Haiti

“I spoke to you in your prosperity; but you said, ‘I will not listen.’” –Jer. 22:21

Several weeks ago, a riveting photo was run in the newspaper of Haitian women making mud cookies for their hungry children. Scarcity and inflation were pushing these poor to turn to a mixture of mud, salt, and vegetable oil, baked on a hot roof, to satiate the hunger of themselves and their little ones. I cringed with that photo burned in my mind as I stood and scraped leftover food into the garbage can after our Wed. night church dinner. The disparity between our two countries is beyond belief. How can this happen? I think the more appropriate question is, “How did this happen?”

Anyone at all familiar with the history of Haiti knows of its dance with satanic voodooism. When the sugar plantation slaves rose up in rebellion against the French, the rebels actually met and made a pact with the devil telling their dark lord that their new country would serve him for two hundred years if he would help them throw off the French yoke. They were successful, and the French sailed off leaving them to their ways. Cultural anthropologists tell us that if you want to know what Africa looked like 200 years ago, travel to Haiti, not Africa. They have preserved all the raw and primitive practices of that formerly “dark” continent.

Jeremiah says that those who turn away from the Lord will be like a bush in the desert and will not see prosperity. Their dwelling place will be a stony waste and a land of salt (Jeremiah 17:5-8). If that is true, Haiti is exhibit “A” with the sins of the fathers being visited upon the children, generation after generation. They stand in marked contrast with the other half of their same island, the Dominican Republic which boasts a decent standard of living by comparison and a modern economy. I am convinced that Christian values and morality bring prosperity in their wake regardless of the blessing or curse of natural geography. For that reason, the gospel is the most radical form of economic aid we can give.

The trouble with this is that once affluence abounds, we become self-satisfied and our hearts grow cold. We have no needs. Today, the church of America tortures itself with trying to find new strategies to reach the lost; a source of endless debate and huge investments. Family life centers, seeker-friendly services, contemporary music, electronic wizardry are tried in endless variety to entice the un-churched to come in and to make them feel comfortable. The ironic truth coming out is that while we are trying everything new under the sun to make church attractive, the persecuted Christian church in China and the Sudan is growing exponentially. In the midst of Southern Sudan, a predominantly Muslim country, there are, by some accounts, four times as many Christians today as there were before persecution broke out 20 years ago. World Magazine published a photo of a thatched hut where 500 people were now meeting at Daga Post where only 5 years before there was no church at all.

In the midst of pronouncing blessings and curses upon those who either followed or rejected the Lord, Jeremiah also complained about speaking to his generation in their prosperity but they said, “I will not listen.” Let’s see, now. The gospel brings prosperity, prosperity brings unbelief, unbelief brings suffering, suffering and persecution bring people to the Lord. When will we ever learn? (Need to write a song about that.) What has this got to do with families and children? I am going to deliberate a little before going there. But for now, I would invite you to consider the question and see where it leads you.

dogs

“Correct your son, and he will give you rest…(and) delight to your soul.” - Pro. 29:17

I had the pleasure of making two new friends this last weekend. Completely friendly and entertaining, they accompanied me on a camping trip into the heart of the Big South Fork wilderness. As I got to know them, as one naturally soon does with spending a little trail time together, I came to have a deep admiration for the boundless joy that these two showed in embracing the outdoors but also their sense of restraint for the boundaries of others. They didn’t say a lot, but they were well mannered individuals that quickly warmed up to complete strangers. Their names were a bit odd, Sidney and Indy, but they shared the cold, the stream crossings, and the hard ground with not a word of complaint. It was all great fun to them, especially when the scent of a bird crossed their path or when told to fetch a branch or a pug thrown into the woods. They were dogs, after all; Sidney the black lab and Indy, the short-haired pointer.

