so twisted and bent beyond recognition by hate and bitterness. I wince at the story of Robespierre to see what enormous wreckage that could come from a man of simple tastes, steely discipline, and total dedication to the law. All these and more are my teachers. No one could ask for greater.

I trust your students found something this week to inspire admiration or horror, inspiration or pity, comprehension or incomprehension in the lives of those they studied. I learned that the actual name of the famous Cherokee Indian Chief, Sequoyah, was George (something or another). “Sequoyah” actually was a nickname gained through a hunting accident and means “pig’s foot.” My, my, how names that now have the ring of such reverence and sophistication actually comes from such humble origins. I doubt that all our friends living in Sequoyah Hills, one of Knoxville’s oldest and most prestigious neighborhoods, would be thrilled to know they live in “Pig’s Foot Hills.” Nor would “George” be a very memorable name for the Cherokee’s most celebrated chieftain. It is a reminder that it is the man that makes the name and not the other way around.

my space

2010-02-18T12:30:00.000-08:00

I am well known to my family and friends as someone who is both glad and despondent over the new media that invests our lives at every point. The invention of word processing was truly an incredible blessing especially for all of us who remember manual typewriters, carbon copies, and white out. E-mail has also been a development that has revolutionized cross country and international communications. I still have a box of daily letters my wife and I exchanged while I was stationed in Korea. A phone call home at that time would have cost a day’s wages. Ham radio operators were the only practical means of communicating with missionaries abroad. For just these two developments alone, I count myself fortunate to have lived to see them. They rank right up there with the telephone, the airplane, and velcro. Yet, the dark side of the new media is with us as well, and we have yet to learn how to cope with it all. We cope, yes, in that life goes on. The struggle comes in determining just how much of our lives we will invest in it and in discovering to what extent it is affecting us for good or ill. These things are not readily apparent and take time to analyze.

I tremble, tip toeing where angels fear to tread, in challenging some conventional thinking regarding the social websites and the place they have come to occupy especially in the lives of our children. I have caught a glimpse or two into the world of adolescent ‘face-booking’ and have not been comforted. I had a hard time discerning the difference between it and the silly notes we used to pass in class in elementary school except that these are high tech in full color with photos. So, is that so bad? I had to think on that one. Obviously, the potential for cyber-bullying is incredible for ruining a reputation with a photo, rumor, or a total lie. None of us, I would hope, would allow our children to participate in this whole social networking thing unmonitored nor permit them to participate in cyber-assassination in any shape or form. This is not where my struggle is.

I am concerned about good kids just being their silly selves and having access to such a powerful interactive tool. Why? I am worried on two counts. First of all, both myspace and facebook require that all participants be 13 years of age or older. I suspect that I would be a rich man if I had a dollar for every less-than-thirteen year old with a myspace account. We need to re-examine our commitments to honesty and forthrightness if we are aiding and abetting access to these social network sites by our children. If these sites were as free of peril that some Christians might imagine, we should ask ourselves why it is that a purely secular company has put such age restrictions in place. It is a direct contradiction of our River’s Edge priorities to enable or allow our underage students to practice deception of this kind.

Secondly, I fear the propensity of on-line socializing to widen the chasm that separates teens from adult society. We know that given enough time and opportunity, teens will create their own sub-culture apart from the real world. What we now talk of as the “teen culture” is a relatively new phenomena that came about in the 1950s as a result of greater leisure time, increased prosperity, and the growing media. The markets picked up on the disposable income in the pockets of teenagers, and they became a target focusing on their interests and fads.

I would ask myself as a parent if I want to facilitate this social isolation which only seems to serve up in spades the most banal of adolescent dialogue. Scripture says that foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child. I am still discovering pockets of it tucked away in the nooks and crannies of my life. Anytime we allow children to pull apart and set up their own community unmolested by adult values, we should not expect much. At worst, we can look to “The Lord of the Flies” to see what can happen. And marvel not at the abilities of teens to speak in code, a new language safe from adult interception. Do you really know what your kids are saying?

Dignity IV

2010-01-28T12:20:00.000-08:00

“Righteousness exalteth a nation: but sin is a reproach to any people.” -Pro. 14:34

Gilbert Meilander has written a recent book on the subject of the dignity of man entitled Neither Beast Nor God.* I just naturally liked it already because of the title. We are not in the same category as any beast of the field which is a distinction no longer assumed in the public sphere. Our friends at P.E.T.A. regularly remind us of that and accuse us of “specie snobbery” or some such thing. Without the Bible, it is hard to explain why humans should have their way in this world just because they happen to be on the top of the food chain.

Meilander book-ends the topic with the reminder that we are not gods either no matter how much some of us might wistfully imagine in fractured moments of self-delusion.. It is Satan’s oldest trick to tease us into some grasp at equality with God as happened in the garden or at the tower of Babel. Our Mormon friends find this not so repulsive or unobtainable as one might think.

In the book, the author talks about human dignity as that common distinction afforded the human race as opposed to animal or vegetable life. He characterizes it, however, as a somewhat slippery term that invites comparisons among us as when certain people show themselves notoriously inhuman in their personal conduct or merely as not having as much worth as another. Meilander points to the necessity of grounding everything in the concept of personal dignity, an idea that finds its roots squarely in Scripture.

“A society can acknowledge and reward differences in accomplishment and achievement, it can recognize the sadness and tragedy of disability and fading capacities, and it can appreciate the worth of particular loves and special bonds of association—it can, that is, honor and affirm the dignity of the human condition, of this creature who is neither beast nor god. But it can safely do this only when its first and last commitment is to respect the equal dignity of persons, each of whom is made for community with God.”

I recently read the tawdry story of a young woman who had driven her husband to the hospital early one morning. She was drunk, and he was suffering a gunshot wound to the abdomen as a result their argument. They both sounded absolutely pathetic. Not the kind of folks I would choose as neighbors or sitting as a jury of my peers. Yet, both retain a sense of personal dignity that requires me to treat them as people for whom Christ died and still seeks to save. Our secular society finds our compassion in this regard as helplessly “religious” in nature and therefore irrelevant to the public sphere. They would even criticize us for interjecting religion into matters of state. Yet, Meilander finds that it is the unbelievers “who find themselves mute when asked to give an account of our shared public commitment [to equal respect for every human being].” Their silence in this regard is both enlightening and frightful.

It is instructive to witness the great outpouring of love and concern for the people of Haiti coming from a) Christians and b) countries sharing a traditional Christian heritage. They recognize the personal dignity that resides in each poor, helpless, and struggling Haitian man, woman, and child in spite of language, culture, tradition, or even religion. We go because Christ went. We weep because Christ wept. We have compassion because Christ had compassion. And in doing these things for the least of those, we do it unto Him. When enough of us continue this great commission and tradition, we can actually exalt a nation.

*2009, Encounter Books, New York, NY.

Dignity III

2010-01-21T12:14:00.000-08:00

“And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness:” -Genesis 1:26

If you wondered if there were any fresh questions regarding the dignity of man out there today, you need look no farther than the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology. It is not a journal I subscribe to or keep up with regularly but you need to hear the rich and imaginative language with which two highly educated doctors have come up with in justifying the taking of human life. The article which ran in the December, 2009, journal has a title which says it all: “An ethically justified practical approach to offering, recommending, performing, and referring for induced abortion and feticide.” My guard goes up immediately anytime I read about an ethically justified practical approach to anything. It is almost a sure give-away that someone is going to rationalize something horribly wrong.

Sure enough, the authors, Frank A. Chervenak, M.D., and Laurence B. McCullough, Ph.D., have created a very high sounding argument justifying the practice of abortion by redefining when human life takes on value and meaning. According to them, “the fetus lacks the capacity to generate a perspective on its interests” due to “the immaturity of the fetal central nervous system.” Did you get that? In other words, human life that cannot reflect upon its own self interest has no inherent value or meaning. The authors go on to insist that we have obligations to the fetus only “…when the fetus is reliably expected later to achieve moral status as a child and person” which is “…established only by the pregnant woman's decision to confer the status of being a patient.” They talk about some concern for a fetus who has viability outside the womb but after all this talk of “perspective on its interests” and the conferring of personhood only by the mother, we can envision only a muddled life ethic perched precariously on the most slippery of slopes.

If you were not confused already, catch this surefire guide to directing the limited role for a doctor’s “individual conscience.” One needs to be careful because “…in contrast to professional conscience, individual conscience is variable because of the striking heterogeneity of the sources of morality that form individual conscience.” There you have it. The conscience of the individual is inherently untrustworthy because it is formed by who-knows-what source of inspiration. It might even be contaminated by religious views which we all know are oh-so personal (read “arbitrary” and “capricious”) in nature. We who have amateur consciences are to leave these choices of life and death to those trusted souls who can exercise a more “professional conscience.”

We do not have here some diabolical evil geniuses out of a James Bond movie or some sci-fi tale twisting logic and language to cover their perverse schemes. These are pre-eminent scholars and medical minds of the highest order who are conjuring up this Brave New World now on our doorstep. The dignity of human life is under attack simply because our new leaders have abandoned the ground of being that has for centuries defined western civilization. They search desperately for another rock of understanding but can only come up with “the capacity to generate a perspective on its interests” or simply, the ability to choose. Just how will this kind of thinking hold up in situations of despair when a parent, a spouse, or the state questions the practicality of caring for a life that has become burdensome? I thought so.

