Twentystone

Gilead: A Book Report

2012-01-18T06:45:00.000-05:00

These are the bullet points of content I shared at a gathering of pastors at Calvin Seminary last summer. The material is not original and probably was culled from too many online sources. I apologize for any inconsistencies.

Of those things I am sure of is that I did and do love the book. I have been especially taken with a connection with what Alan Jacobs notes about the unique genre of essay (the quote at the end) and how Robinson has portrayed the thought life of her letter writer and narrator, John Ames. Jacobs writes of the essay that it follows, "the vagaries of the mind, with its habit of following its own pathways in serene disregard of what we would have it do." I think that captures John Ames quite well.

Marilynne Robinson Bio

She has earned her PhD in English and most recently has taught at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop in Iowa City
Housekeeping (1980)
Gilead (2004)
Home (2009)
On the Daily Show last summer discussing her book: Absence of Mind: The Dispelling of Inwardness from the Modern Myth of the Self

Gilead Plot

Gilead isa letter written by a Congregationalist minister named John Ames III to his 7year old son in 1956. His purpose in writing is: “to tell you things I wouldhave told you if you had grown up with me, things which I believe it becomes meas a father to teach you….” The story is epistolary, and in his memoir, JohnAmes relates the stories of his family and friends as well as his experience inthe world.

Pastoral Humor

p. 39 “I’ve developed a great reputation for wisdom by ordering more books than I ever had time to read, and reading more books, by far, than I learned anything useful from, except of course, that some very tedious gentlemen have written books. This is not a new insight, but the truth of it is something you have to experience to fully grasp.”
p.41 “I still wake up at night, thinking, That’s what I should have said! or That’s what he meant! remembering conversations I had with people years ago, some of them long gone from the world, past any thought of my putting things right with them.
p.42 “It was quite a sermon, I believe….But my courage failed, because I knew the only people at church would be a few old women who were already about as sad and apprehensive as they could stand to be and no more approving of the war than I was….
p.115 “So I decided a little waltzing would be very good, and it was. I plan to do all my waltzing here in the study. I have thought I might have a book ready at hand to clutch if I began to experience unusual pain, so that it would have an especial recommendation from being found in my hands. That seemed theatrical, on consideration, and it might have the perverse effect of burdening the book with unpleasant associations. the ones I considered by the way, were Donne and Herbert and Barth’s Epistle to the Romans and Volume II of Calvin’s Institutes. Which is by no means to slight Volume I.”
p.132 “A woman in my flock called just after breakfast and asked me to come to her house. She is elderly…O the clerical life! I think this lady has suspected me of a certain doctrinal sloughing off, and now she will be sure of it. The story made your mother laugh, though, so my labors are repaid.”
p.232 “…Now it’s Sunday again. When you do this sort of work, it seems to be Sunday all the time, or Saturday night. You just finish preparing for one week and it’s already the next week.”

Fathers and Sons

Alongwith John Ames III’s tender relationship with his son, father-son relationshipsplay significantly in the accounting and reflection of John himself. Rev Amestells his son about hisgreat-grandfather, John Ames Sr. and his son’s tumultuous relationship which ispacified by a tremulous detent. John Ames Jr and his son Edward have their ownfalling out over Edward’s apostasy. And also significantly we read about RobertBoughton’s troubled relationship with his son, Jack who himself is a deeplytroubled father.

The Prodigal Son
The story of Abraham
Jephthah’s father was Gilead who was a father who treated his child abominably. See page 129 and Judges 11ff.

In Addition

Death, disintegration, and relational breakdown hover and held in tension by gratitude and joy in life, the hope and experience of forgiveness and redemption.
Forgiveness, Anger, Resentment, Healing, Grief, Soundness, Redemption, Surprise
Issues of Grace, Forgiveness, Belief, Reprobation, Predestination all figure in the story.
The Balm of Gilead. Jeremiah 8:22 22 Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then is there no healing for the wound of my people?

There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.
There is a balm in Gilead
To make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead
To heal the sin sick soul.
Some times I feel discouraged,
And think my work’s in vain,
But then the Holy Spirit
Revives my soul again.
Refrain
If you can’t preach like Peter,
If you can’t pray like Paul,
Just tell the love of Jesus,
And say He died for all.

Wandering

Of thebooks we read, Gilead was the most contemplative. The representation which isbeing pictured is a representation of the “vagaries of the mind, with its habitof following its own pathways in serene disregard of what we would have it do.”

The John Ames narration wanders.
John Ames III is going home. His sojourn is nearly over though he feels more at home than ever.
Jack Boughton has lost his house in St Louis, alienation, sin, circumstance. He is a home-wrecker, abandoner, forsaker…
Edward and John Ames Jr wander away from faith.
John Ames Sr wanders Kansas (and Missouri?) in a guerilla war with John Brown. He wanders the South with the Union Army, He wanders back to Kansas to die.
John Ames III and his father wander Kansas looking for his father’s grave and almost starve to death.
The abolitionist settlement wanders even as it was built to be a harbor for wanders.
In 1956 America is wandering. Interstate Hwy Act was in-acted. The Birmingham Bus Boycott was in full-swing.

From Wayfaring: Essays Pleasant and Unpleasant, by Alan Jacobs

CharlesLamb’s, “Poor Relations” (1823) is an essay which begins by humorously tellinga story of the awkward circumstances that occur when poor relations visit atsupper time. Lamb goes on to tell of another poor relation with whom he went toschool but had to withdraw because of his poverty. His only option was to jointhe army. In his first engagement, he was killed. Lamb goes on to write,

“‘I do not know how, upon a subject which I began treating half seriously, I should have fallen upon a recital so eminently painful; but this theme of poor relationship is replete with so much matter for tragic as well as comic associations, that it is difficult to keep the account distinct without blending.’

Of all the many virtues of the essay…. It is what I have elsewhere called a humble mutability of tone, a willingness to acknowledge and accept the vagaries of the mind, with its habit of following its own pathways in serene disregard of what we would have it do. Lamb may meant to write a comic bagatelle; his mind, it turned out, contained a store of memories that would not confine themselves to the mood in which he began.”

A Christmas Story: Joy Comes to Greyton

2011-12-24T22:44:00.000-05:00

Each Christmas Eve I take the opportunity to present the Christmas Eve message using a genre other than the usual expository sermon. This Christmas Eve, I shared a fictional story. Now using fiction to tell the gospel does not mean I have a low regard for the authority of the Scriptures. On the contrary, there are many fictional stories in the Scriptures that are true stories. They are called parables. And so, we wish you a Merry Christmas, with this Christmas parable.

Once upon a time in a very distantland near the town of Greyton there lived a brother and a sister named John andApril Mayfield. Being orphans, John and April had to look out for themselves. Andbeing alone in the world, they were considered Outcasts, and had to live asshepherds in the wide open spaces beyond the town.

This night, JohnMayfield sat on the cold, hard ground beside the unconscious body of his nowsleeping sister, April, and he wept. He cried because he was afraid, but mostof all he cried because he was ashamed that he had done nothing to help.

Earlier that evening,John, April and the other shepherds were moving their flocks closer to thetown. The severity of the winter-Winter had set in and food was scarce. For thepast few nights, packs of desperately hungry wolves were drawing closer to theflocks. Their howls grew louder, and the shepherds knew that at some point the wolves’hunger would overcome their fear, and they would attack. When the attack came,even the older shepherds were surprised by its ferocity and speed .

When the wolvesrushed in among the flocks, April moved to protect the ewe lambs. Swingingwildly with her staff, two of the wolves turned on her. John also had rushedin, and he saw the wolves turn to attack his sister. John tripped on the unevenground, and the spectacles he was wearing fell from his face. Lying on theground and frozen in fear, he trembled as he lay helpless. In the commotion,another shepherd, named Gabe, rushed to April’s defense. As Gabe ran past John,he looked down at John. John knew Gabe saw him, and John believed Gabe saw his fearand shame of powerlessness. Gabe drove the attackers away from April and pursuedthem into the wood. The howls and cries of battle continued out of sight and becamemore distant and more faint. Even though Gabe was an experienced shepherd and astrong man, it had been several hours, and Gabe had not returned. So, it seemedthat though Gabe had saved April’s life and the flock, John was afraid that hewas unable to save his himself.

