Rebellion

“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

margins

"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.

Christmas 2009

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

Critical Thinking I

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

Pain

“… 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.

the easy road

“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.

orthodoxy

“But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.” – James 1:22

If you like scary things this time of year, I’ve got a good one for you. It is a hobgoblin of a most frightening kind that none of us like to talk about or admit that it keeps company far too close to home. It is the foreboding specter, the ghoulish ghost, of “consistency.” Let me explain.

This past week, I, too, went afield and traveled up to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, into the heart of Amish Country. The horse drawn buggies were in generous profusion, and it was interesting to watch the world’s buffet of general tourists who are drawn with a certain amount of fascination to all things Amish, me being one of them. If it truly is a gift to be simple as goes the song, the Amish abound in many ways. They certainly have no electric bills to worry about, nor car insurance or TV’s that break down, and the problems of Vista are far from their minds. We loved the clothes lines on pulleys that lifted the family laundry proudly up in the air for all to see, flags of defiance to Maytag and all their kin. They marked the Amish farms in clear distinction to any other well kept farm of the community. There is an enforced simplicity here that makes us all pause and wonder if we are truly better off with all our modern claptrap.

Being a woodworker, I snooped around the tourist shops hawking “Amish made” furniture - peeking at the joinery and noting designs. It led me to inquire and follow a trail that led me to an off-road farm a good way from town to Mr. Stoltzfuss’s chair shop. The family dog tried to announce my presence but no one came out. I followed my ears to the sound of a motor running in a back building. What I discovered was a fairly large woodworking shop humming with business. Mr. Stoltzfuss graciously welcomed me and showed me his upstairs showroom and all around his mini-chair factory. It was a family business that involved grandpa and the whole family as they turned out about 3,000 chairs a year. There were no light bulbs in the shop, no electricity of any kind, but I discovered some of the most sophisticated and up-to-date woodworking machinery available today. These machines were driven by either hydraulic fluid or compressed air supplied by a large diesel engine running continuously in an adjoining room. Preformed wood came by way of shipment from commercial suppliers, and these folks were shaping, sanding, and finishing these parts together in a model of home-industry efficiency.

I couldn’t help but let my mind pitch wildly back and forth from the diesel engine and hydraulic motors to the theology of it all that prohibits one form of modern convenience but allows another. I tried to picture a meeting of the Amish elders sitting around and deliberating the worthiness or unworthiness of power driven machinery, which kinds, and how much. To further the picture of seemingly conflicting systems of thought, I stopped by a roadside scene and took a picture of a team of six horses pulling a single row corn picker as it made its way slowly through the field. As it approached me, I suddenly recognized that a gasoline engine was mounted on the corn picker driving the whirring mechanics of that machine. Evidently it is permissible to mount an engine on your corn picker but not on your buggy.

Being careful not to mock this, to us, a glaring inconsistency, both my wife and I confessed that being consistent is, indeed, a difficult thing for us all. It is the hobgoblin of all Christians who profess a high and holy standard and yet struggle each day to live it out. We say that church is important and then skip at will. We would shun worldliness and then let ourselves and our children watch the unthinkable. We say it is better to give than to receive and then consume untold wealth on ourselves. We hold up the great commission but then flee to the safety of the suburbs and our Christian subculture. Scary, isn’t it, how we can so easily hitch gasoline engines to our horse drawn corn pickers and still feel so orthodox?

Personal Finance

"And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper." Psalm 1:3

First of all, let me assure you that the idea behind today’s article has little or nothing to do with anyone I have talked with in the past weeks or months. It was prompted long before any of you were late with a payment or found yourself in financial difficulty. I have been mulling this for a year now. CFC families are great but are still typical of any large representation in that they struggle periodically with the things that most people struggle with. Finance is just one of them.

We all have experienced lean times at some point in our lives. A whole world of reasons can put someone in that squeeze. Some are unavoidable. The bad news/good news, however, is that many situations are avoidable with proper planning and discipline. I may have lost some of you already at the mere mention of those words, “planning” and “discipline.” For those of you still with me, I will get that other nasty word out on the table right away as well: “budget.” Okay, that is about as painful as we are going to get. The rest is not near as shocking or dreadful.

We discovered the joy and freedom of budgeting quite a few years ago. Yes, there is a bright side to this discussion. The average person lives with a bogeyman in their closet. He is red with horns, has an awful grimace, and will steal everything not nailed down in a heartbeat if he gets out of the closet. His name is “Shortfall.” Every time the car breaks down unexpectedly, a doctor bill comes crashing in by surprise, or the heat pump dies, old “Shortfall” awakens with a vengeance, breaks into the room and raises pure havoc. When times are good, folks still live in the fear of old “Shortfall” and even small pleasures such as dinner and a movie can be laden with guilt and fear of our old nemesis. “What happens if tomorrow should bring a startling and sudden need for this $35 we are spending on our night out?” Anyone who has lived from paycheck to paycheck knows the fear of sudden reversals. It stalks even the purchasing of clothes or new shoes for the kids. The ever present question is, “Can we afford this?” to which there are no answers.

Budgeters, on the other hand, have a pretty good idea how to answer that question and keep “Shortfall” safely contained. They realistically and thoroughly know their income and expenses and have made a commitment to live within their means. It is always amazing how many folks with six figure incomes do not know either of these nor have they made that commitment. And old “Shortfall” continues to make their life miserable. Most of us, however, are instead tempted by the old excuse, “we don’t make enough money to be able to budget.” Whoever the folks are that feel that way are exactly the folks who have the most to gain by learning to budget. It was a wonderful feeling for us to know at Christmas time that we had $300 to spend because we had saved it and that all our other obligations were covered. Guilt free shopping. How much better does it get?

My prayer for all of us is that we will be that tree of blessing that prospers even in the midst of drought. I pray each family will have three months living expenses in the bank. I pray we will be able to give generously to the Kingdom out of our carefully husbanded resources and to our brother’s need. I pray we will be known as people who pay their bills on time and in full as a witness to God’s work in our lives. To learn how to do this, I urge you to consider attending a course in Financial Freedom. Taking even some simple steps towards financial freedom can change your life.