You have an opportunity to stand with others this weekend upholding a Biblical standard for the dignity of all human life by attending the Right to Life prayer service at Calvary Baptist Church, 3200 Kingston Pike, at 2:00 PM, Sunday, Jan. 24^th, featuring Mr. Jim Wood of Wears Valley Ranch. What a great field trip for you and your children. They need to know that being little is not necessarily safe anymore.

Dignity II

2010-01-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

“Whosoever shall receive one of such little children in my name, receiveth me” -ASV Mark 9:37

I love the song, “Plant a Radish,” from the 1960 Schmidt and Jones musical, “The Fantastics.” It is the plaintive cry of a gardening father who has great luck with vegetables but not so much with children.

Plant a radish.
Get a radish.
Never any doubt.
That's why I love vegetables;
You know what you're about!

They're dependable!
They're befriendable!
They're the best pal a parent's ever known!
While with children,
It's bewilderin'.
You don't know until the seed is nearly grown
Just what you've sown.

So plant a carrot,
Get a carrot,
Not a Brussels sprout.
That's why I love vegetables.
You know what you're about!

Life is merry,
If it's very
Vegetarian!
A man who plants a garden
Is a very happy man!

Plant a beanstalk.
Get a beanstalk.
Just the same as Jack.
Then if you don't like it,
You can always take it back!

But if your issue
Doesn't kiss you,
Then I wish you luck.
For once you've planted children,
You're absolutely stuck!

While the spirit of this song is very light hearted and centers on the whimsical years of adolescence, the actual reality of this truth can stretch one to the limits of despair. I have a nephew-in-law in prison for manslaughter right now. He has broken his mother’s Christian heart innumerable times and one has to ponder the why of it even though there were some obvious cross currents in his life involving a broken home and an alcoholic father. But even the finest of families produce the most curious anomalies that perplex us all. One child is the model of responsibility while the next is totally forgetful and oblivious to all that is around him. One has all the gifts of an academic scholar and the other is intrigued only by machines and grease. One will cherish all the home making arts while another has no love whatsoever for anything domestic.

We are content for the most part with this reproductive lottery when it comes to the skills, interests, and abilities of our children. It is quite another thing, however, when we all of a sudden realize that our child is severely limited in intelligence, personality, or by a physical abnormality. Life all of a sudden can turn into a grinding test of faith and love when we realize that one of our children is not the child we had in mind.

Not long ago, I recall talking in the same week with two sets of parents sharing a similar though divergent problem. One set of parents had discovered that they had a very gifted child on their hands, a child that read at a level far beyond his years and who was totally bored with the school work his peers found challenging. Yet, he was emotionally right on grade level in terms of personal maturity. The other parents had discovered that their child was not just developmentally delayed but actually tested out at a very low I.Q level. Both children, as a result, would present constant and on-going challenges to their parents. Neither family asked for or necessarily would have even chosen either of these characteristics if they had had a choice. But God clothes both in equal dignity that recognizes no difference. In fact, it is the weak among us who define our humanity best and contribute greatly in that regard. Jesus chose to associate with low life, children, and even lunatics demonstrating how God uses the simple things to confound the wise. Our challenge is to see each of our children as equally valued in the sight of God regardless of ability, stature, or charm. Our children need to see that in each other.

Dignity I

2010-01-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

Since then the children are sharers in flesh and blood, he also himself in like manner partook of the same; ASV Heb. 2:14

For all you word fans out there, Christmas is a time where we celebrate the Incarnation; God with us. Like no other, our God chose to come near and inhabit our world with us in human form. Incarnation literally means “in flesh.” It derives from the Latin word, caro, from which we derive all sorts of words such as carnal, carnivorous, and even carnival which harks back to the celebrations that would take place before the “doing away with meat” during Lent. The Incarnation of Christ in our world has been the source of much holiday meditation of mine and is a concept that both appalls me and thrills me.

On the appalling side, I can get quite queasy when I dwell on the weaknesses of the flesh. I could never be a doctor or especially a surgeon. Once the body is opened up, I am easily sickened by the sights of quivering, bloody tissue. I prefer to picture each of you as freshly washed and groomed persons in your Sunday best beaming smiles from your Christmas pictures. That you are spirits wrapped in flesh that is subject to a thousand corruptions and quite capable of emanating the foulest of substances is a fact I choose not to dwell upon. And our Lord stooped to take on this mantle of weakness? It is hard for me to imagine a more bizarre scenario. How could he do this?

On the thrilling side, the very fact that Christ did take on the form of human flesh with all its concomitant weaknesses and frailties is incredibly ennobling. Christmas forever puts a stamp of extreme value upon all human flesh as God himself chooses to take it on for the purpose of redeeming all humanity. He shares in our universal weakness, our suffering, and our pain to accomplish His plan of salvation for a broken and lost creation. But not for all, not for the plants, the animals; just for man alone. All creation stands as a mere backdrop for this drama of redemption for people such as you and I.

This is what changes everything when we look at creation and all the world. Mankind has a dignity and worth because of the price tag God put upon it. This idea has previously infected all of western civilization through the ages but now is in grave danger. Our modern world is attempting to maintain the old values regarding the dignity of man apart from the underpinnings of Christian faith. Pity on those who try for it is hard to do. Many hang their hopes on focusing on the rationality of man and his free will to choose. This is a threadbare hope at best and one which will wither away, but surely it will never resist the onslaught of a determined attack. Even now there are those who talk about defending new born life only when a certain “viability” is attained. “Choice” is, in fact, championed as a supreme act of the free will in terminating the unborn. And the loss of rationality is becoming dangerously close to justify the ending of “unmeaningful” life.

When we talk of critical thinking as a worthwhile and virtuous activity, I would urge you to examine with your children this whole idea of the dignity of man as we have traditionally come to presume upon it. It is in poor health in our society, and we Christians are the only folks that have the gold standard antidote. Do your children know what is at stake here? I would plead with you to take time and effort to discuss and teach them in very concrete terms the ramifications of the incarnation. This can be a Bible lesson or one seen in literature or History. The stark test of it is to visit a nursing home and wade into rooms full of the feeble, the broken, the incontinent, the mentally absent, the less than sweet smelling, and to touch their translucent skin in a way that says that they have great value because God said so. The fate of our society as we know it depends upon it.

Christmas 2009

2009-12-18T11:51:00.000-08:00

Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judaea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him. -KJV Matthew 2:1-2

Every experienced teacher knows of at least a few exciting moments when they have come up with a razzle dazzle lesson plan that “wowed” their students and brought their enthusiasm to a fever pitch. Great teachers live for those moments and yearn for more of them day by day. Students love it as well whenever learning is coupled with fun and excitement of any kind but especially days that include anything involving a live animal, loud noises, real paint, or a combination of smoke and fire. We educators understand the power of excitement and hands-on discovery and would love to infuse every lesson with fireworks or rabbits popping out of hats. Unfortunately, there is much in education that just does not lend itself to the dramatic. A good teacher can bring a certain amount of drama to any subject, and this administrator will encourage that at every turn. But try as we will, there are always those stretches in the educational journey where progress can only be achieved by a good supply of practice, repetition, and memorization that borders on or camps out in the bland land of the tedious.

Teachers have been made to feel guilty, at times, in today’s high energy world for lapses in the school day where repetitious exercises and drill are relied upon to imprint a concept or idea. Avant-guard teachers are even praised for not requiring any homework whatsoever on the part of their students. Yet we know that there is much to be gained through routine and daily practice that may, indeed, be entirely devoid of dramatics or “fun.” Artists will even tell us that discipline, commitment to practice, routine, and structure are the gateway to creative accomplishment having any lasting and real merit. Bertrand Russell wrote of the necessity to bear with the boredom of structure and discipline and argued that any society “that cannot endure boredom will be a generation of little men...unduly divorced from the slow processes of nature, in which every vital impulse withers.”*

I looked to the Christmas story this year and saw many instances where the main characters moved slowly to the center stage of world history through days, months, and even years of tedious labor. Shepherds were keeping watch over their flocks by night, a dreadfully dull duty when all others about them were asleep in their beds. Joseph subjected himself to the tediously slow pace of a cumbersome and pregnant young woman with many special needs while blindly following inconvenient orders that were the despised idea of a foreign king. And the wise men were professionals all who had dedicated years of study to their craft, patiently and studiously charting the heavens. They scratched at the puzzle of the ages of how all the stars swam in relationships that kept changing but yet seemed tied together in some ingenious dance. These wise men were products of a lifetime of study dedicated to a line of work that promised no immediate reward. Yet when the star appeared, they were there looking, observing, and alert to see its implications when everyone else saw nothing at all.

May we be found faithful in the dry valleys of duty while others chase after a mirage of shimmering illusion leading nowhere; an illusion that issues the siren call of instantaneous gratification, quick results, and easy execution. May we lead our children by word and example showing them how to persevere through adversity, weariness, and strain to obtain the rewards of both earthly study and eternal preparation. Let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not (Gal. 6:9). There are enough little men about us.