John had seen theevening’s events, unspectacled, and he saw them for what they were. Now that hehad put the spectacles back on, he saw himself for what he was: a coward. Yes, hehad fallen, and yes, he was still a young lad, but he knew. He knew that he didnot get up though he could have; he knew that he didn’t even try. Instead, paralyzedby fear, he laid there and watched another shepherd – an Outsider, save hisflock. But most importantly, he saw him save the life of the only other personin his life who cared about him. And now, he sat beside her alone in the emptyand icy hardness of Winter thinking himself the most unfortunate boy who hadever lived.

Things had not always beenunfortunate for John and April. Seven years ago, before the goblin, Glubglotwas made Governor by the Old Steward, the Mayfields had lived with their motherand father along the banks of the Wandering River in the town Greyton. Thoughtheir means were modest, they lived a comfortable and happy life. But then The Age came, and the endless Winterbegan and the River froze hard and sickness and hunger descended on the land,and the wolves came down from the distant mountain wilderness.

The Age took itstoll on the Kingdom and on the Old Steward who himself gave way under theweight of its melancholy. Just as the Age made the land hard, it made thepeople hard. Even in the small town of Greyton where people had been friendsfor time out of mind, the people grew cold to one another. They envied and grewsuspicious and spied on each other and were harsh. The Steward, bent over withthe burden of governing, began to look for help from anyone who would offer,and it was in this way that the he began to give his ear to the goblin.

Globglot was an uglygoblin. (Now, if you’ve known goblins you know that being an ugly goblin is veryugly, and Globglot’s ugliness was inside and out). As goblins go, he was a clevergoblin, and he used the hardness of The Age to his advantage. The scarcitycaused by the Unending Winter made the Steward desperate to have more. Glubglotused the Steward’s fear to gain power, and he promised to increase thekingdom’s productivity and make more efficient, its use of resources. And so,in this way, the Steward turned from trusting the Promise-Maker’s promises togetting what he wanted by other means. The Age produced a good measure ofmisery which Glubglot enjoyed immensely. But the genius of his wickedness hedemonstrated in the Lead Glasses he made for the people.

Glubglot calledthe glasses, Suspectacles which, when worn, would give the wearer the abilityto see through things. Anyone wearing suspectacles would be able, so theythought, to see things the way they really were. Through their lenses, no onesaw the wonder of creation, any sincerity in motives, and no beauty insacrifice. They only saw: efficiency or not, utility or not, profit or not. Andso, as you or I would surely realize, being able to see through everything onlymeans that your are unable to see anything, and in the end, though the Stewardand the people thought they were growing in knowledge and insight, they werereally being blinded, and the longer the people wore the heavy lead framed suspectacles,the more their heads dropped, and the more miserable they became.

There were othersamong the Kingdom who would not wear the glasses; they were the Outcasts.Because they would not submit to wearing the suspectacles, they were sent towork as shepherds out beyond the security of the town. The Outcasts believedthe Promise-Maker’s Promises and the Stories of the promises, and they lived inthe hope that the King would come and that he would end the Age of the UnendingWinter and that sitting on his throne the Forever-Joy would begin.

Gabe was anOutcast, and he was called Good Gabe by all who new him. At first, John andApril did not trust him. Seeing him through their suspectacles, they thoughtthat this big, strong, loud man with red cheeks and a hearty laugh was reallyout to take advantage of them. But over the months, he had shown himself alight-hearted and merry kind of fellow. “He may be a fool,” April would say, “butan honest and jolly fool is better company than a clever goblin.” And so, Johnand April kept company with Gabe around the campfire in the evening, andsometimes they forgot themselves and laughed with him, but this night, there wasno laughter around the fire, John was alone full of shame and regret.

III.

Maybe it was because his spectacleshad been knocked from his eyes during the attack by the wolves, but John saw inGabe’s courage and desperation as he fought for April a beauty that he couldnot explain. No doubt, if he had seen things through the lead glasses, hewould’ve seen a fool-hearty and reckless act. Gabe’s sheep were not at risk.Both John and April offered no real advantage to him or the other shepherds.Their ignorance of shepherding and their youth made them more a liability thanan advantage to the company of shepherds, and yet the bravery with which Gabe hadsaved April and John and their flock began to work in John’s heart. In thatmoment, a possible hope and even a little fear, began to stir in John, that maybethere was something heavier—something more real through which one could not seebut was that which all looking hoped to see.

Sitting beside theresting body of his sister, John remembered the many campfire talks they hadwith Gabe. John recalled how Gabe’s unspectacled eyes twinkled kindness andwarmth—even if he was, by all accounts, just a jovial fool. Gabe told themabout how life had been before Glubglot had deceived the Steward, and thatthere was still a hope in which to hope. Long ago, the Promise had been madethat a new King would come and that he would bear away all the heaviness oflife and speak wise words and turn things from the way they are to the way theyought to be and that his ageless reign would not grow old but would be newevery day. During the King’s reign the Winter would give way to summer andanger to reconciliation and wrongs to forgiveness and sadness to joy. Hethought of the song he often heard Gabe sing,

The door that was closed shall be opened.

The lingering cold shall give way.

The power of winter shall be broken,

And night shall give rise to New Day.

But of course, John suspected that that was only wishful thinking. April hadbeen inclined to believe, but John could not…would not, and even more so now, asthe weight of his sadness and weariness pressed down on him. There beside her, hegroped for some explanation of the weakness of his heart and the beauty ofGabe’s selflessness.

IV.

April awoke in the next hour, andthough she was still shaken, she sensed the silence of his mood and having losther glasses in the struggle, she saw more clearly the resignation and defeat inher brother.

That evening asthey sat up to watch the sheep, the heaviness of John’s sadness and regret hungover him. The events of the night and of the preceding seven years as well seemedto wash over him in a deafening, silent darkness. April reached out and tookhis hand and said, “I wonder…”

And from behind, avoice laughed and said, “I wonder, indeed.” Startled, John and April turned tosee Gabe – Good ol’ Gabe -- standing behind them. Jumping up, they each rushedto embrace him, but John drew up short and lowered his head. Gabe caught hiseye and said, “Come now, John. Do not hang back but welcome and be welcomed,”and he reached and took John in his arms and said,

“The door that was closed has been opened.

The cold that has lingered gives way

The power of winter is broken

And night gives rise to New Day.”

And suddenly, Good Gabe glowed withall his goodness as if a fire had ignited from within him. Unmasked, he showedhis true quality as one of the Bright Messengers of the Promise-Maker. Heglowed with a brightness that pushed down harder than any burden, and in hisrevealed presence, John and April trembled before the glowing reality. In thepresence of this light, the lead suspectacles which John wore evaporated in a wisplike a fog before a spring morning. And now John really saw. He saw his refusalto enter into joy, his cynicism and sadness, his cowardice and fear, and evenhis shame for what they were: a denial. All his life, John had lived in fear ofbeing taken in by an unreal happiness. But now, being really un-happy,would he step into the uncertainty of a future grace?

In the presence ofthat glory John’s doubt shook, and his pettiness cracked. Gabe, glowing everbrighter, said, “Do not be afraid because I have great and joyful news. Today,the long-awaited King has come to Greyton. And so that you will believe thatwhat I say is true, hear this:

The Great King has come as a baby.

Draw near as you would any child.

He is swaddled in the arms of lady

The Majestic come meek and mild.

He sits not in castle or throne room

But lies in a manger with straw

Infinity wrapped as an infant

The Joy who is offered to all.

Go now to His side and there greet him.

The Joy that the Promise has made

Eternity has entered our Grey Town

The Promise has come as a babe.”

And at that moment the clouded-nightwinter skies were ripped open and thousands upon thousands of Bright Onesappeared in the now starry sky; the weight of their glory was joy, and it fell inhuge blocks of light. They sang the song of the Good News, and of highest praise to the Promise-Maker who hadkept his promise to all those who’s hope is in Him.

And to all this Johnand April listened and received and welcomed. And as they received, they werechanged. For no matter what had happened to them, and what sadness andbrokenness they had born, this news meant that they were not alone and that itwas not all for nothing. It meant that the great, lumbering distance to the end wasnot their walk to make, but rather, the Blessed One who awaits at the end has madehis way to them.

John, April, andthe other shepherds rushed to the town and found the baby King just as Gabe hadtold them, and in that moment, their belief hardened; it did not callous, butrather, as in a sad song, it resolved into a major key and they too shown withthe light of his glory. John and April told the parents of the baby King allthat had happened and of the beauty and glory and music and light, and the baby’smother seemed to specially take it all to heart.

Now, though everythingchanged that night, it would be many years before the beginning was finishedand the end begun. And even though The King had come, Glubglot still deceivedthe people, and many still wore their lead suspectacles and thought it veryfoolish of those who did not.

