Critical Thinking

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mercy and Truth,

Critical Thinking I

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

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

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

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

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

*Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis

The New

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

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

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

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

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

the human heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Visual Part IV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the visual part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be continued)

the visual part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be continued)

professional hazards II

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

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

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

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

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

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

professional hazards

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(to be continued)

reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

encouraging word

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

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

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

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

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

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

the easy road

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

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

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

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

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

Young Love

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

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

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

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

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

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