The two had been carefully chosen as pups by my two separate friends and each reared with careful training for a specific purpose in mind. Sidney was becoming the skilled retriever that a duck hunter depends upon. Indy was being groomed as a bird-hunting dog. Each had been the object of countless hours of careful training by their masters. I was amazed to see them come on command, heel, and lay down at just a single word. Sidney would obediently watch as her pug was thrown into the woods beyond a stream. She waited until the word was given to retrieve. Then she bounded up and brought back her “prey” until told to sit on the other side of the stream. She sat picture-perfect still with the pug in her mouth. On command, she returned the rest of the way and “held” the pug gently in her mouth until given the command to “give.” In camp, each of the dogs would lay obediently on the ground in their assigned positions if they got too carried away by frisky play. At the word “kennel,” they would go back to their respective tents and await further instructions.

I was intrigued by the devotion, obedience, and joy which these man and dog teams exhibited. Questioning revealed the training involved. The effort was considerable. I, being the grandfather, immediately challenged them to exercise similar effort and care in raising their future children. They admitted that it was great preparation. Indeed. There were things to be learned here. They had done many of the right things. Sidney’s owner told of seeking out help from someone who had knowledge and experience in training. Ahh! Lesson number one. When raising sons and daughters, it is wise to not go-it-alone but to seek out the counsel of others who can speak from wisdom and experience. Smart.

What he was told was that there were three things to remember in any training program: care, calm, and consistency. Not bad words to remember in the raising of children, I thought. Care – that tangible and unqualified expression of love and concern for the child that is clearly expressed in countless ways. Calm – that disciplined sense of self-control that communicates order, steadiness, and self-assurance. Consistency – that day after day evenness that produces reliable expectations and uniformity of results.

I also saw these animals imbued with a sense of purpose and given the skills to accomplish these ends. We can’t order up children according to a desired propensity, but we can awake in them a sense of purpose in the grand scheme of the kingdom of God, help them discover their individual giftedness, and equip them for a productive life. The result: great teamwork of parent and child where each becomes a joy to the other and a pleasure to behold. The things you learn on camping trips!

Internet

“For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive…” 2 Timothy 3:1-7

Up until now, I was under the impression that pornography was the gravest threat that was posed by the internet. No longer. For any parent who watched “Growing up online” on PBS in late January, I now share your terror of raising children in this brave new world. This was not a battle I had to fight in raising my children. But then, we had to fight things my parents never had to face. Each generation faces new challenges unique to its age. Unfortunately, the computer revolution has happened so quickly that many parents today are only vaguely familiar with what is happening on-line and are easy victims of a techno-generation gap. Some cannot even email while their children can surf the complexities of the internet with ease. For those of you who are not aware of the dangers on-line and who did not see this PBS horror show, I offer you a glossary of terms and worries that you can add to your anxiety closet. Sorry.

Internet addiction – the internet can be highly addictive to teens. When this occurs, they will spend every spare moment of time on the net surfing and conversing with thousands of other friends and perfect strangers. Removing computer access is difficult because of access through cell phones, friends, and public libraries. Symptoms include withdrawal, sleep deprivation, 3 syllable sentences, and secrecy.

Alter identities – teens can create alternative identities for themselves on-line. New names, new personas are adopted to fulfill fantasies and compensate for perceived weaknesses. Costuming and photography can portray images totally foreign to friends and family. Beware strange clothing (feather boas, leather collars, etc.) and the family digital camera showing up at the same place and same time.

Cyber bullying – internet communication can be an incredibly easy avenue to receiving threats and demeaning trash talk both from known and unknown sources. Boy-girl relationships offer great potential for humiliation and total destruction when treated with malevolence and maliciousness on-line. Anonymous messaging can be totally brutal and untraceable. Symptoms include ‘spontaneous’ fights at school, loss of self-esteem, ruined reputation, depression, and suicide.

Cyber assassination – a terrific and easy way to attack or destroy others. Similar to cyber bullying but done with greater creativity and designed for a wider audience. Most commonly done by posting photos and text in target-person’s name. Most effective ones are usually quite viciously humorous. Results can be total defamation and humiliation with occasional lawsuits or prosecution.