And since thebeginning of the end, more goblins have continued to come and bring with them otherdevices which they promise will help people to really see. Yet for those who laydown their real unhappiness before the King and step into the light of the newsof his coming, unending winter passes, and he bears them into the cosmic summerof his unshakeable joy.

A Christmas Story: The Knakers and the Kwakers

2011-12-20T20:27:00.001-05:00

Each Christmas Eve I do something along the lines of a narrative sermon. Here's last year's story.

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Revel there lived a young,orphan girl named Linny. Linny was anorphan who worked in the castle where the King had once lived and where theEnchanter lived now. It had been a long time since the King had gone away overthe sea, and it had been a long time since he had sent the portraits which wereto be hung in the castle but had been long since been discarded or destroyed orat least left unattended in forgotten halls and rooms in the great castle. Atleast no one thought they needed the portraits as long as they had the Mirror.

Linny’s mother had been a Knaker. The Knakers were afun-loving people who lived in the center of the great city. The part of townfrom which Linny’s mother came was, of course, loud and boisterous and fun. TheKnakers there always traveled in groups, and if you were to live among them,you would have the feeling that everyday begins with a parade and ends with aparty. The Knakers were always talking loudly and singly loudly and were excitedabout everything social.

Linny’s father had been a Kwakers. (Now, this being a storyabout a long time ago in a land far way these Kwakers have nothing to dowith those friends you may have whom are called the same--though I am informedthat some of them enjoyed their oats). The part of town in which Linny’s fathergrew up was a full of libraries, and parks with benches overlooking ponds andstroll ways for walking. Just as there were parades and parties among the Knakers,there was quiet and solitude with Kwakers.

The mirror, the Great Mirror as it had been called, was madeby the King for the people of Revel. It was a wonder. Overlaidwith gold, ornate and inset with jewels, the King made the mirror so that thepeople could always see him even though he was away. The day the King left, hebrought out the mirror and set it on the dais near the large window behind histhrone which overlooked the sea, and he told them that if ever they werediscouraged or afraid or needed wisdom all they need do was to turn the mirrorso that it faced across the sea. And if they looked intently and patiently,they would see him in the mirror in all his kingly justice, wisdom, andsplendor, and they would be reminded of his love for them, his mercy andcompassion, and his promise to return. Afterward, the King boarded his ship andtraveled across the sea.

Long after, but not long enough, the Knakers and Kwakerswere deceived by the enchantment of THE Enchanter—though none thought of themselvesas having been enchanted. The Enchanter showed the people of Revelthat they could look into the mirror and see themselves. It was fascinating,for up to that time, no one in Revell had nor had want of a mirror.The Enchanter taught them that if they looked into the Great Mirror they couldsee themselves, and the could see how others saw them. Looking into the mirrorwas such a help because by it they could see whether they were a good Knaker orKwaker. Sadly, the Enchanter helped them forget for what the mirror was madeand used the mirror for what it wasn’t made. After much use, the Knakers andKwakers grew to depend upon the mirror and soon forgot about the King and hispromise. “If only,” they thought, “one could take the mirror with them…then he wouldnot need to make the daily journey to the castle and instead could spend thetime in more profitable business such as reading and thinking or talking and havingparties.

Having jumped into the Enchanter’s trap, they made theirwish to have their own mirrors to the Enchanter, and so the Enchanter madesmall mirrors for the Knakers and the Kwakers to wear about their necks whichhe called, Vanities. The Knakerscarried vanities so that they could see themselves whenever they wanted and theKwakers carried vanities for the same reason. The Knakers liked to seethemselves at the center of gatherings and parties--being recognized andenjoyed and showing that they knew this person or that person and that theyknew what everyone had been doing. The Kwakers liked to see themselves too, butthey liked to see themselves thinking or reading with profound and knowingexpressions and answering complex questions with correct, thoughtful andprofound answers. All of this mirror watching did not make either Knaker or Kwakermerry, though many of them thought themselves happy.

Increasingly the Knakers grew noisier, their busy-nessturned them into busy-bodies, and their love for conversation turned to talkingabout one another. As they spent more time looking into their Vanities, theygrew suspicious of how other’s Vanities reflected their image, and so they werealways looking over each other’s shoulders to look into everyone else’s mirrorsto see what they looked like.

Now, the worst of the Knakers were called Rotters, notbecause they were ‘rotten’ which is true, but because they were rioters -- theystarted fights wherever they went and they broke furniture whenever they visited;they were terrors every last one of them. Most of the Knakers knew that being aRotter did not make one look good, and so they forced the Rotters outside ofthe city where they could be as rotten as they liked and the Knakers could keeptheir stuff from being burnt or broken.

As the Knakers stole glances into other’s vanities, theirsuspicions were confirmed by what they saw. And just so, their friendshipsbroke, their parties became stuffy, their conversation, cliché. They found thatthe only way to combat all of their bad feelings was to make more noise. And sothey talked louder, had more parties, spoke more words, sang thoughtlessjingles, and of course looked into their Vanities.

The Kwakers, too, loved their vanities. They watchedthemselves thinking and reading and speaking big words, and the more they did,the more brooding they became. They thought of what their friends thought ofthem, and when they found out that their friends did not think much about them,they became more fearful that they were unappreciated and more sad that no onevisited them.

Some Kwakers lived in foreign lands and were calledWatchers. Not having been given Vanities they were able to spend more timethinking about the King rather than themselves, and they grew rich in the loreabout the King and about the Great Mirror. Sometimes they would come visit, butthey found their Kwaker brothers and sisters did not seem to enjoy theircompany, and so they returned to their homes far away.

In time, as the Kwakers used their Vanities more and more,they grew resentful at the thoughtlessness of their friends, and they harboredbitterness in their hearts. These people who were so careful about what they thought and did and said became careworn with worry and fretting. The enjoyment of quiet conversations andthoughtful strolls and thinking retreats gave way to the noise of thoughtsabout what others thought of them and what they thought of themselves thinkingabout what other’s said and whether anything they did, let alone their thinkingabout it, mattered.

One thing that bound all Knakers together and all Kwakerstogether was how foolish and shallow and dull and boring the other was.Sometimes however, Knakers and Kwakers would become friends. A Knaker wouldfind a Kwaker to be a good listener and so one would talk while the otherlistened, and, sometimes they fell in love an married just as Linny’s parents did.Linny’s mother and father, both enjoyed and was infuriated by the other. Onewas a party pooper and the other bossy. One was superficial and the other didnot know how to have fun. They each argued and made up so many times, that, asis often the case in such friendships, they married so that they could continuefor the rest of their lives. But sadly, they were not able to for as long asthey had imagined, and they left Linny alone as an orphan in the city of Revel.

Alone in the world and in need of food, Linny worked as ascullery maid in the castle which means, as I’m sure you know, that she had thehardest and dirtiest job. Her duties were the most thankless yet most oftencomplained against.

The Enchanter had now lived in the castle for many years,and it had been long since the sun shone in a bright blue spring morning. Dayafter day, the grey clouds hung like lead over the kingdom. And what with allthe noise of the Knaker’s chatter and the Kwaker’s brooding, Revel was a busybut joyless place, and for Linny it was more so.

Everyday, all she saw was the grey of the stone floor whichshe washed with dingy water. Everyday she gathered the used up fireplace ashes.And everyday she faced the darkness of her future, for she knew that theconstant burden of always being on her knees in the dirt and soot with no hope wouldsqueeze the joy and love from her heart. She had seen it in the older staff andshe new it was in her as well. She was impatient with the children who trackedacross her clean floors and she was resentful at the children who had time andtoys to do what they pleased. She had even taken out her frustration on thekitchen cat whose tail she pulled. She was hurt by the name calling and funthat others had at her expense when the called her “Skinny Linny” with thatmocking, sing-song voice, and made fun of her by singing,

Skinny Linny do yourchores.
Skinny Linny wash thefloors.
Skinny Linny, such abiddy.
Skinny Linny what a bore.

One day while she was in the throne room, washing the floorin front of a large piece of furniture, she noticed a red stone on the floorunder the cover. The red stone against the grey of the slate floor caught hereyes. I would even say it hurt because she had not seen something so colorfulin what seemed many months. Thinking that the stone came from the coveredfurniture, she thought to place it back -- she was after all, an honest younggirl.