* As cited in Kathleen Norris, Acedia & Me (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008), 41

Significance

2009-11-18T11:39:00.000-08:00

“Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?” - Psalms 56:8

Just how special are you? A clue comes from modern pathology science which has discovered the unique, special mark that each person carries within their DNA. A recent crime story took this simple fact one step further as investigators solved an abduction and murder case involving a 5 year old girl by analyzing the tear stains on the passenger side of her killer’s car. There, within those stains, was found the unmistakable proof of the little girl’s DNA identity. How poignant that this little girl’s tears solved her own murder case. How incredibly powerful is the knowledge that our tears are uniquely laced with our own one-of-a-kind personhood.

In ancient times, we are told that mourners at funerals would collect their tears in little bottles and place them with the body upon burial. Evidence of this has been found in tombs in Rome and Palestine sometimes in great profusion. From this we can flesh out the picture of Psalm 56:8 where God is said to collect our tears in His bottle; or as the indelible stains upon the pages of our record. Our tears are uniquely our own, and our God knows them all.

Two lessons come clear to me upon reflection on this truth. One, each one of us is completely different from all other persons who have ever walked on the earth or will take breath in this world. When the Scriptures talk about a victim’s blood crying out from the ground for justice, we know now that every drop of our blood has our name on it. We are imprinted from birth with a mark that sets us apart from all others. When lost in a large crowd of thousands or imagine ourselves swallowed up amidst the millions of China, we need never lose track of our own unique significance in the eyes of God. And, in fact, He has numbered the very hairs of our head. He sees the sparrow fall but proclaims we are of far greater worth. Such knowledge is too high for me. I cannot attain to it. Yet it is sweetly comforting.

Secondly, God has ordained that we live such lives where tears are inevitable. Sorrow and grief follow in our steps as surely as death follows life. Ever since our expulsion from the garden, pain and suffering are an endemic part of our lives. At one time, my immature thoughts considered pain as either the result of my own poor thought processes or someone else’s. If we were just smart enough, pain could be avoided altogether. Either that or pain was just a result of some bad luck which, like lightning, strikes without cause or warning: a twist of cruel but random fate. I see pain and suffering now as more a constant part of the fabric of our lives: as destined for us as earning our bread by the sweat of our brow.

Yet God, Himself, stepped into our world and took on the limitations and pain of man. Dorothy Sayers wrote, “For whatever reason God chose to make man as he is – limited and suffering and subject to sorrows and death – He had the honesty and courage to take His own medicine… He has Himself gone through the whole of human experience, from the trivial irritations of family life and the cramping restrictions of hard work and lack of money to the worst horrors of pain and humiliation, defeat, despair and death. When He was a man, He played the man. He was born in poverty and died in disgrace and thought it well worthwhile.”* We, too, can walk this vale of tears and find it all worthwhile. Especially as we know we are uniquely significant. Not only that, but we are hovered over by the lover of our souls, one who has experienced all the limitations of the flesh, who keeps a record of all our tears until the day when all sorrow shall cease; no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying when He will wipe away every tear.

*Dorothy Sayers, Creed or Chaos? (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1949), 4.

Completely Loved

2009-11-12T10:50:00.000-08:00

“Henceforth I call you not servants; … but I have called you friends;” -John 15:15

A visit to Mrs. Miller’s 4^th gr. class was on my agenda the other week, and so I went to just observe and be as unobtrusive as possible. Before I could enter the room, however, a display of student work on the door arrested my attention and held me riveted by what I began to read. It was just one of those simple fill-in-the-blank exercises that elementary teachers use to get to know their students and elicit some creative expression. Under a photo of themselves, students filled in the blanks with statements about themselves that ranged from the humorous to the profound. A girl wrote: The important thing about me is that I love God. I love my family and my friends. I love my enemies but not working outside on a very hot day. Oh, that all of us found loving our enemies preferable over working outside on a very hot day. Wow! Another wrote: I like ice cream and vegetables but not mold! The most important think about me is I love Jesus, the Christ. Without a doubt, this most important thing is the most important thing. May we do as well to remember.

While these stabbed me to the heart (all the while standing there with a door half opened), one response brought tears to my soul that came close to seeping out the eyes. A girl wrote: The important thing about me is just being me! I like school so much! I like school because my teacher is fun, and my classmates are all great! I also like all the subjects – they are very fun but not English as much. I also like doing cartwheels (a lot) and playing with my sister! I think we play well together. But the most important thing about me is that I am completely loved, completely accepted, and completely significant!!!

I stood there stunned that any 4^th grader would be able to say that they were completely loved, completely accepted, and completely significant at that tender age. I wanted to file a letter of complaint against my upbringing and bring suit against all involved because I was never able to say any such thing let alone be able to even spell those words. How many of us could simply sit in wonder at how we might have matured, how different things might have been, and what results might have followed had we been able to say in 4^th grade, I am completely loved, completely accepted, and completely significant.

My first suspicion upon further reflection was that the parents had coached their daughter on what to say. And so I interviewed them over the phone trying to ascertain the source of these words that had so gripped my imagination. No, there was no dictation involved. The student had freely transcribed these stirring sentiments on her own. But there had been a conscious and deliberate pouring into this young heart a series of devotions taken from God’s word that underlined these very things. Though I am sure that these parents had invested much of their time in giving their children a sense of their own love and acceptance, in the end it is the Scriptures that brings the deepest and most satisfying answer to the child’s heart. For every child instinctively knows that there are secrets and closets within each of us that are known only to God. Parental love is important, but God’s love is even more important because he knows us, oh, so intimately. Once God’s love is grasped and accepted, we are free to love one another as witnessed by the positive words of affirmation towards all of life throughout this young girl’s responses.

It is my prayer that all our students may come to the full knowledge of our standing with God, the creator of heaven and earth, who stoops and deigns to call us, “friend.” Nothing shows the need more than a recent survey of Knox Co. middle school students which revealed that 17% of them had considered killing themselves, 12% had made a plan, and 7% had made an attempt. How desperate the need.

Grasping the Moment

2009-11-05T10:40:00.000-08:00

All thy works shall praise thee, O Lord; and thy saints shall bless thee. KJV Psalms 145:10

I paused for traffic on this golden day, and watched in wonder as a swarm of leaves showered over me in a sudden frolic. Once dead upon the ground they held little fascination, yet in flight they spilled themselves in utter abandon, giving the moment a sudden delight. Just for me. They held their place for a season of green but now, they danced with the wind in a blaze of color for this one brief bit of time, just for me, and were gone.

There are these rich days of autumn in which the sun breaks through and lights up a few glorious hours of our year in which one tree in fifty suddenly grips our sight with special beauty. It bids us stop and just behold the color yellow rippling through a blue sky in a demonstration only nature can provide. And there, on the ground, lay a perfectly reflective puddle of yellow flakes anchored to a blackened trunk; mute testimony that says this is no illusion.

And just when I think I have seen the perfect tree with the most vivid hue, another bids me on to come and drink in an even more impressive scene. Now, orange and green blend in marbled splendor and surpass the dead of yellow. I cannot but dread that I am not able to take it all in; that there are more and better views just around the corner. And then I must cope with a sun that will not stand still, though I command and command, and in a few brief turns of time changes everything.

That sun, the same early morning companion I witnessed setting the eastern sky afire in red just a few days hence, refused to do my bidding then. I searched in vain for someone to come to my precipice and share in the sky splitting display that came but once in time. I needed a witness to verify the absolute glory of it all, but it would not wait, impatient to get about its task, and so the moment was gone, the masterpiece dissolving like some passing mist.

I witnessed, too, this week, a father bending over his two sons with tender but manly embrace. He spoke words of blessing tinged with words of challenge; instruction that gave their little lives direction and purpose; rails of steel laid with unmistakable affection into the hearts and minds of two young boys that would not fail to guide them hence and return them safe again. I looked at young eyes that were open to receive these assurances of grace with a trust affirmed by love and deep respect. The beauty of that moment held me transfixed until it, too, passed by.

This same day bore witness to the magic of two, new born babies who pulled at deep passions within a mother’s breast. Not just ‘a’ mother, but all mothers who happened on the scene. For some brief days, these little ones have the power to command and compel complete attention and cause many to stand in line for just a chance to hold them. What fascination to see such quiet and mute forms evoke such tender joy. It is the cry to grasp this moment of time that passes all too quickly, echoing memories of children grown and gone before.

I want to cling to all these moments for their raw beauty, but they pass before me as live drama defying all efforts to freeze them in place. I am forced to live in awe of the now and practice gratitude for these passing moments of beauty and grace. May God give me eyes to see all such passing scenes of splendor that touch my sleeves each day and enough joy in my heart that is sufficient to pay the proper obeisance.