Virtual friends – through sites like Facebook.com and Myspace.com, teens can collect “friends” who may be known or unknown. Some try to make a contest out of it to see who can collect the most friends which, at times, can number in the thousands. This is often a fantasy world where teens have little or no assurance as to the validity of a “friend’s” age or id, their character, or their trustworthiness. This world of friends can be sealed against parental knowledge through a password known only to your teen. Symptoms include following bad counsel, intensified peer pressure, loss of desire to make real flesh-and-blood friends, rebellion, and knowledge of new and creepy websites.

Parental denial – a willful and intransigent belief that all is well in cyberspace. Even when receiving warnings about their teen, some parents continue to allow full, unsupervised internet access without questioning. This is usually accompanied by an unwavering faith in the internet as a good thing which promotes learning and technological prowess that could lead to a good job someday. Usually results in surprise and shock at later manifestations of deviant behavior.

Britannica.com – an innocuous website which techno-savvy teens can pull up and display when they see that a parent is monitoring their computer from another source. They can then continue to surf or chat while the proud and self-satisfied parent thinks junior is researching penguins for school.

Sparknotes.com – website which allows students to “read” most any work of classic literature in 5-10 minutes. Invaluable source for time-pressed teens in satisfying homework assignments or passing tests.

Secret lives – teens can live and explore a secret life on-line. Bulimics and anorexics can network with others of their ilk and surf websites dedicated to their compulsions. They can rapidly become an experienced pro with group support all without parents having a clue. Similar networks exist for those preoccupied with death and suicide, the occult, or simple terrorism. Symptoms for parents vary from blissful ignorance to head-line grabbing scandals.

Termpapersites.com – quick resource for plagiarizing material to satisfy all sorts of homework assignments. Symptoms include high proficiency with ‘copy’ and ‘paste’ options on their computers and generally good grades with some occasional, glaring exceptions.

Cyber predator – largely a bogey-man invented by adults to scare kids. Teens seem quite able to identify and delete those making inappropriate approaches. Any who actually agree to meet someone are considered ‘stupid’ or ‘extremely needy’ by their peers. Still, the existence of predators is real, and they regularly troll the net looking for the weak and unsuspecting. Most troubling aspect is that teens seem to value their anonymity above all. This is a world where intimacy is combined with anonymity.

On-line voyeurism - an added blessing of digital photography. Teens can trade revealing photos of themselves in a largely anonymous fashion. Photos are password protected but can turn up in various places and times in embarrassing fashion. YouTube.com allows for transmission of videos of all sorts. Cell phone footage of school fights is especially popular. Symptoms and results too diverse to mention. Biggest danger is that once a photo is “out there,” it becomes property of the whole world.

Opportunity Loss – the hidden cost of spending countless hours in on-line games, texting, and recreational gabbing. Symptoms include dullness of mind, fear of eye-to-eye contact with real people, and the possible realization that one’s teen years have been spent in shallow flirtation with empty amusements at a high cost of skills not acquired, books not read, and real friendships not made.

The teen culture has always been a very real and powerful voice in the lives of our young. Through the internet, however, that voice can be powerfully amplified and transmitted in unlimited quantity directly into homes around the world, all without parental knowledge of any kind. The danger is real, but except for the means of delivery, should not come as a surprise. Paul warned that “…in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away. For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.” ( 2 Tim. 3:1-7) We just marvel at the manner in which these voices are now able to creep into houses and lead the shallow and the silly away. On-line access should be treated like a license to drive a 2000 lb. automobile down a public street. The potential for damage is incredible. Instructions should abound, safeguards built in, and responsibility rewarded accordingly. May God equip you to do so with all discernment and wisdom.

Reading

“…whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” -Philippians 4:8

Liz Brabson, a Tennessee middle school teacher, recently lamented the decline of the literary aspect of our modern American culture in an editorial in the News-Sentinel (1-12-08). Quoting a study by the National Endowment for the Arts, she mourned the fact that less than one-third of American 13-year-olds are daily readers. While this is admittedly sad, I suspect that the daily reading habits of adults in this country sag even below that. The decline of the printed word is well documented as we watch the number of daily newspapers steadily shrink with some questioning their future existence all together. While some are simply switching to on-line sources of news and stimulation, ours is becoming an increasingly oral and visual culture. Attention spans have shrunk drastically (watch an old movie and try not get impatient with the pace) and our vocabularies have withered to Reader’s Digest standards (6th grade?).