Pulling back the cover, she discovered the Great Mirror. Linnytook the cover off completely, and as she looked into the mirror she saw herreflection. She remembered her father’s thoughtfulness and her mother’s mirth.She remembered the green grass and the blue sky; the stars at night and thelightening bugs that swarmed on warm summer evenings. She remembered winternights that weren’t grey and cold but were warm and cozy with fire and friendsand stories. She remembered the city before the King had gone away -- howbright and full of ease and just it was then. And she saw herself -- the scullerymaid, Skinny Linny, alone and forgotten. And as would’ve been true for you orI, if we had been left alone in a sad place, she began to cry.

Almost inaudibly while she cried, she began to speak inbetween the breaths and quiet sobs, “Why, oh why? Where have you gone? And whywon’t you come back? Make things right. Make me right.”

And as she stood before that mirror she heard the Kingspeak. Whether she heard with her ears or just with her heart she could nottell. This is what heard,

When night is thedarkest
And the winter cold
The King shall comemeekly
The universe, to hold.
He shall be:
Homeless or thosewithout home,
A gift for thegiftless
Weak for those withoutstrength,
And a kind word forthe speechless
When I return fromacross the sea
Many will deny norwelcome nor receive
But you go this nightby the sea and wait
For the return Ipromise, I now will make.

And so Linny who after not a little thinking and worryingand complaining, replaced the cover and did just as she was told. And speakingwith a friend about what had been said, she went to the beach beyond thecastle, where they found the little boat in which was wrapped a baby boy. Doingwhat she could and with the help of her friend, she saw that the baby was fedand warmed. The baby cried when he was hungry and he fussed when his diaperneeded changing. For this was not the King looking like a baby, this was thebaby King, and he needed all the help and care that every baby needs.

Not long after she found the baby, a great group of Rotterscame to see Linny and the baby King. They said that Sky People had appeared tothem with a great sound and light -- a light brighter than any burning and asong greater than any jeering -- it was heavy sound and light, and the terrorsthemselves were terrified. The Sky People told them that the son of the King,the King of Joy and Light and Love and Glory had come to Revel and that if theycame they would share THE JOY of the King and find his son which of course,they had and did.

Linny kept the boy with her friend and they cared for him.Several days latter, some Watchers came from far away to see the baby King andto honor him with gifts, for they had seen signs in the sky that foretold hiscoming. Each of the gifts they brought honored what they understood to be howhe would deliver the Kingdom of Revel from the enchantment of theEnchanter: Gold pure and brightenough for a King’s crown, Incense toveil his glory and majesty that he might walk among them as a sweet smellingfragrance, and Spice to honor the paymenthe would offer in the sacrifice of his life to deliver them. Of all these things, Linny pondered in her heart like a goodKwaker and thought of them often. And as a good Knaker, her heart rejoice andsang to the King and boasted to anyone who would listen about the kindness ofthe King who heard her cry for rescue and deliverance.

I could go on and tell you about how the young King grew,what he learned and how he fulfilled his Father’s wish to deliver the peoplefrom the Enchanter’s enchantment and the condemnation of their own treason, butthat is another story for another time.

From the day the that the Rotters and the Watchers visitedLinny and the baby King, much in the Kingdom of Revel remained as it hadalways been. The greatest gift ever given and surest hope ever offered went unrecognizedand unappreciated. Indeed, many gifts have been given with the whole heart andhave gone unreceived nor recognized. The Knakers and the Kwakers continued touse their Vanities. And in the noise of their chatter and their brooding, theynever heard the singing of all that is--the light but heavy song which breaksthrough when Kwakers rejoice and Knakers listen. For some though such as Linny, nothing was ever the same.

We gather tonight to ponder and honor, to make merry andrejoice, for the KING who makes carefree the careworn and who makes thecareless kind has come. The evil spell of the Enchanter has been broken by theGodspell. The King’s Son has come and broken the power of Vanity and sin. TheKings’ Son has come, and He gives rest for the weary and makes them merry andgentle.

Christmas Concert

2011-12-18T19:13:00.003-05:00

The eldest is in the Glenn High School Concert Choir. Here is their performance of "Call to Advent" and "Noel". "Noel" has grown to be my favorite over the season. You may view it at about the 2 minute mark.
Here's the translation of the Kituba text:
"Noel! Noel! Jesus has come to live with us. If you want to know the Child, you have to come and kneel."

"he won't be angry with you"

2011-12-18T03:10:00.000-05:00

“Not too long ago I conducted a funeral for the spouse of a very dear friend of mine. The spouse died of AIDS. My friend moved in a very fast crowd, and the funeral service in the home was quite informal. There was a keyboard artist playing jazz and plenty of booze and balloons. The people who came to the service were not the kind of people who are generally found sitting on the front row at the the First Church by the Gas Station. In fact most of the folks who were at the service had long since given up on religion. I could understand that. I’ve almost given up myself on several occasions. I went to the keyboard artist and said to him, “Son, when you finish this piece bring it to an end because I’m going to say something religious.” When he stopped playing and there was silence, I decided to follow Jesus’ example. He would probably (judging the report of the gospel writers who chronicled his life) be more comfortable with people like this than with the normal folks who attend normal funeral services. So, after saying a quick silent prayer, I said to the folks there:

“I don’t do many funerals with balloons and booze. But it’s okay because that’s the way [my friend] would have wanted it. The balloons are appropriate because this is not a funeral service, it’s a graduation service. Our friend isn’t here. She’s in another place where there isn’t any more pain. She’s in heaven, and I’m going to tell you why.”

I told them about the people Jesus loved. I told them that their friend wasn’t in heaven because she was a ‘good’ person (they knew better than that) but because she knew she wasn’t and had turned to One who loved her enough to die on a cross in her place.

“I’m here. I went on, “for only one reason. You needed someone to tell you the truth. I’m just one bad person telling other bad people the most important thing you will ever hear: God is God, and you should remember that. But if you go to him, he won’t be angry with you. In fact, he’ll love you. Our friend found that out, and we wanted to make sure you knew.”

As I looked around the room, there was hardly a dry eye. I didn’t have to tell them they were guilty. At least they had that right. They needed someone to tell them about a God who would love them and forgive them if they would only go to him.

Steve Brown, Approaching God

More Love to Thee

2011-12-17T20:58:00.002-05:00

I discovered Elizabeth Prentiss a couple of years ago. I acquired a copy of Stepping Heavenward after my grandmother died. Grandma Maude said it was her favorite book.

Reading a fictional, girl's diary was not something I was initially drawn to, but after picking up the book and reading it, I was struck by the sweetness of the story and the reality and honesty of the main character. I ended up reading it the day I started it. I've often thought of juxtaposing Stepping Heavenward with Bridget Jones's Diary.

I was taken with Mrs. Prentiss' and later discovered that she had wrote hymns. A couple of years ago, I retuned this one for the congregation I pastor. Here is a recording I did for some friends.

More Love To Thee by Randamir

50 Best Photos from Nature

2011-12-16T20:34:00.000-05:00

You can view the 50 best images from nature over at boston.com.

The Coming of the King

2011-12-15T12:00:00.000-05:00

Lewis' good friend, J.R.R. Tokein as well understood the jovial king.

“And then wonder took him, and a great joy; and he cast his sword up in the sunlight and sang as he caught it. And all eyes followed his gaze, and behold! upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it, the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. And the stars flamed in the sunlight, for they were wrought of gems by Arwen daughter of Elrond; and the crown was bright in the morning, for it was wrought of mithril and gold. Thus came Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elessar, Isildur's heir, out of the Paths of the Dead, borne upon a wind from the Sea to the kingdom of Gondor; and the mirth of the Rohirrim was a torrent of laughter and a flashing of swords, and the joy and wonder of the City was a music of trumpets and a ringing of bells…”
J.R.R. Tolkein, The Return of the King

Jovial Kingship

2011-12-15T06:00:00.000-05:00

“Before the other angels a man might sink: before this he mightdie, but if he lived at all, he would laugh. If you had caught one breath ofthe air that came from him, you would have felt yourself taller than before.Though you were a cripple, your walk would have become stately: though abeggar, you would have worn your rags magnanimously. Kingship and power andfestal pomp and courtesy shot from him as sparks fly from an anvil. The pealingof bells, the blowing of trumpets, the spreading out of banners, are means usedon earth to make a faint symbol of his quality. It was like a long sunlit wave,creamy-crested and arched with emerald, that comes on nine feet tall, withroaring and with terror and unquenchable laughter. It was like the firstbeginning of music in the halls of some King so high and at some festival sosolemn that a tremor akin to fear runs through young hearts when they hear it.For this was the great Glund-Oyarsa, King of Kings, through whom the joy ofcreation principally blows across these fields of Arbol,…. At his coming therewas holiday in the Blue Room…”

C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength

Lewis captures the jovial spirit in the descent of Glund in That Hideous Strength. Notice the similar language in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Lucy asks regarding Aslan, "Is he—quite safe?" To which Mr. Beaver replies, "Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."