Critical Thinking

2009-10-15T10:36:00.000-07:00

“Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established.” Proverbs 4:26

For several weeks now, we have been featuring articles about critical thinking. Our capacity for rational thought is a wonderful and incredible gift from God and distinguishes us from the rest of creation. It is our aim in the educational process to awaken this gift and sharpen it for the glory of God. To neglect and stifle our capacity for thought is tantamount to hiding our “talent” in the ground like the wicked and slothful servant. God commands us to “ponder the path of our feet,” to think carefully of where our lives are headed and to willingly choose His ways over our own. Joshua succinctly summarized the challenge to all humanity when he challenged the children of Israel to “…choose you this day whom ye will serve…” (Josh. 24:15). Our gift of rationality is rooted in our free will given to us by God so that we may choose to serve him willingly and not as the angels do, out of compulsion.

The famous French sculptor, Rodin, has left us with a powerful image in his statue of “The Thinker.” It is the ultimate picture of one engaged in deep and careful thought. What most folks do not know is that this particular sculpture was part of a much larger frieze that surrounded a majestic and ornate set of doors. The whole piece was a depiction of scenes from Dante’s Inferno which describes several layers of hell in increasing terror. Over the top and center of these doors sits “the thinker” contemplating the destiny of his eternal soul. What a wonderful portrayal of how seriously we should take Pro. 4:26 above.

In a day and age where we can access incredible boatloads of information at a touch of the finger and where the media is overwhelming us with messages of every kind, we need discerning minds and spirits as never before “…that we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive….” (Eph. 4:14). God is calling us out to be men and women whose minds are girded up to receive the end of our faith (1Pet. 1:13).

But now comes the disclaimer, and it is big. Critical thinking will not in and of itself make us good persons or even necessarily lead us to a knowledge of the most high God. Because of the fall, our rational capacities are unreliable and capable of great self-deception. We can all tell stories of some of the most quick minded but evil people we would ever not want to meet. Pol Pot, the mass murderer of Cambodia, had a college education from France. Lenin was a keen intellectual of the highest order. Your own children are proof of the tremendous ingenuity and capability of the human mind for manufacturing excuses and shifting blame. It is the heart of man that is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked (Jer. 17:9). We need a heart transplant as well as an education. Our theology should determine our morality, but often it is the other way around. Our morality is quite capable of determining our theology.

The heart and the mind need renewing. They represent two ends of a stick held in tension. We choose God with our minds, and He, in turn, changes our hearts. God touches our hearts with his love, and then renews our minds with His Holy Spirit illumining His truth to us. Which comes first? Not quite sure. But as beings created in His image, I know we are to be people of incredibly loving hearts and sound minds. May we grow up to the fullness of who He created us to be.

Mercy and Truth,

Critical Thinking I

2009-08-27T08:14:00.000-07:00

And they could not take hold of his words before the people: and they marveled at his answer, and held their peace. -Luke 20:26

“But I don’t want to think. Just give me the answer.” This is a line guaranteed to make teachers grind their teeth and employers lose any thoughts of seeing management potential. It is a common complaint of high school teachers in talking of their students. I know, because for years I have had to listen to one every evening. There are two kinds of knowledge; one, the anecdotal collection of facts ranging from the essential to the trivial, and the other, those ideas, principles, and suppositions buttressed by a superstructure of reasonings and conclusions. We learn the essentials of 2+2 but then launch these numbers into the realm of theoretical possibilities that propel men to the moon and back again. In between the two, an ocean of hard reasoning and creative thinking must take place that carefully builds theorem upon theorem, test upon test, and conclusion upon conclusion. Those who dare to think and stitch together the known to the unknown are those who build our future and become the path makers of tomorrow.

Building that kind of intellectual muscle takes time and practice. It is our nature to avoid strengthening exercises of any sort. We would prefer our meals fast, our stairs to be elevators, and our lessons spoon fed. Such attitude is quite common in adults, and we should not be surprised to find it in children. High level problem solving skills do not come naturally but must be fostered, taught, and encouraged. Yes, children will quickly find ways of reaching a high-shelved cookie jar but must be taught the problem solving involved with washing clothes, simple geometry, or finding a cure for cancer.

C.S. Lewis credits a teacher, a Mr. Kirkpatrick, with teaching him the skill of dialectic, the art or practice of examining ideas logically to determine their validity.* Lewis was boy of 16 when sent away to the care of this giant of a man who became affectionately among the Lewis family as “the great Knock.” He met young protogé at the train station and walked him into town. “Kirk” began their amble with the solemn pronouncement that they were “proceeding along the principal artery between Great and Little Bookham.” Not knowing what to say, Lewis tried to make small talk commenting that the scenery of Surrey was much “wilder” than he had expected. “Stop!” shouted Kirk with a suddenness that made him jump. “What do you mean by wildness and what grounds had you for not expecting it?” What followed was more “conversation” in which each answer was torn to shreds. It finally occurred to Lewis that his teacher really wanted to know. Lewis was guided to the conclusion that he had no right whatsoever to any opinion on the subject. So began one of the most significant relationships in the formation of Lewis’s keen mind and intellect. He acknowledged that many boys would have fled such a withering inquisition, but for him it was all red beef and strong drink. “Here was a man who thought not about you but about what you said.” We all owe debt of gratitude to “the great Knock” for those early lessons.

I have asked our teachers this year to look to their curriculum to see if we are doing enough to encourage critical thinking skills. We will never be able to supply our students with enough answers for life. In fact, we have no idea of the questions and challenges they will face as the future generation. It is for us to equip them with the skills of using their God given minds to be able to think through the unknowns of tomorrow with sound reasoning and the application of Scriptural principles. (to be continued)

*Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis

The New

2009-08-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

"Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” -NIV Isaiah 43:18-19

It has begun. A parent stopped me on Monday to exclaim how the first day of school is always so exciting. I marveled, somewhat, as this was coming from a former teacher who had experienced many first days of school in her recent past. Yet, she was genuinely excited in large part because of her children and their first day of a new year, a new grade, a new teacher, and a new school. She was not alone as I sensed the electricity everywhere on that first morning. Our new teachers, especially, were tuned to a fever pitch. And returning teachers were exultant over the new students they were receiving.

There is something distinctly human about all this. There is an inherent love for new things in the human heart that can’t be disguised. A new job, a new house, or a new baby all bring a certain kind of joy and excitement that is undeniable. What is it that resonates within us to rejoice in something new? I can’t help but believe that it derives from the image of God whose stamp we bear. Our God is a creative God who took delight in creation with a full spectrum of colors, infinite variety, and downright whimsy. Witness the lowly walking stick or the marvel of the hummingbird or a dog’s hind leg and you will see incredible creativity at every hand. Not only did God create the tree but, indeed, thousands of species of them each bearing its own special design, grain, and inherent characteristics that woodworkers love to explore. Creation is a riot of excess that surrounds us all.

So, too, man is not content to live out his days in tedious monotony. To do so is the very diabolical heart of incarceration and imprisonment. My grandchildren at age one and two have to find something to do, to play with, to experience anew with every passing hour much to the tired chagrin of their parents. Adults, also, must create and build and learn each day or else their souls begin to whither and die within them. It is an intense and very real force that resides within. And new challenges, new opportunities, new experiences awaken in us that God given fire to imitate in part what He has done in the whole. It is what we were born to do. I know of no other adequate explanation.

May we all keep that fire burning within us to grow and exult in the new, the novel, the fresh and to relish opportunities for innovation, pioneering, and creating. I must remind myself that this is a unique year of life for this school and each of your children, and it will never pass this way again. That thought should impel us all to remove our hum drum shoes of habit and custom for we are standing on holy ground. Let us rejoice as well in the newness of life that God is still in the process of building within each of us. He has not rested from His labors but desires earnestly that we become more and more conformed to the image of His Son. To that end, He still works and toils and, I suspect, takes joy in it with each new day.

the human heart

2009-07-27T07:48:00.000-07:00

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” -Jeremiah 17:9

That is not a very cheery verse of Scripture, I know. And not something I would normally expect to write about in the middle of our summer break when we are enjoying trips to the beach, picnics with family, and all sorts of light hearted and innocent pleasures. It represents, as well, one of the most despised of Christian doctrines, that of the natural depravity of man. It may be the most despised yet it remains the one doctrine for which there abounds the most evidence. Sickeningly so.

I returned from close to three weeks of relative isolation from the news media and events of the day to discover in our local newspaper fresh evidence of all the above. News item after news item detailed in astonishing fashion the foolishness of men and women, even in our own community, many of whom were members of our fashionable and educated elite. Some had simply destroyed their own reputations while others had utterly destroyed the lives of others. I am privileged only to read about such matters. My friend, a policeman, has to investigate first hand and witness the underside of our community in all its gruesomeness. I can see and feel the anguish and astonishment that turns over in his soul each time I meet him when he even starts to hint at the stories he cannot tell me.

I was reminded of the ever present nature of sin and how it seeps into the lives of all around us while traveling by plane to Seattle. I observed with some admiration a stewardess moving so confidently about our plane calmly directing the passengers, handling all the little issues arising in those cramped quarters, and handing out refreshments at 40,000 feet. She was our authority figure completely at ease with her responsibilities and master of her high-flown domain. Yet I could not help but marvel in over hearing her discussion with a co-worker as they sat awaiting landing as she poured forth her personal anguish over her own teen-age children who were not doing the right thing. How could one so confidant and capable in directing perfect strangers be so powerless to direct the lives of her own children? And how could I be so easily fooled in failing to see a life of quiet desperation that exists behind such a professional façade?