As an indicator of where we are today compared to over 100 years ago, try picking up and giving “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” a quick read. Here was a penny novelette, written by Robert Louis Stevenson in 1886, designed and destined for the pop-fiction rack at the local train station and newsstand. It quickly was selling out edition after edition at a shilling a copy in the everyday marketplace. I daresay most of us with college educations would struggle with Stevenson’s wide-ranging language (‘amities’-‘distained’- ‘troglodytic’) let alone be patient enough to follow his in-depth ponderings of human nature that comes close to the book of Romans in profundity. No publisher would touch it in today’s action-saturated and word-challenged culture.

For those of you who have read the letters of even the simple and uneducated persons of the 1800’s, one can scarce escape notice of the grace and eloquence that so often typifies their language. There was a simple beauty there which echoed the stylish long-hand script with which they wrote. Contrast that to the newly evolving language of text messaging and its butchered spelling, and one can easily work up a case of despair and despondency.

Yet Ms. Brabson’s complaint also lashed out against Christians who would keep books such as the newly controversial “The Golden Compass” from their children’s hands. She claimed that it would be irresponsible for anyone to discourage reading of any kind (‘within reason,’ she adds, but whose?). How easily does reading become an end in itself which is demonstrated again and again by the garish and provocative offerings of our school and public libraries. Our literary elite have come to justify most any fare if it will “get them to read.” Following this mantra, we find horror novels and the occult promoted in our public school libraries along with such uplifting periodicals such as Rolling Stone, GQ, and Cosmopolitan dealing every sex secret known to man into the hands of curious teens.

We forget so easily that our forefathers came to this land and quickly started schools and colleges teaching their children to read for one over-arching, Protestant obsession: that each person would be able to read the Bible for themselves and direct their lives accordingly. There lies the rub of cultural slippage. It is so easy to divorce good Christian values from their Christian base, and then the mischief begins. C.S. Lewis writes repeatedly of motherly compassion as a very damaging force when taken to extreme and not constrained by other equally important truths and values. Communism is essentially a Christian heresy where concern for the poor and downtrodden morphed into the most bloody and destructive movement of the 20th century.

The object and end view which Ms. Brabson and others so easily overlook is that reading is a skill that enables us to more efficiently and easily search for wisdom. Reading is a means to an end and not an end in itself. The Bible says it quite simply, “Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom.” Yes, searching and questioning are good tools in the toolbox which periodically involves examining even opposing points of view. Yet, we are the adults. If we have any sense at all as to what constitutes true wisdom, any notion whatsoever of truth as distinguished from error, of good being distanced from evil, we would be most foolish and most horribly negligent not to pass that skill along as well as the skills of reading and questioning. We are the keepers of our children’s souls and minds. From us they will get their first inclinations as to what is the true and the beautiful.

“The Golden Compass” is a no-brainer. While I will not forbid it, I choose to believe its author’s open intent and declare it not worth the reading. There are too many other good books out there that it would be a foolish waste of time to purposely steer my children down that detour. And that is what the Catholic League and other groups are simply doing: alerting us to the dead-end destination of Philip Pullman. Wisdom is essentially a matter of discernment. I want my children to be discerning, discriminating consumers in the welter of the public square: a place where the coarse, the false, and the evil are offered up in quantities far surpassing the good, the true, and the beautiful. Discernment is an ability to be taught and demonstrated by parents first of all, followed by librarians, teachers, schools, and all the gate-keepers of society. It is a shame that so many have abandoned their posts or stand so compromised by moral ambiguity and intellectual relativism that they can no longer tell the difference between the sheep and the wolves. Or they are silenced by a paralyzing fear of disrupting our cultural ease with a simple cry of alarm.