Here's Michael Ward talking about the Jovial spirit.
And the second part...

"We Teach the World We Create"

2011-12-14T06:00:00.000-05:00

Dr. Michael Ward author of Planet Narnia gave a lecture in 2010 at the University of Kansas, Lawrence on his discovery as to the imaginative theme of the the Chronicles of Narnia. To listen to the entire two-part lecture is a time commitment, but if you want to understand the clever craft of the Chronicles, these are a great place to start.

And here's Part 2

To Sea Like Lucy

2011-12-13T06:00:00.000-05:00

Today is the feast day of Saint Lucy or Santa Lucia. Her feast day is celebrated by many denominations and traditions. Lucy's martyrdom was most likely during the Diocletian persecution. Tradition tells us that she was blinded prior to her execution and so St. Lucy is the patron of the blind.

Of course, I think of a certain Lucy Pevensie who is a literary heroine of mine. No doubt C.S. Lewis knew her name was derived from the Latin lux (light). In the Narniad, Lucy is more often than not the one who sees things first. In fact, in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Edmund while talking about Aslan with Eustace, has this to say:

“Well, don’t tell me about it, then,” said Eustace. “But who is Aslan? Do you know him?” “Well—he knows me,” said Edmund. “He is the great Lion, the son of the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea, who saved me and saved Narnia. We’ve all seen him. Lucy sees him most often.
Lewis, C. S. (2008-10-29). The Voyage of the Dawn Treader: The Chronicles of Narnia (pp. 117-118). Harper Collins, Inc.. Kindle Edition.

"Lucy sees him most often." I love that.

In honor of all the heroines who bear the name "Lucy", here's a children's choir singing, "Santa Lucia".

A Dickens of an Evening

2011-12-12T10:19:00.002-05:00

My wife wrote the following poem after our family visited the NC Shakespeare Festival's A Christmas Carol. She also drew the sketch to the right. She blogs and posts here work on her own blog drawn2life. You can see more of her work here.

A Dickens Eve

A gentle waterfall
spilled up and o’er the rim
finding age old crevices
to follow towards my chin.

‘Twere just a play!
a staged apparition…
Well, actually there were three
nay four! after intermission.

What magic did befall me
as costumed sorcerers did brew
with lilting incantations
and music lovely too.

Had I not sat here
a couple times before?
Yet a fortnight of years
since last I heard this score.

A fortnight of years
is enough to deepen
the heart crevices
touched here by Dickens.

As Past waves her hand
for Scrooge to view his childhood,
My own leaps up before me
memories dancing, ill and good.

Then Present laughs hearty
as I sit here with my Three-
I know the richness I’ve been given
I can scarce contain it merrily.

For that dearest family Cratchit
‘tis my own sweet family too!
The crevices are deeper now
‘tis why I see this anew.

My senior girl beside me
is poised to leave the nest
Four years at college
and then who knows the rest?

My middle boy full of life
and a heart that breaks for all
His character becomes a man
How did he get so tall?

My youngest also sweetest thing
a deadly disease has hold…
Were it not for money and medicine,
her future could not be told.

All three have known less at table
though nothing like the meager here.
Fewer clothes are in their closets
Yet the Cratchits are wearing theirs.

Though my life is abundance
in comparison with these…
Do I still hoard and miser
all I have, to live in ease?

The jocund, piercing work of actors
has undone my heart this night.
The waterfall I cannot stop
melts what I’ve held tight.

Live freely with hands held open
Give money, joy and love!
And ring throughout each blessed moment:
God Bless Us Everyone!!
-jpe

Gaudete Sunday

2011-12-11T13:49:00.001-05:00

Today is Gaudete Sunday. During this Advent Sunday's readings is the scripture from Philippians 4:4 "Rejoice in the Lord always, I will say it again, Rejoice!" In it we remember the message of the Angel of the Lord and the Heavenly Host as they announcement to coming of the Messiah, "Fear not because I bring you good news of great joy!"

I recently came across a 16th Century Christmas carol entitled "Gaudete" which is a rejoicing song about the coming of the Messiah.

Here is the text with a loose translation.

Gaudete, Gaudete! Christus et natus Ex maria virgine, Gaudete!	Rejoice, Rejoice! Christ is born Of the virgin Mary, Rejoice!
Tempus ad est gratiae, Hoc quod optabamus; Carmina laetitiae, Devote redamus.	Now is the time of grace That we have longed. Let us sing songs of joy! Let us render devotion!
Deus homo factus est, Natura mirante; Mundus renovatus est A Christo regnante.	God was made man; Creation marvels. The world was renewed By Christ who is King.
Ezechiellis porta Clausa pertransitur; Unde lux est orta Salus invenitur.	The closed gate of Ezekiel Has been passed through; From where the light arises Salvation is found.
Ergo nostra cantio, Psallat iam in lustro; Benedicat Domino: Salus Regi nostro.	Therefore let the assembly, Sing in the brightness of dawning; Let it praise the Lord: Greetings to our King.

I love the language and what I think is a reference to Ezekiel 46. The imagery captures the true worship led by the King in the Restored Kingdom in which the Eastern gate is not only opened to the direction of the dawn but also to direction of those who are in captivity in Babylon. The passage reads:

“Thus says the Lord GOD: The gate of the inner court that faces east shall be shut on the six working days, but on the Sabbath day it shall be opened, and on the day of the new moon it shall be opened. The prince shall enter by the vestibule of the gate from outside, and shall take his stand by the post of the gate. The priests shall offer his burnt offering and his peace offerings, and he shall worship at the threshold of the gate. Then he shall go out, but the gate shall not be shut until evening."

I also love the imagery of light -- a light that is not mere inner illumination or enlightenment but is of a cosmic dawning that banishes darkness.

At any rate, I first came across Steeleye Span's version of the carol which climb the music charts in England in the 60's. Here's their recent anniversary edition.

And a much more polished version by another choir here:

Are We in a Grave Story?

2011-12-09T08:55:00.001-05:00

A series of events conspired which led me to reflect on how we view the meaning of our circumstances. Firstly, my eldest had to do a report on Shakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing. In turn we watched the Kenneth Branagh screen adaptation. As she and I discussed the play and movie, I began to wax on Alan Jacob's discussion of the play in the Epilogue of his book, Original Sin, and in particular, W.H. Auden's category of Christian comedy. (To my daughter's credit, she recognized Much Ado as a "garden story" -- that is a story in which the innocents in the garden fall and become alienated. What is remarkable about Shakespeare's garden story is the manner in which the restoration and reconciliation is effected.)

At the same time I was preparing to preach on the account of Jacob's reconciliation with Esau from Genesis 33. What struck me in the passage was not so much the didactic messages in the passage, but rather the beauty of the story. What sorts of qualities are present for such a warm and sweet reconciliation? One of those qualities which is necessary is a "lightness" with respect to one's own rights and privileges. And so Dr. Jacobs helped me again in that same discussion in commenting about the trap of taking ourselves too seriously. Indeed, it was for the "joy set before him" that Jesus endured the cross and scorned its shame. In talking about the danger of taking ourselves too seriously, Jacob's writes,

“Well, these are sobering thoughts, indeed, and we should take them seriously—as seriously as we can take any thoughts. The immensely difficult trick is to do so without taking ourselves seriously, because one could argue that at or near the very heart of our bent wills is a determination to uphold our own dignity. Milton tells us that Satan decided to rebel against the Almighty because of his sense of ‘injured merit’: he was the one who deserved to be named Messiah, not God’s Son who surely was chosen not because of his ‘merit’ but on account of some divine nepotism. Looked at in the proper way, this idea of Satan’s is simply laughable, which is what G.K. Chesterton was indicating in one of his wisest aphorisms: ‘Satan fell by force of gravity.’”
Alan Jacobs, Original Sin

The patriarch, Jacob, it seemed to me, could have only received the promise and appropriately humbled himself before Esau, if he did not take himself too seriously. Therein's a beauty.

Serendipitously, just a few days later, Dr. Jacob's posted the Auden quote on his online common place book, more than 95 theses. Reflection upon Auden's categories and Jacob's commentary has proved to be fruitful soil to contemplate the meaning of the stories which make up my life and of course those things about which I am so serious.