Yes, sin is everywhere, even crouching at our own heart’s door. Alexander Solzhenitsyn wrote of how desperately he wanted to become a part of a traveling drama troupe while confined in Stalin’s prison camps even though it furthered Stalin’s evil propaganda. It was easy duty away from picks and wheel barrows. A year after failing to gain entrance to this traveling team, he learned that their truck had been hit by a train en route to another camp. “…I once more realized that the ways of the Lord are imponderable. That we ourselves never know what we want. And how many times in life I passionately sought what I did not need and been despondent over failures which were successes.”*

I see quite readily the huge fault lines in the lives of so many around me as they fall into ruin. Yet I must retain a healthy distrust of my own desires, both base and sublime, for I truly do not know what I really want. Jesus said I am nothing more than a sheep after all, one of God’s most helpless and mindless creatures. We are called to walk humbly with our God. Read your newspaper, talk to a policeman, or simply watch the well heeled lives around you stumble and fall. Together, they are a very ample source of humility to remind us all that there except for the grace of God go you and I. Nothing like a little portion of soberness in the middle of your summertime fun. Sorry.

*The Gulag Archipelago Two, Harper & Row, 1975, p. 501

2009-05-14T07:22:00.000-07:00

Thus is the man blessed who fears the LORD. Your sons will be like olive shoots around your table. NIV Psalms 128:3-4

The kindergarten teachers along with Krista Allison put together a royal kindergarten graduation ceremony on Monday evening. Running a little late from the events of the day, I arrived to discover the auditorium filled with parents, siblings, and proud grandparents. It was hard to sneak in unobtrusively especially when you are taking part in the program.

The students did what they did best, looking “cuter than a puppy under a little red wagon on Sunday,” as Tennessee Ernie Ford used to say. As each student had their moment in the spotlight, I could hear the murmured sighs of joy coming from one family and then the next. The slide show was melting hearts right and left as images of innocence paraded by. Any number of tissues were consumed during the evening as all bore witness to a year of spectacular growth and change in these young children. If nothing else, the evening highlighted what a treasure each little life represented and how it was such an honor and privilege to have shared in one year’s life of a child. And to see your children awake from your dreams is a feeling only a parent knows. The cameras were rolling and a ton of digital images were preserving the moment.

Of course, these were the very same children that barely a few months ago had so provoked their parents that they were tempted to pinch their little heads off. Moms and dads were squaring off and telling each other to do something about THEIR offspring, blaming each others genes for any and all behavioral problems.

Now that is family life for you: proud as punch one day and ready to rip an arm off to beat someone over the head with it the next. But time has a way of smoothing out the bumps, and when we stand back and get a glimpse of the big picture, we are amazed at what God had done and is doing through it all. We are participating in the very act of creation, growth, life, and blessing. For every one inconvenience, late night sickness, broken lamp, or scene of public embarrassment our children bring, we stand amazed at the grace that takes us through it all. Growing up is not a neat and clean affair. But it is powerful as we see it bring into being a story all its own, one that has never been told before since the beginning of time. And we were there.

So it is looking back on this year as an administrator. Life in the CFC family was not always neat nor clean and sometimes even downright messy and painful. Yet there was life, pulsing, moving, growing, learning, and always riddled with some laughter along the way. As I reflect, I, too, will grasp and hold the beauty of it all as we participated in the mystery of one year in the life of a child, times 150. Yes, there were tears, scuffed knees, failed tests, notes home, and even a conference or two. But stepping back to sense the big picture, I celebrate on this day a year of school busting out with life and the promise of more growth to come. My cameras are rolling. I am murmuring pride at all that these students are becoming. And, yes, I am proud to know that I and all those who labor alongside of me had just a little something to do with it all. I will keep my tissues hidden, but you will see them if you look closely. Thanks for letting us participate in the lives of your children. What a privilege.

The Visual Part IV

2009-05-07T07:16:00.000-07:00

“the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes,” KJV Genesis 3:6

I will attempt to close this series on the overwhelming “power of the visual” and try not to get too radical in my prescription. No promises, however. Up to now, I have attempted to convince the reader that we actually may have a problem that has real consequences for learning, for development, and for all that we know about us as our “humanness.” That is no small challenge. Many of us have drifted to where we are quite unaware or indifferent to the increasing power of the visual in our age. So what do we do about it?

As with any problem of abundance, whether it be food, wealth, time, or whatever, the answer is to find the joy and freedom of a disciplined lifestyle. Food is for the body. The body is not for food. Simple enough. Yet entering into a covenant with oneself to limit our intake to only what we need is such an ongoing problem for us all because of the smorgasbord of affordable possibilities that lie at every street corner. So, too, with the visual. It is everywhere and well within the reach of most every household. We can turn our living rooms into a totally captivating arcade at minimal cost. The question is, “Should we?” And if we do, how much of our weekly schedule should we allow it to consume? And at what age does it inhibit normal development?

The visual industry, when you reflect on it, is all about entertainment. Television, movies, games, and the internet are predominantly used to entertain. Yes, there are educational applications to all of the above, but that is not what draws teens and twenty-somethings into addiction. We need to ask ourselves just how much of our lives we will allow ourselves to be entertained. Have we set limits for ourselves and our families? To surfeit ourselves with entertainment is to stand with the ancient Romans crying out for more “bread and circus.” Creativity dies. Initiative dies. Any sense of mission dies.

Secondly, I believe we need to develop a keener sense of age appropriateness. A driver’s license is given into the hands of teens only upon a developed sense of maturity, an attained legal age, training and testing. I believe we need to start questioning the age at which we should entrust the powerful visual tools we have created. It wasn’t too long ago when parents debated the wisdom of allowing a telephone in the room of a teenager. We knew it was a gateway to private conversations into the nether world of the prevailing teen culture. And now we allow teens and pre-teens not only to have their own totally private cell phones but also unfettered access to the social websites. Social websites (and even email) are powerful tools. I question the maturity of teens and pre-teens to handle them responsibly without being drawn into a world of peer pressure, secret chatter, or mind numbing trivia. There is enough cruelty to be suffered at the hands of other teens without exposing them to on-line anonymity, taunts, and intimidation. If a child must be allowed to carry a cell phone, I would recommend the cheap and disposable types sold at drug and dollar stores with renewable minutes. It is all my wife has or needs. Picture phones are now being bent to the most abominable purposes in the hands of children. Time on video games needs to be carefully regulated and monitored. At any sign of flagging attention spans for the more mundane things of life (such as reading), I would recommend their removal altogether. Let’s stop using movies to babysit or pacify our children. It is the “soma”* of our age. Let them learn to entertain themselves. It is essential for creative development. Constant exposure to fast paced visual entertainment destroys attention spans in the youngest of children, much to the bane of teachers everywhere.

If you are uncertain as to how much the visual distractions of our age are affecting your home, I challenge you to go on a 30 day fast from all forms of electronic gadgets, games, and images. See and observe what happens in the life of your family. If you see little difference, all may be well and good. You are probably at a level that is appropriate and sustainable. But if you or your children experience the pains of withdrawal, not knowing what to do with yourselves, there is a problem you will need to address. A 30 day fast will, in and of itself, cause you to turn to one another for interaction, entertainment, and relationship building. Homework and chores may even take on new significance and meaning. And no telling what kind of hobbies may develop.

We may look at the Amish and laugh at their self-imposed exile from modern life, but secretly, we must all wonder if they don’t have something right. Indeed, they have had the courage to look modernity in the face and raise the question, “Just because we can, should we?”

* “soma” – a state supplied drug to pacify the general populace in Huxley's BRAVE NEW WORLD.

the visual part II

2009-04-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

"the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes,” Genesis 3:6 KJV

It is easy, very easy, for my generation to fall asleep at the switch with regards to the dangers of digital addiction. First of all, many of us older fogeys have little interest in video gaming or social web sites as we either are content with our lives, busy as they are, or these things are past our comfort zone in this computer age (yet there is a spike among retired folk who have more time). Secondly, I see where many parents are enamored with anything involving computer skills, and the thought of their children and grandchildren learning how to navigate their way around the world of the web is a point of pride: “My child is learning the future!” Thirdly, we are only now becoming aware of the reality of digital addiction and the threat it has become.

In 1995, a New York psychiatrist, Dr. Ivan Goldberg invented the term, “Internet Addiction Disorder,” as a joke to parody an association manual just released cataloging all the known mental disorders. To his surprise, he received a rash of mail from people and colleagues confessing their “addiction.” It is no longer a joking matter. South Korea is the most wired country on earth with a 97% broadband penetration into homes versus only 67% in the U.S. The S. Korean government now estimates up to 30% of those under the age of 18 are at risk of internet addiction. Internet cafes have proliferated to the level of some 20,000 so-called “PC Bangs” where rows and rows of mainly young boys and men line up to play video games. The Korean government has now set up 200 counseling centers and has trained more that 1,000 internet addiction counselors. Two week camps are set up to treat young people in “p.c. free” zones where the aim is to restore a “lost childhood” with real time activities with real people. China has over 300 treatment centers and estimates about 10 million adolescents qualify as addicted. It has ordered online game operators to install “fatigue” systems that post warnings and diminish point rewards after three hours of play.