All said and done, if I have to use the Sport’s Illustrated swimsuit edition in order to interest my son, or yours, in reading, something is already dreadfully wrong. I have my limits, and surely Ms. Brabson has hers as well. She would be well served by being less churlish with those who draw the line further back than she.

Revival 2

Here is the latest and greatest. It represents a departure from the norm as I engage one of our readers in a dialogue regarding the last issue. I received some feed-back last week from my friend Dr. Jesse --, a professor of music at Malone College, who prays and weeps regularly for revival. I thought his heart-felt fervor worth printing:

All that you write about how we as individuals affect the world around us is true, but I still think that a small impact is, nevertheless, still small and that we should be VERY uneasy about the impact question. But I don't think the answer lies in cleverly devised human programs. What would happen in our communities if even 2 or 3 believers met regularly, fasting, on their knees, desperate before God, openly saying, "Lord, we see so little impact, so few hungry for You. Is there nothing in us that makes them want to 'taste and see?' Does my flesh obscure your Spirit in me to such an extent that I am not reflecting your image? Lord, we hear about thousands getting saved every day in Uganda. Why not here? Lord, make us desperate. Wake us up. Draw others to join us in seeking you. We can't manufacture anything on our own. We need your Wind to blow life into these dry bones." I believe we are in a time when the only "programs" we need are intense, corporate worship and tearful intercession. Nothing polite, nothing dignified. Nothing running on a strict schedule. At church and in our homes, on our knees, weeping, noses running, a no-holds-barred, "I don't care who hears me" cry for mercy for ourselves and for our neighborhoods. Revival is not the end goal here, it is but step two. (Step one is to realize we are dying on the vine, a refusal to live in the town of Status Quo any longer.) Revival is God's Intensive Care for patients whose spiritual breath can hardly fog a mirror, and I fear that is a pretty accurate description of most churches and church members, including myself. How can we expect to impact our communities when we're as sick and poor and needy as the unsaved? Revival is God mercifully bringing the spiritual and emotional healing we can not possibly bring about ourselves. Like the defibrillator paddles, revival is a jump start to get our heart beating again. What we want is transformation; transformation of communities, schools, churches, commerce, and government, where in our towns the works of Christ are more evident than the works of the Enemy.

Mr. Moe responds:
Thanks for the response. You are, of course, admirably right in wanting more than just the average, the good, and, surely, just the mediocre impact on the world in which we live: a self-satisfied, sophisticated, prosperous, society that is super-saturated with entertainments at every hand (unlike Uganda). We pray, or should be praying, for the eruptions of Pentecost to once again break forth in our midst. Yet, in the meantime, we must not despair, because to remove the salt-of-the-earth people we rub shoulders with every day from this present society would surely bring chaos and collapse of unimaginable proportions. So, there are two truths here. We both inform and sustain society to a level of humanity and justice we presently see (which we should not underestimate and for which we should be thankful). But then we live with the knowledge that, in many ways, we could be doing that a whole lot better if we could only purify ourselves to live a more Christ-like life (What would happen if all Christians suddenly stopped doing commerce on Sunday? Or voted?). And, like you mention so clearly, we have no idea what effect we could have if we were to don some appropriate form of sack cloth and ashes in repentance for our communities. But the Spirit blows where it will, and we can do little to command it. Revival comes sometimes in the midst of chaos and seeming defeat and other times when good people seek it eagerly. I hope I can be a balanced servant who prays for revival on one hand and with the other reaches out for my lunch box and goes to work in the full faith and knowledge that simple faith and obedience goes a long way in steadying the societal ship.

Responses and dialogue welcome
How selfish of me to not invite and welcome a “letter to the editor” response from all faithful readers to Mercy and Truth. I hope this will inspire others to respond. No such response will be printed without your final permission. Address all inquiries, rebuttals, praise, and hate-mail to the comments section.