"Comedy … is not only possible within a Christian society, but capable of a much greater breadth and depth than classical comedy. Greater in breadth because classical comedy is based upon a division of mankind into two classes, those who have arete and those who do not, and only the second class, fools, shameless rascals, slaves, are fit subjects for comedy. But Christian comedy is based upon the belief that all men are sinners; no one, therefore, whatever his rank or talents, can claim immunity from the comic exposure and, indeed, the more virtuous, in the Greek sense, a man is, the more he realizes that he deserves to be exposed. Greater in depth because, while classical comedy believes that rascals should get the drubbing they deserve, Christian comedy believes that we are forbidden to judge others and that it is our duty to forgive each other. In classical comedy the characters are exposed and punished: when the curtain falls, the audience is laughing and those on stage are in tears. In Christian comedy the characters are exposed and forgiven: when the curtain falls, the audience and the characters are laughing together."
W. H. Auden

And, after Christmas, I will celebrate Twelfth Night by watching a play entitled the same. In Twelfth Night one finds one of the gravest of Shakespeare's characters, Malvolio who is the virtuous rascal classified by Auden.

(HT: Alan Jacobs)

Diagnosis Day

2011-12-07T07:27:00.001-05:00

Today marks the second year of my youngest's diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. I delivered this at Grace Presbyterian's Christmas Eve Service of that year, and I'm reposting in honor of her courage and spirit. She is my hero.
Philippians 2:3-11 3 Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. 4 Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. 5 Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, 7 but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, 8 he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

I oftentimes fall into the pattern of reducing my life to counting integers--the equally subdivided ticks on a line which quantify the things which I believe important. All this data--this numbering--is meant somehow to bring a predictability and control to my life. I count: sermons, days, dollars, compliments, mistakes, peaceful minutes, miles.... On December 5th, I started a new line.

It took two days for what I believed to be true to be confirmed. It was 45 minutes from when my wife picked our daughter up at school till she called from the doctor's office with the results of two tests which confirmed the diagnosis that our youngest, one of three lovely children, had what 39 other children in the U.S. would be diagnosed with on that very day: Juvenile Diabetes.

It is 11 miles or 20 minutes from our house to Baptist Hospital's Emergency Room, and it is 9 floors up Ardmore Tower to room 810 at Brenner Children's Hospital where we will stay for the next three days. On the evening of the second day I am nervous, as I prepare to administer my daughter's fourth injection -- her first full day of injections for the rest of her days, and she is nervous. She is nervous because in her mind it still counts as a shot. I am nervous because I count it the same, and this is my first time. Her blood glucose level is down to 211 from the 305 it was at dinner. I inject her with an insulin called Lantus (one of two types she receives) with one of the new pen-type syringes, one of three ways to administer insulin.

My daughter's life and my life are now divided into three's and subsets of threes. Three meals a day before which she receives doses of insulin based on her blood glucose count. Three meals a day with one snack in between. We count 180 grams of carbohydrates per day, 45 grams per meal, 15 grams per snack. We keep meticulous records of her blood sugar and times it is taken. This vigilance gives power to the illusion that the accurate and diligent collection of data provides control, and control means safety, and safety means that when I wake up at 2:37 in the morning and am unable to resist going into my daughter's room to check on her, probably for the second time that night, I will find her okay, and that she will remain okay until I wake her, before the eighth hour to measure her blood sugar and give her her first shot.

Growing up, I had imagined that my membership among the number of humanity would mean that I would one day, count. I had hoped that this addition would add up to success, achievement, and a decent though not ostentatious life -- one that would be both moderately enviable and worth emulating.

Over the course of my life, my counting has taken different forms. As a child, I counted presents at Christmas time and meatballs in my Spaghetti-O's at dinner time. As a teenager, I counted the "hutts" as center for the high school football team as I passed the ball through my legs to the hands of a team mate whom I should've counted a much closer friend for the intimacy we shared five days a week for four months each fall. As a college student, I counted years, semesters and class hours till graduation. After graduation, I counted the dollars for an engagement ring which I would give to one whom I counted above all the rest, and whom I was counting on saying, "Yes". In my first real job as a teacher, I counted down the classes to the end of the day, the days of the week to Friday, and the hours of the weekend till Monday. As a seminary student I was one of a graduating class of 90 or so, who were counting on positions in the church in which they would go to make a difference and whose lives would "count for Christ". While working in the second of three churches, I would learn to number mortgage payments, diapers, bottles of formula, and doses of Tylenol. I had always hoped that I would count, but I never imagined those things which I would end up counting. And now, I count blood sugar levels and units of insulin.

In our house we've been counting the days until Christmas. And as I said, that all changed on the fifth of those days. Since then, I've been thinking of how that first Christmas was replete with counting. When Gabriel first appeared to Mary to tell her that she was chosen to bear and raise the King of whom the number of the days of his reign would have no end, she neither balked at her own unworthiness nor chaffed at the inconvenience but in humility both rejoiced and received what was put upon her. You recall that when Mary became pregnant she was only betrothed to Joseph. And when Joseph discovered she was pregnant, he intended to divorce her privately because he was a kind man. Nevertheless, he could after all count, and a pregnant fiance did not add up. But even while he was still counting what he should do, the Angel of the Lord appeared to him to assure him. Mary was carrying the one who would deliver his people from their sins. And so, Joseph obeyed the command of God to marry a woman bearing a child not his own. The irregularity was plain for all to see, and no doubt it was probably assumed that this couple, for whom some may have had high hopes, was not only un-special but of no account.

And so it came about in the long line of human events, that Caesar Augustus wanted to count the world so that he might have more money to count. Because Joseph was numbered among the descendants of King David, Joseph and his new wife walked the 80 miles from Nazareth to the ancestral home of David's descendants, Bethlehem. As you might imagine if you were to return to your home town, you would likely count on some help and a place to stay, but Mary and Joseph were relegated to the inn. And not only the inn, but the inn's stable because there was no room. In this stable, after her numbered days were completed, Mary delivered Jesus, the Son of David, the Son of Man, the Son of God that he might deliver us.

Now in the fields beyond the region of Bethlehem, there were shepherds, who being good shepherds, counted their sheep. All of a sudden, the Angel of the Lord appeared among them glowing with light so heavy that it almost crushed them. His first words were, "Don't be afraid." And he told them of the birth of Christ the Lord. And that they should you go to see him, and as a sign that this was both special and true, the Angel told them that they would find, this king in swaddling cloths lying in a manger. And then, countless angels appeared in the dark sky lit by numberless lights and sang. They sang of wonder, of triumph, of the turning of a tide, of good news that the interminable slide into the same ol' same ol' -- the relentless skid further into the ways things shouldn't be, had been arrested by the stark cry of newborn in the City of David. These shepherds marveled that they were the first to hear this news -- those whom the world did not count. They traveled to Bethlehem and saw it just as they were told, and they shared with Mary and Joseph all that they had seen and heard. And they went away rejoicing and praising God for all that they had seen and heard.

About the same time in another land, Wise men -- Magi, were counting stars in the sky and they counted a new star -- a star which foretold the coming of the king of the Jews. These same also, came to see this new born king, and bearing gifts to honor the king, they rejoiced at being among the first number to visit and honor him. Of all these things, St. Luke tells us that Mary counted as a dear treasure and pondered them in her heart even as she treasured the child in her arms.

As I take into account this Christmas, my 44th, and the numbered events of Jesus' birth and the numbered circumstances which I and my family are walking through, I am most stayed and strengthened by the good news that there was One who did not count.

In his letter to the Philippians, St. Paul tells us that Jesus Christ did not count. Now, when he entered the wilderness at the beginning of his ministry, he both counted the cost and counted the days of his temptation. As a good shepherd, Jesus counted and still counts the sheep. I'm sure he counted the days he had left with his disciples even as he counted down the Passovers. After being handed over by the religious elite to the efficient and heartless Imperial justice, I do not doubt that he lost count of the lashes and the insults and the blows. And how could he have counted the weight of such a payment for such a debt and born the condemnation from his Heavenly Father -- one whom he never counted as an enemy? Yet, St. Paul tells us that Jesus did not count this one thing: "equality with God something to be grasped". The honor and glory offered was not one to be taken, demanded, or expected. Rather, it was to be received and conferred but only after his being born -- and that to serve and suffer. And so in this act of love and obedience, we see that Jesus did not count himself above the rest, but he numbered himself among the least: a homeless family with tainted reputation, wandering to the ancestral home of a dried up royal dynasty.