The next version of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual from the Psychiatric association, due out in 2012, very well could contain some form of disorder designation for digital addiction. If so, it would mean that treatment for internet addiction could be covered by your health insurance. This is the world we are now entering. I cite all these dismal statistics just to make the point that the power of the visual has assumed enormous proportions and poses a very real threat to normal, human health and development, especially among young people. We have created a powerful machine and now must learn how to control it.

How big is this business in the U.S.? Studies say 97% of American teens aged 12-17 play video games using a variety of devices and half of them do so every day. We know that boys are especially cued to the visual and, not surprisingly, 99% of them are players versus 94% of girls. 65% of males are daily gamers versus only 35% of females. 27% of teens play games with strangers on line. About one third of parents do not or only occasionally check the ratings before they allow their children to play a game. In 2008, World of Warcraft was the most played game in the U.S. at about 11 hours per week per gamer.

Houston, do we have a problem? Sorry if this is depressing. I wanted to get your attention.

(to be continued)

the visual part I

2009-04-16T08:51:00.000-07:00

“the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes,” Genesis 3:6 KJV

Please forgive me for getting a little controversial here. I am thinking out loud and know that’s dangerous. This all started with a quote I just read from a Ravi Zacharias speech given at Amsterdam in 2000 in which he identified five major changes that have had significant impact on cultures around the world. Number three on that list was, “The controlling impact of the visual.” Since that speech, nine years of technology has perhaps doubled or tripled that impact. I am not a cell phone video junkie, nor do I play video games, nor do I own a high def. TV. Yet, I feel it stalking me.

I confess. I cannot carry on a decent conversation with even an old fashioned TV program going in a room at the same time. TVs mounted in restaurants regularly get me in trouble when having a quiet dinner with my wife. I am absolutely agog at the sight of college football in H.D. I get stuck in front of the new video monitors or TVs at department stores. And the Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and The Passion movies were all visual overloads for me, totally transfixing in their power and intensity.

Let’s admit it. The state of perfection of the visual media today along with computerized animation is awesome. What I am wondering is if we need to slow down a bit and examine what role we as Christians allow this powerful media to have in our lives. I am not even going to begin to talk about the dark side of the internet. That is another story all in itself, and the carnage is incredible. Let’s just think about the “morally passive” stuff we have made so much a part of our lives. Here is where it gets controversial.

I guess I am thinking back to the days when I was in the thick of raising young children of my own. We had a love-hate relationship going on with television even then, as black and white as it may have been. Captain Kangaroo was a daily delight and captivating even for adults as I learned trying to walk through the room without stopping. Finding “Les Miserables,” the movie, on TV one night was a thrill, an absolute gem. But then there was the routine of it all that began to sap more and more family time, deadening us to violence, and assaulting us with subtle compromise. We tried owning just a small cheap one that didn’t work very well. No help. Finally, we just went cold turkey for 10 or more years while the kids were growing up. Family and friends didn’t understand and kept trying to give us TVs. No need to buy one in America, I learned. The whole world will feel so sorry for you that they will pile them up on your doorstep.
But we discovered reading novels around the dinner table, and our home became a haven for board games, conversation, company, crafts, a club house, and Sunday dinners for extended family. We have never looked back on that time with regret. Our girls did get to see every episode of “Little House” at Grandma’s. I got to see football with friends. But I think what happened was that we witnessed our “humanness” being amplified, that part of us that shows forth the creative image of God as it was meant to be.

The comic strip Doonesbury this week (not my favorite), showed a young 20-something character being contacted by a former employer. “Stop right there,” he protested. “No way I’m getting sucked back in! I’ve got a life now!” The other party responded, “No, you don’t. The most important thing in your life is an X-box.” A pungent moment of silence was followed by, “Okay, so you’re creeping me out.” How much of life is being “twittered” away with games and texting, the endless trivia of ‘Facebook,’ or 200 channels of digital HD? I saw what my generation did when they discovered the toy of amplification: sound taken to deafening levels. What will this generation do with their new toys of the visual, and where will it take them?

(to be continued)

professional hazards II

2009-04-09T08:46:00.000-07:00

“The mouth of a righteous man is a well of life:” Proverbs 10:11 KJV

Last week I talked about the perils of communication. Pro. 10 tells us, “In the multitude of words there wanteth not transgression,but he that refraineth his lips is wise.” This we know quite well from experience. We all remember, with embarrassment and pain, times when we have hurt or been hurt through well meaning exchanges with even good friends. The lesson that echoes through our hearts is to “keep our peace,” to just not say what comes to mind even when we know that someone ought to say something. True enough, Scripture abounds in advice in matters of the tongue and reminds us that “the heart of the righteous studies how to answer.” But that is far, so very far, from calling us to a vow of silence in a world full of troubles.

In the very same chapter where we are told that in the multitude of words there is peril, we are also told that wisdom is found in the lips of him that has understanding, that the tongue of the just is as choice silver, that the lips of the righteous feed many, that the mouth of the just brings forth wisdom, that the lips of the righteous know what is acceptable, and that the mouth of the righteous is a well of life. Much of Scripture contains paradoxical truth. A paradox is troubling in that it calls us to think and weigh out opposing elements with a judicial eye. It is also comforting in that truth is seldom simple, a reassurance to us that the Word of God is a real-world testament and contains deep wisdom.

How interesting that in a single chapter there are six verses that praise a right word fitly spoken and only one that calls for caution yet we remember the one most clearly. ‘Tis a mark of our humanity that we are forever conscious of our own frailty and remain to our core a bundle of fears. We fear others, and failure, yet we are called to be instruments of God’s truth in a world of confusion and falsity. But we would be like Jonah, preferring flight to a storm tossed sea rather than be a truth bearer and confront a world gone wrong. How much safer it is to avoid the battle altogether than speak a word for righteousness sake into the lives of a neighbor, a co-worker, or even our own children.

While there is much to learn about being the wise one who speaks with grace, making knowledge acceptable, being a truth speaker is the ultimate in risky behavior. Jesus did it as well as anyone ever could, but we all know where it got him. What makes the difference between the eventual success of a Jonah-message and the martyrdom of Stephen, both of whom spoke the truth in love? No one knows for sure, but I read a lot about the prophets being stoned in Scripture. Yet we know that God’s truth brings life. The word of correction is the sure evidence of a father’s love. And whoever would name the name of Christ is now the bearer of good news into all the world, let the chips fall where they may. We must also stand, at times, in the footsteps of Martin Luther, defying the known world, and declare with him, “Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen.”

For all of our truth witnessing into the lives of our own children, for all those dangerous ventures we made into the confines of their young souls, molding, prodding, praising, and rebuking, we were still very conscious of the possibility of error and injury to these tender shoots. At some point near young adulthood, we approached them in fear and trembling and asked them if there were any instances where we had left a seed of bitterness in their hearts at all the correction we had poured into their lives. We awaited fearfully as each of them scanned the horizon of their years, just sure there would be a list of grievances, small or large. To our relief, there were none. We slept better that night. But we also slept well knowing we had been faithful to uphold God’s standard of Truth as best we knew how. It is a delicate balance, but one every faithful watchman knows full well.

professional hazards

2009-04-02T08:41:00.000-07:00

“In the multitude of words there wanteth not transgression;” Proverbs 10:19 ASV

Lawyers live in fear of that lapsed word, that oversight of precise language that could cost someone his fortune, his home, or his reputation. No matter how much good they may have done on behalf of a multitude of clients, tomorrow could reveal a calamitous error. Doctors, too, go home each day and pray they have made the right call as they prescribe small portions of healing drugs from closets full to overflowing with deadly toxins of every kind. Preachers step down from pulpits and immediately are plagued with doubts about the “rightness” of their pronouncements that hang somewhere between heaven and earth. And each must mount that cockpit again and again daring to speak for God to the world all the while secretly wondering how preposterous a task that must be for any of Adam’s race.

Preachers, teachers, and writers, all who live by the words of their mouths, whose stock and trade is an endless stream of pungent vocabulary formulated into wishful sense and meaning, are condemned to co-exist with the constant dread of error and offense. Facts come out incomplete, judgments are ill-conceived, and words trip up even the most astute and knowledgeable. We who speak daily, write weekly, or lead constantly are conscious of the two-edged sword that hangs over their heads. At any moment our words can fall upon us and cut in deadly fashion. If any are not duly humbled by that daily possibility, there is truly something very deeply wrong and dangerous about them, and they should be barred from all of the above.

Just last week I stumbled badly in my use of language that gave offense where none was intended. A friend also was reeling as his efforts at leadership were constantly being sidetracked by a whole series of misunderstandings, words run off the rails by unseen and undetected sensitivities. I watched two other highly trained and capable individuals labor and strain to understand one another. This all was happening around me in the span of one short week. It is enough to make one despair at the prospect of ever constructing accurate and effective communication. Oh, to be an artist painting in a solitary studio whose only dialogue is with pigment and palette. Oh, to have the simple life of an assembly line worker who can look with satisfaction at a thousand widgets well made at the end of a day.