Here are some final tidbits from the Jesse – Moe exchange:

Mr. Moe writes: Many folks seem to stand at the brink of despair and doubt when faced with the question of what difference they are making in the world. When it is a plague of doubt and depression from the evil one, it is a bad thing. When that is a holy dissatisfaction with the status quo coming from the Holy Spirit, it is a good thing. We need to speak to both. I talked to the first last week. You are talking to the second.

Jesse responds: Thank you for reminding me of sack cloth. I should have had "heart-rending repentance" at the top of my list of "programs." To obey is better than sacrifice. No, in the meantime we must not despair, but we MUST become desperate for godly change, desperate enough to turn off the TV and gather our Christian friends to meet regularly to intercede for our city, with the understanding we will not let up until transformation is evident.

Savings and Loan

“As for the saints that are in the earth, they are the majestic ones in whom is all my delight.” –Ps.16:3NASV

I was privileged to participate in a very heartfelt discussion last week about the effectiveness of my church. We were several men given the gift of time to reflect upon who we were and where we were going. The question was raised with pointed effect, “Are we impacting our community where we live?” There was a considerable portion of skepticism attached to that inquiry for the life of our church was not attended by waves of the unsaved coming down the aisles or by an overflowing parking lot full of visitors trying to find a slot. Life is fairly routine on any Sunday morning or Wednesday night and attendees are predictable and typically stolid in outward appearance. It was not too difficult to understand the gravity of the question at hand. We all stumbled in attempting to answer the question and were tempted to come to all sorts of conclusions of where the fault and failure lay. Such introspection invariably leads to doubt and restlessness as we see little that is “majestic” in ourselves.

I slept uneasily turning over the question through the night. Then it came to me. Yes, we did impact our community, and I became more convinced of that with each new thought. Every time the hand-bell choir stepped up to ring a witness of truth and beauty into my soul, every time a soloist would sing God’s praise with sincerity and passion, every time the choir would hit a home run to a chorus of amens, and every time the pastor would make my spirit fly on wings of the eternal Word; all these things helped keep this poor boy on the straight and narrow for another week. That, in itself, was no small accomplishment. I am to be the salt of my community and my church is keenly doing its duty in attempting to keep that saltiness alive and well. I thought of a fellow member, Anthony, who pauses every morning in the parking lot of the paint store where he works. He stops to read the Word and pray and then proceeds to enter that store, armed and dangerous, a man who takes no prisoners when given a chance to speak for his Lord. Yes, we impact our community. I think of my friend, Jim, walking the halls of his work-place, a nursing home, where he is an amazing embodiment of our Lord in ministering to the old and feeble of our world. I have seen him talking softly with genuine care in his voice as he clips fingernails and lifts spirits. Yes, we touch the weak and worn of our community. I see young couples raising Godly children who respect authority and have eager eyes and hearts to learn truth wherever they find it. Then they spill them out into our community where they are eagerly received by beleaguered teachers and despondent employers. Yes, we are touching our world for good.

No, it is not flashy or headline-grabbing nor are folks lining up to take seminars to learn the secret of our success. It is the kind of thing pounded out in a life of daily living, routine righteousness, and habitual compassion. But it is that which builds nations and makes them strong. It is easy to despair of our churches with all their warts, our marriages and families with all their problems and quirks, and even our school with all its faults. But when we do, we need to stop and look at them from the other end of the telescope and see their power and beauty, giving thanks for the work of the Holy Spirit who brings forth growth through even the most humble of human agencies when it seeks to follow in the Lord’s steps.

And if we haven’t already, we need to pull out “It’s a Wonderful Life” and watch it one more time. We all struggle with our own “crummy old Savings and Loan” resentments against those institutions in our lives which appear drab, ordinary, and possessing. May we catch a glimpse of what God is doing through them, through us, over time, in quiet and wonderful ways we find hard to recognize or comprehend.

Generation Gap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miracles

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

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

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

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

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

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

Manners

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suffering

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

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

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

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine;

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Through the world we safely go.

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

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

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

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

Cades Cove

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old Friends

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

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

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

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

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

Friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The War

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

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

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

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

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

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

Renters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Differences

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evolution

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Child Left Inside

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

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

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

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

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