St. Paul tells us, he "made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men". This means more to me this Christmas because by that I realize that he subjected himself to the same body which has a pancreas and the same endocrinology which requires that that same pancreas produce insulin so that cells can use glucose. By being born that first Christmas, the King of Glory bore the first of many ignominious sufferings. And though it may mean many things, it does mean at least, this: that he played by his own rules, and though he was greater, he did not count himself above the rest -- he did not count himself above me or you or my Maddie. He counted the cost of the humiliation and the suffering and the waiting well worth the price because of the joy set before him. St. Paul tells us that for those of whom such a great accounting has been made, for those who treasure these things in their heart, they will be set free from counting: offenses born, rights owed, wrongs endured, successes achieved, victories won and failures lost. And rather, having been counted by the one who did not count, they will be set free from counting themselves so that they might count on Him and count others more important.

I will go home tonight, and count, and you too, will likely count hours till bedtime or hours till morning. But if we are to keep Christmas, this Christmas, and if we are to keep from falling into the mire and false security of those things which you and I like to count on, we must treasure the one who "did not count equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, talking the form of a servant, and being born."

Genesis 29:13-35 Sermon Presentaton

2011-11-08T14:14:00.001-05:00

Here's the slideshow from Sunday's sermon, "Then the Lord Saw".

The sovereign Stick up Artist

2011-10-28T08:55:00.003-04:00

A quote sent from a friend...

"The evangelical church, or at least a good slice of it, is nervous, twitchy, and touchy about consumer desire, ready to change in a nanosecond at the slightest hint that tastes and interests have changed. Why? Because consumer appetite reigns. And consumer appetite and consumer rights go hand in hand. These rights and appetites are very much alive in what used to be called the pew. Those who attend churches are now like any other customers you might meet in the mall. Displease them in any way and they will take their business elsewhere. That is the fear that lurks in many a church leader's soul because they know that is how the marketplace works.

Like customers everywhere, those who show up in these churches are sovereign. Let us make no mistake about that. They rule. Accepting this fact has become the key to becoming cutting-edge in cultural terms. A mailer from a church in Mesa, Arizona, in 2006, for example, read: "Is your life everything you want it to be? You hear all kinds of offers of ways to improve your life, but do they work? God is offering you a way to make your life everything you truly want it to be." So, there it is! The difference between this offer and the others is that this one works. Here the customer can match self-perceived need with a product. And bingo! Success!

With this kind of thinking in the air, we in the church today are leery of speaking of a Christian faith that is too demanding because of the prospect of offending our market(s). We take care not to cross these lines when speaking from our barstools, or from behind our Plexiglas stands if they have not yet been replaced.

This is a curious thing, is it not? It brings to mind the haplessness of parents in a home where the children have, amidst sullen moods and a creeping sense of the cruel injustice that has been inflicted on them, decided they will take it no longer. It begins with thoughts, the rebellious mists that shroud the mind and hold off the sun's light and warmth. But soon the thoughts become seeds, and the seeds, finding fertile soil in the internal wounds suffered during the journey to adulthood, begin to germinate. The parents, sensing something is amiss, scour their minds to think of what they have done wrong and, understanding little of the labyrinthine coils of the adolescent psyche, decide to back off and take the path that inflicts the least pain. Poor things. They are only trying to do the best they can, but unfortunately they do not quite understand that they are staring down the gun barrel of a stickup artist. They are about to be robbed. Out of their good intentions, space is enlarged around the child, latitude is allowed, rules are rescinded, rebukes are stifled except in rare cases, and expectations are lifted. However, parents being parents, they are never entirely out of the woods with these children because, try as they might, they are never fully successful in setting their children free.

What is interesting about this painful tango of parent and child is that the more the demands and expectations of the parents are moderated, the more onerous and intolerable do the children find those that remain! In fact, the few that remain become more objectionable than the many, taken together, that once were there. Parental moderation only excites fresh cries of outrage and pain. Even more disaffection follows. Murderous glances, defiant behavior, black moods follow each other like clouds shifting across a stormy front. The parents, baffled at this unreasonable behavior, retreat even more. But the further they retreat, the more intense becomes the resentment! Nothing less than their total, abject surrender is acceptable. And when they do yield and hold aloft their white flag of surrender, they are despised even more deeply!

Am I being unreasonable in thinking that there are some parallels to the contemporary church here? Not, of course, that the pastors are the parents and the congregations are the children. That is a Catholic idea. The parallel, though, does seem to hold at the point of who has the psychological edge.

It would be quite wrong to suggest that pastors and other leaders in a local church have an authority that operates with near certain infallibility, or that what they think should be beyond question, or that their teaching, if they still offer such in church, cannot be questioned. All should be held to account before the same standard that is the Word of God.

By the same token, no congregation can take to itself this authority, and that is what is happening implicitly as consumer impulses take root in the evangelical psyche. All consumers, we need to remember, are sovereign, and the consuming impulse, once it enters a church, makes individual preferences the deciding factor, the driving factor in what that church becomes. These preferences become the standard by which the church is measured.

The moment disaffection with the church's music, message, style, ethos, amenities, programs, or parking lot(s) begins to take root in a congregation, these new market-savvy pastors fear, they can anticipate dark glances directed toward the front of the church signaling consumer dissatisfaction. The glances will then mature into displeasure, the displeasure will become a seed, the seed will germinate in the internal soil that is ready to receive it, and the decision to walk away will be made. That is the (post)modern version of damnation, at least from a pastor's point of view!

Market-savvy pastors, sensing this, back off. They lift demands and expectations, making Christianity light and easy. They hire new staff who specialize in knowing how to make worship fun, not to mention funny. Polls and soundings are taken each week, just as they are by the major retailers, to see if things are "on target:' Poor things. If only they knew that their congregations, too, have become stickup artists! Or, to change the picture, what is happening here is that the individual has invested his or her desires with a kind of sovereign authority that runs roughshod over everything else, including the Word of God.

Never mind. Is it not better to have these people in the church on their own terms than not at all? Is it not possible that they will hear something there that might "click" with them? Why offend them, then, and guarantee that their weekends will be spent away from church? So, make it all as simple as an advertisement, as pleasing as an ice cream in the heat of summer. Make it as easy on the mind as a relaxing show on television. Only give something that works. Do not talk doctrine. Do not hold forth about anything that takes serious effort to follow. Do not sound churchy."

David F. Wells. The Courage to Be Protestant: Truth-lovers, Marketers, and Emergents in the Postmodern World (Kindle Locations 528-535). Kindle Edition.

Genesis 27:14-34 His Father's Eyes

2011-10-23T15:14:00.000-04:00

To Lady Kenmure on the Occasion of the death of her infant daughter

2011-09-16T16:55:00.001-04:00

“You have lost a child: nay she is lost to you who is found in Christ. She is not sent away, but only sent before, like unto a star, which going out of our sight doth not die and vanish, but shineth in another hemisphere. We see her not, yet she doth shine in another country. If her glass was but a short hour, what she wanteth of time that she hath gotten of eternity; and ye have to rejoice that ye have now some plenishing up in heaven. Build your nest upon no tree here; for ye see God hath sold the forest to death; and every tree whereupon we would rest is ready to be cut down, to the end we may fly and mount up, and build upon the Rock, and dwell in the holes of the Rock.”

Samuel Rutherford

Abbott's Creek 8

2011-09-14T10:57:00.001-04:00

Rode my bike in a figure eight loop down into Davidson County. First time I've been on the road in over a month.

2011-09-09T10:11:00.000-04:00

A quote sent to me by a friend from a book describing the underlying story of our age, which is economic.

"Your relationships are transactional — a means to an end, not an end in themselves. What matters is building a bigger audience. If you can connect with the right people, the people with the biggest audiences themselves, you never know what someone might be able to do for you or how you might be able to monetize those connections in the future. German sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies called that type of association Gesellschaft, a connection created to promote the interests of its members, where people who are essentially separate come together for a period of togetherness because it is to their benefit to do so. Tönnies then contrasted that association with Gemeinschaft, on the other hand, which occurs when people are essentially united even though they may be occasionally separate, where the ties between them, like family ties, exist whether they are advantageous or not."

F.S. Michaels, Monoculture: How One Story is Changing Everything

What Kind of Peace?

2011-08-18T09:45:00.000-04:00

"I have, therefore, chosen this time and place to discuss a topic on which ignorance too often abounds and the truth too rarely perceived. And that is the most important topic on earth: peace. What kind of peace do I mean and what kind of a peace do we seek? Not a Pax Americana enforced on the world by American weapons of war. Not the peace of the grave or the security of the slave. I am talking about genuine peace, the kind of peace that makes life on earth worth living, and the kind that enables men and nations to grow, and to hope, and build a better life for their children -- not merely peace for Americans but peace for all men and women, not merely peace in our time but peace in all time."