But where would we be without lawyers fearlessly exercising their craft to create a world of law and order? How well would we live without doctors who dare to cut through flesh and bone or deal in life saving medicines? And where would we be without preachers and teachers who go where angels fear to tread, laying down the unseen measuring lines whereupon we build our lives?

Lest you pity too much these professions and the daily perils they face, remember that we as parents have equal hazards to our trade. We, too, pour out a torrent of words upon our children every day, their meaning loaded with the freight of tone and grimace. We correct, admonish, train, reinforce, encourage, and address them powerfully in our many different roles. So, too, the potential for catastrophe is there with words said in ignorance or haste resulting in wounded spirits, or at a minimum, have the potential to stir up strident responses. No wonder some parents would rather retreat to a world of passive permissiveness than dare to conduct those daily interdictions that call for incisive language in an effort to bend young lives to receive and shoulder the yoke of responsibility.

To speak words of truth is to claim a moral high ground, one fraught with risk. May we be courageous enough to try when the time comes to defend our corner of the wall; and humble enough to admit the possibility of error so endemic to us all.

(to be continued)

reflections

2009-03-26T08:35:00.000-07:00

“Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.” Ecc. 12:13

Last week was a cascade of reflections as I retraced some very old steps, revisiting friends and places from my childhood. The home where I learned how to ride a bike, discovered the magic of the Lone Ranger on radio, spent enchanting rainy afternoons rummaging in the attic, and was first set free to roam the neighborhood is now a slum. No self-respecting family would want to live there amidst unkempt yards, peeling paint, and “beware of dog” signs everywhere. The corner grocery store where we traded five empty pop bottles for a full one is boarded up, just one more dead building among many. I retraced my steps to school that had to have been a mile or two and found they were only 4 city blocks.

I visited my old one-room country school house where now lived Tim Fitch and his wife. He invited me in where I saw those same old floor boards where once I trembled as a fledgling 5th grader coming as a city boy into this strange new world. Outside, the boys’ and girls’ outhouses still stood, and I saw many of the same old trees, now ancient with age, under whose branches we played countless softball games. Memories returned of a red plastic lunch box and after-lunch story times as we listened to the old WLS radio station out of Chicago where dads could hear all the latest hog and cattle prices that so affected their lives.

By gracious chance, I met some of those old classmates from that humble school and was staggered at the deep pools of experience, life stories, joy, and calamity that stood before me in comparison to the easy, uncomplicated, exuberant lives I had left behind so many unscarred years before. The tall, strong boisterous one I so remembered was now disabled, struggling to deal with a number of near-crippling injuries. Another was caught in a mystery of pain, frailty, and estrangement from job and family yet the spirit that drew us together as friends was the same. He called me his “best friend,” which left me reeling as I reflected back on the 50 years of silence that had passed between us.

And then there were the high school classmates who had reached out to me, people I had really never known who now made a deep impression with their gracious hospitality towards me as a fellow survivor of that class of ’62. One spoke from his wheelchair, a man disabled in an accident in middle age who still worked, traveled, and created marvelous woodturnings. We talked eagerly of life and woodworking and jobs and children with him and his ever faithful wife as if none of his personal tragedy had ever happened.

I could not visit the grave of my longest boyhood friend for his ashes were scattered on some lake in Canada, but visited instead the resting place of his son who represented all that was good in my friend’s life. I met the son’s widow for the first time, and we filled in the pieces of our ragged accounts of years gone by and retraced the journey of faith that now bound us together; new family ties. Tears and prayers became cords of hope and love as we drew close together, a down payment on better days to come.

I spent time with old church friends, my now semi-retired “youth group,” as we reconnected the dots of our lives. The old church building itself was alive with a thousand memories as I went from room to room recounting the aches of adolescence. We talked of lives now ended, marriages dissolved, wayward children, and other tales of woe. Yet there were victories, too, as we witnessed those still smiling faces that bore testimony of a well worn and tested faith.

So many old faces speaking out with still familiar voices, so many stories, from classmates to cousins, lifetimes now ripe to the full, all spilling out, calling for some way to make sense of it all, while I stood there with my puny collection of years. I somehow am drawn to the words of another old man who looking back could only conclude, “Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man.” Rather anti-climactic, I know, but it’s the only memorial that seems fit to raise.

Pain

2009-03-12T08:29:00.000-07:00

“… every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.” John 15:2 KJV

While wading through the fever-ridden swamps of educational philosophy these days in our public school system, you will encounter some curious sign posts. One of them points to “rigor.” It is a cry for coursework that means something, for grades that count, and for a diploma that represents hard-earned accomplishment. Its supporters call for tougher standards, greater accountability, and an end to watered down subjects. This is reflected in the increasingly more difficult academic path that has come down by legislative fiat from our state legislatures which is just now poised to take effect at the high school level.

The other curious sign post you will find directs us to discover “student centered” education. It promotes an intimate and personal identification with the student, their particular needs, their feelings, and their points of view. With it goes the hope and desire that by learning about the student and this particular generation, we can discover how to motivate and inspire them to achieve, and lo, even to graduate. It is a touchy-feely approach that seeks to cater to individual needs, to find out how and when we can create some kind of educational experience that will enable them to flourish and succeed. Students fail and drop out because we fail to care or listen or relate or use the latest teen-popular technology.

Like most great conundrums, there is some element of truth in both positions. What is especially curious is how both of these currents of thought are alive and well at the same time in this present chaotic morass that exists in our schools today. I don’t fault them for trying. Something is dreadfully wrong in our society and the public school system has the unenviable mission of trying to fix it. But these opposing visions are on a direct collision course with one another.

We at CFC are not totally immune from these conflicting feelings. We all like the idea of “rigor” until junior brings home a failing grade in tears. Then we question the sensitivity of the teacher who seemingly rides roughshod over tender feelings and threatens to quash a young spirit with their unreasonable demands. Which leads me to the following.

I received this e-mail the other day from a friend living and working as a teacher in Nicaragua. He writes:

I just got back from the gym, and, after 5 days in a row, I am sore. I have pain. Now, it is a good kind of pain. It signals that I have done something. I increased weight beyond what I could do without pain. No, I did not overdo, but my muscles are going through the cycle of pain and rebuilding they must go through for strength to increase. This morning, while conferencing with my student teacher, she told me she felt God had specifically given me to her as a mentor. Why? Because I do not rush in to tell her exactly what to do in every situation. I have sat back and watched her go through the pain of lessons that did not go right, discipline plans that needed to be adjusted, and the frustration of having to work through that. She says this has made her a better teacher. Before this she was not sure she wanted to teach. Now she will be back next year as the science teacher on our team. As a somewhat charismaniac I have lived through the era when we felt Christians should not have to deal with pain. Many of us were surprised when it came our way, frankly. This, however, is false thinking. Rocky would not have been the hero to all he was without his black eye, and bleeding face. There can be no victory without a battle. There can be no growth, it seems, without pain at some level. So, I am thankful for the pain I have lived through. Each major battle in my life has been used to make me the person I am today. That is not to say I came through it all with a smile. Quite the contrary, I have often railed and screamed in private. Sometimes I have done so in the not so private. Yet, I am still here. As Lawrence Chewning wrote, "The anchor holds, in spite of the storm." There are no major storms in my life right now. I am in a time of calm. I pray that I will face the next battle with these thoughts in mind. Be blessed today. Life is good. God is better. -Dan

Pain and rigor. May we allow it to do its perfect work, lowering anchors that hold in spite of the storm.

encouraging word

2009-03-05T08:24:00.000-08:00

“Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: but a good word maketh it glad.” -Pro.12:25 KJV

It started out as a rather routine Sunday school exercise. Attempting to illustrate the importance of words and the meanings they bear, we went around the circle each sharing an instance when someone had spoken a word of encouragement into our lives at some point along the way that had a particular impact on us. The average age in the room was near fifty which was illuminating as these secure, well-grounded Christian people began recounting episodes in their lives which, more times than not, had happened decades ago. The stories started spilling out of various circumstances and times when someone had affirmed them and brought hope to their roomful of doubts.

One mature lady reached back to her high school days when in a conference with a couple of teachers, one of them remarked how, in her opinion, this young student could do anything she wished and affirmed her abilities. It was a thought that had never struck into her young and immature mind. A lawyer in the room told of another high school teacher who had singled her out with a compliment and a challenge. “You can write,” she told her, “and I want you to take this college level test.” As a result, she did and scored exceedingly well. But after earning an exemption from English coursework at college and completing an undergraduate program in finance, she found herself in law school once again having to write. Her first paper came back with a big fat “C” on it, and she thought her world was crumbling around her. As she sat crying in the student center, a professor came along who reassured her that one bad grade does not doom a career. “I know you and have studied your admission papers. You have what it takes.” And that began a long and fruitful mentoring relationship that brought her to where she is today.

A pre-school teacher recalled how an otherwise uncommunicative parent had written a note at the end of a term thanking her and the other teachers for all they had meant to her child and their family. It was a huge encouragement in an otherwise thankless environment. A retired teacher related how a student had returned to affirm that she had made a difference in a young life. It was a huge comfort that she had not labored in vain. Another teacher had recalled a truculent band student who had dropped out much to his relief and was surprised to hear positive and grateful words from this student some years later in spite of his self-confessed immaturity at the time.

Another woman related the intense emotional and legal struggles surrounding the settling of an estate in her dealings with a not-so-lovable real estate agent. After much travail of spirit and urges to kill, she decided to give grace and allow time for the agent to do the right thing. After all the legal wrangling and matters were settled, that agent returned to offer words of thanks for her acts of deliberate graciousness. It was a confirmation that God’s ways are higher and better than our ways. A middle aged gentleman shared how he had known he had great potential as a young student but had fought with feelings of failure all his life. His wife, one day, affirmed that he was actually ideally suited for a life as a purchasing agent, and it had made a huge difference in his life.

What struck me most was the depth of doubt that each of us wake up to and walk with each day. We manage to function quite well anyway but desperately need to hear those words of affirmation and encouragement spoken into our lives by those we respect. How quickly these folks recalled instances that had happened often years and years before with such clarity amplifies for me the importance of these words of vision, affirmation, and encouragement spoken into one another’s hearts. There is no call for flattery here or for ignoring the chasm of original sin that rips through all our lives. But the power of a healing word is as strong a medicine as any. We walk among and pass by those who lie by the sides of the road having been assaulted by the thieves of insult, weariness, discouragement, or injustice. May we have the eyes to see the broken in spirit and the wisdom to minister the healing balm of a life-giving word.

the easy road

2009-02-26T08:18:00.000-08:00

“In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

It has been a rough week in Lake Woebegone. First it warms up enough to give one sweet dreams of daffodils and forsythia in bloom while robins bounce about in full play. Then it snows and drives us indoors where we gather around the wood stove to radiate in its warmth. The Democrats are rejoicing in the great stimulus package while Republicans continue to forecast impending doom. Hollywood’s millionaires convened and celebrated a movie about the slums of India, all at a very safe distance. A good friend pulled from out of nowhere the news he was fighting cancer but with such grace and quietude that it left me rejoicing in the peace that comes only from above. I watched with intense interest a student whose anxious anticipation betrayed a hard fought fight for an “all A’s” report card only to learn later that she missed it by one point. I listened with uncomfortable anguish as a parent poured out the pain of a heart broken at the moral failings of her child while I could only offer a lame, “We can work through this” in return. I read my first-ever poll of teacher feelings (everybody gets to evaluate them yet they never get a voice) and learned with shock and awe that I had feet of clay (surprise, surprise) as well as a collection of halos.

The sweet and sour forever follow us in a dance that always seems to leave the two closely entangled or never out of short reach of one another. Even one day can bring forth laughter and tears, joy and sorrow, ease and pain in mixed procession that can leave us, at times, gasping for breath at the roller coaster effect emanating from the highs and lows. I have often said that being administrator of CFC is the best job I have ever had. After this week, I still readily confess that to be true even though I might add that it is also the toughest. But I still remember very keenly the years I spent in relative ease making far too much money for what was demanded. I would not go back for anything. The dullness of that unchallenged life was stultifying beyond measure: a slow death that drains the heart from a man one day at a time.

How is it then that we find ease and luxury repellent and on the other hand, we can find in hard experiences like the Peace Corps, “the toughest job we will ever love?” Strange, but true. It is in the striving that we find the sweet solace of accomplishment, it is in the strain of the harness that we find fulfillment, and it is in the uphill climb we find the satisfaction of lofty views. The heat of battle is what calls forth the best of us and bids us offer that heroic last measure. But the pain of truths we find hard to face, the grind of long days that tire both flesh and spirit, the sting of rebuke from friend or foe, and the disappointment of efforts fallen short are hard to bear. Yet in the reaching we are stretched. In the storm, we are pruned. And in straining against the rock-face of resistance, we grow strong.

I hear quite often the groans of parents as they pour forth effort after effort to bend young lives towards a fruitful and productive future. I hear the frustrations of teachers who struggle against the fallen nature of man and child and suffer the slings and arrows of adolescent thoughtlessness. I see struggling students who cannot hide the tears when faced with demands that seem oh, so impossible. It is all part of the work of redemption, taking that which is broken and making it whole. We shun the broad road for the narrow path. We die daily as we pick up our cross; pilgrims searching for the Promised Land. It is only our enemy who offers us beds of selfish ease; a deadly snare for the unwary. Resistance is our reassurance we are on the right path. Faint not, for in due season we shall reap.

Young Love

2009-02-12T08:05:00.000-08:00

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” Proverbs 17:17 KJV

Valentine’s Day is upon us men once again. I took some boys aside the other day and tried to warn them about this nefarious minefield that is a hazard to all men, both young and old, single or married. Valentine’s Day is officially banned and illegal in some or most Muslim countries, a fact that affords in my more cynical moments my first twinge of empathy with Islamic culture. It seems they cannot abide any demonstration of romantic interest and or even the public intermingling of the sexes. Muslim men are thereby released by rule of law from all the inherent dangers of not bringing home the right combination of flowers, cards, and candy to their wives or girlfriends (or both). Hmmm!

Valentine’s Day just seems to get us men in trouble no matter what we do. If we spend too little, we are cheapskates. If we spend too much, we are profligate. If we ignore it altogether, we are toast. But for our young and single colleagues, the stakes are even higher. There is this insufferable madness that comes over young males at this time of year that says if we will just make our secret love known, it will be requited. Somehow all those heart shaped candies and little red bears, bouquets of roses and unabashed balloons, all speak to us in a moment of weakness and say, “I dare you to send me to your covert crush.” And we, like sheep to the slaughter, line up at drugstores and mega-marts to purchase these far from manly items and send them off with Marine like bravery seen only in times of war when soldiers storm ashore in reckless abandon for life or limb. The end result is a mixed bag of success and disaster with crushed and bleeding egos strewn about as hearts and affections are as often rebuffed as not.

The fever strikes at an early age. Cupids arrow starts its work for sure by 5th grade as some of our boys all of a sudden wake up to the fact that not all girls have cooties. And we just happen to have a fine collection of young ladies at hand to stand for that. So what advice do you give to your young man who finds himself smitten for the first time? First of all, I will if at all possible congratulate him for his good taste. It is never too early to affirm the Godly values you wish to see in a future mate. Secondly, my advice to our young men was that the worst thing in the world for you to do would be to tell this certain young lady that you were in love with them or single them out for an ostentatious show of valentine foo-fraw. I got a few ‘amens’ on this and could see that some had been primed already. I assured the boys that young ladies who receive such misguided attention will usually run in the opposite direction. Those whose heads are easily turned by such a display will usually end up getting a talk from mom.

At this young age, it is enough of a challenge to be able to talk with the opposite sex in a way that is non-threatening. Having friends that are girls is an art for any boy (and vice versa) and one that requires all the years of middle school and high school to perfect. For Eros to truly bloom, the other person must feel comfortable and safe in the presence of any admirer. And the safest place to learn this skill is in a group situation. Pairing off at an early age is like a two person ocean crossing: fraught with all sorts of danger. My advice for boys on Valentine’s Day is to make all the young ladies in their class feel special. They will end up looking like heroes.

My most serious word to young romantics is that they will very likely retain and treasure the same-sex friendships they make through the grammar school years, but only in the most rare cases will they marry a childhood sweetheart. It seems logical then as to where to put one’s most serious efforts.

Becky Ashe still does not ‘get it’

2009-02-06T08:15:00.000-08:00

Becky Ashe still does not ‘get it’ (Evolving debate, Feb. 3, Knoxville News Sentinel). Her blind and unswerving devotion to evolutionary theory is obvious and laced with the kind of one-sided arrogance we have grown to expect. She wants to ‘keep the lines of communication open’ yet implies that if only public school teachers had only done a better job of educating people about the scientific process, the debate would be over. (Read: “All who disagree with me are uneducated about the scientific process.”) Her claim that Knox schools do not teach human evolution is insipid deception that only the most naïve would swallow. Either humans are part of the evolutionary chain or not a part of “all life.” She claims to stick with only what science is able to show us but in so doing reveals a prejudice so deeply ingrained that requires one to ignore the most startling discoveries of the past 50 years. Micro evolution, the kind that animal breeders regularly exploit, is a given. The spontaneous generation of life and macro evolution still require great leaps of faith and are coming under increasing skepticism in the scientific community. The true scientist finds himself truly humbled at the staggering complexity of even the most simple cell, a fact not known or even vaguely anticipated in Darwin’s time. I find Ms. Ashe and Prof. Wellman the ones who are woefully lacking in the information needed to have an intelligent discussion. Check out Ben Stein’s movie “Expelled” to get a good look at what a closed mind looks like. This is not the spirit of modern science. It is knee jerk subservience to what some have called “a fairy tale for adults so that they can determine their own sexual mores.” Knox Co. is behind the curve in merely “teaching the assigned curriculum” while castigating opposing viewpoints as adherents of “mythologies.” And then they wonder why so many families jump ship from this lumbering ark of educational intolerance.