John F. Kennedy

American Rhetoric

Review: Robert Frost's Poems

2011-07-24T22:15:00.003-04:00

Robert Frost's Poems by Robert Frost

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I've been familiar with Frost's poetry--I've read or sung a good bit of it from High School to Randall Thompson's setting of Frost's poetry to music, Frostiana.

In a seminar class we read "Home Burial". The professor shared that of all the poetry Frost wrote and read aloud to audiences, "Home Burial" was one that was too personal to share publicly. Having looked more in depth at the poem, I too was struck by the insight and economy. As a pastor, this poem captures the struggle every married couple I've ever counseled. By that I do not mean in the specific circumstances and pain that are depicted in this poem, but in the general and tragic way in which couples miss one another.

Find it, and read it.

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Review: The Kite Runner

2011-07-13T08:05:00.003-04:00

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A review on the back cover calls this book a "no frills, no nonsense, just hard sparse prose...". The narrative is plot based rather than language based. By that I mean, the story propels you forward rather than settling into the language.

The theme which I found most interesting was the description of a honor/shame based culture as it deals with injustice, unrighteousness, and sin. This contrast to Western culture is very helpful in understanding why it is so difficult for Westerners to understand what motivates others as well as how we miss what is important to Mid-East/South Asian culutre

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Review: The Horse and His Boy

2011-06-29T08:05:00.001-04:00

The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

One of my favorites in the Narniad. Very mercurial.

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"...loved I not honor more."

2011-04-16T05:39:00.000-04:00

To Lucasta, Going to the Wars

1
Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the Nunnery
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,
To War and Arms I flee.

2
True, a new Mistress now I chase,
The first Foe in the Field;
And with a stronger Faith embrace
A Sword, a Horse, a Shield.

3
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

-Richard Lovelace

150th Anniversary of "The Late Unpleasantness"

2011-04-12T23:11:00.000-04:00

Regimental Colors of the 61st Ohio Volunteers

In recognition of the start of the greatest trial the United States has faced, I want to acknowledge my ancestors who served their country in this war.

My great-great-great grandfather Samuel Leet Fite who served in Company C of the 66th Indiana Infantry.

My great-great-great grandfather Thomas Beasley who served in Company A of the 12th Indiana Infantry.

My great-great grandfather who served in Company B of the 61st Ohio Infantry.

My great-great-great grandfather Henry Dunn who served in Company K of the 159th Ohio Infantry.

You can browse photos from the National Archives here.

12 Indiana Infantry Monument at Vicksburg

61st Ohio Volunteers Gettysburg Monument

Evening Rides

2011-04-11T19:59:00.000-04:00

I enjoy evening rides the best. The quality of light and richness of color and shadow do my heart and soul a lot of good.

Is the Church Reaching Generation OMG?

2011-04-11T15:49:00.000-04:00

Kenda Creasy Dean's lecture begins at about the 7:20 minute mark. If you have youth or are working with them in the church, pay attention.

It's Not a Normal Life

2011-04-10T14:33:00.000-04:00

I was very grateful for my friend's second question in response to my answer to the first question about my daughter's battle with Type 1. The question asked was a clarification about her treatment and a genuine curiosity and concern for my daughter and family. The misconception was common enough. In this case it was the idea that insulin is administered only once a day and that this daily administration is sufficient to regulate my daughter's blood sugar for the entire 24 hour period. My friend's surprise about: the frequency of insulin doses; the erratic nature of blood sugar; the effect of diet, exercise, stress, growth, and food on blood sugar; the three hour vigil of blood sugar monitoring.... My friend was surprised and that was a gift.

It was a gift for two reasons. Firstly, on that particular day out daughter's blood sugar had been running high, and we didn't understand why. Though I think I know why now, I was frazzled and frustrated and worried and sad and afraid. That my friend expressed both surprise and concern was a relief. Type 1 Diabetes is full of surprises and concerns.

Over the past year and a half, I have come across many well-meaning friends and acquaintances who have offered both advice and consolation which is mis-informed. The misunderstanding is basically founded on the belief that Diabetes is one disease. Actually the term "diabetes" only refers to the symptoms of another disease or disorder. Aretus, 2nd Century Greek physician, coined the term diabetes which means "as through a syphon." The term describes the diabetic symptom of constant urination. Aretus noted that his patients 'passed water' as through a syphon. The reason for this constant 'passing' is that a diabetic's blood sugar is too high. In order to correct this, their kidneys go into overdrive and filter out the blood sugar by passing it in urine. High blood sugar is what diabetes is. However there are numerous causes of high blood sugar. For a Type 1 diabetic, the diabetes is caused by an auto-imune disease which renders the patient's pancreas unable to produce insulin.

The most common comment I've heard about my daughter's diabetes is, a well-meaning but ultimately un-helpful word of encouragement. (You can read a list of well-meaning mistakes assumed about Type 1 diabetics here). Upon hearing about the diagnosis, a person will say, "Now that they're on insulin, they can live a normal life."

Yes, it is true that Type 1 diabetics can do everything a person without Type 1 can do and relatively unhindered by their disease--if it they are treating it. However, it is only 'normal' if you consider normal: pricking your finger four times a day -- at least, carrying numerous supplies with you everywhere in case your blood sugar goes too high or too low, living in fear of passing out because of hypoglycemia or irreversible organ and nerve damage if you're hyperglycemic, succumbing to ketone acidosis, reading every food label and counting every carbohydrate you eat, administering four injections a day -- at least or a inserting a canula every three days if you're on an insulin pump -- for the rest of your life.

Type 1 diabetics do not live a 'normal' life, rather they live, and they live because they fight an hourly battle and are vigilant about their treatment.

Lewis: Out of the Silent Planet

2011-04-04T15:59:00.004-04:00

Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've read the 'excursionary' Space Trilogy numerous times since 1992. Only recently have I been clued into the influence of the medieval cosmology which Lewis loved so much. In the past I enjoyed the book on its merits, but since, I have grown in my enjoyment of the attempt made by Lewis to let us enter a martial world in which the will stands like caryatids under the weight of necessary obedience.

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Dante's Purgatorio

2011-04-04T15:48:00.000-04:00

The Divine Comedy: Purgatory by Dante Alighieri
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The translation into rhyming verse is no doubt a daunting task. It does make the poetry more esoteric, and most likely more difficult to read and comprehend. Dorothy Sayer's commentary, however, is gold. The book is worth reading simply for her commentary on Dante.

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Why is Christmas December 25?

2011-03-25T07:00:00.003-04:00

Today is Annunciation Day. You can read the account of Gabriel's announcement to Mary in Luke 1:26 and following.

Additionally, Biblical Archeology Review posted a helpful explanation as to why the birth of Jesus Christ is celebrated on December 25. Many have, sadly, bought into the quasi DaVinci Codesque conspiracy theories that Christians were trying to co-opt, ruin, or take over Saturnalia or Sol Invictus. Neither is true. Rather, the birth of Christ is remembered and/or calculated because of Annunciation Day, March 25. For those who ask why Annunciation Day? Their question is answered when they count nine months from March 25th.

Here's a portion of the article on why December 25.

The December 25 feast seems to have existed before 312—before Constantine and his conversion, at least. As we have seen, the Donatist Christians in North Africa seem to have know it from before that time. Furthermore, in the mid- to late fourth century, church leaders in the eastern Empire concerned themselves not with introducing a celebration of Jesus’ birthday, but with the addition of the December date to their traditional celebration on January 6.

There is another way to account for the origins of Christmas on December 25: Strange as it may seem, the key to dating Jesus’ birth may lie in the dating of Jesus’ death at Passover. This view was first suggested to the modern world by French scholar Louis Duchesne in the early 20th century and fully developed by American Thomas Talley in more recent years. But they were certainly not the first to note a connection between the traditional date of Jesus’ death and his birth.

Around 200 C.E. Tertullian of Carthage reported the calculation that the 14th of Nisan (the day of the crucifixion according to the Gospel of John) in the year Jesus died was equivalent to March 25 in the Roman (solar) calendar. March 25 is, of course, nine months before December 25; it was later recognized as the Feast of the Annunciation—the commemoration of Jesus’ conception.Thus, Jesus was believed to have been conceived and crucified on the same day of the year. Exactly nine months later, Jesus was born, on December 25.

This idea appears in an anonymous Christian treatise titled On Solstices and Equinoxes, which appears to come from fourth-century North Africa. The treatise states: “Therefore our Lord was conceived on the eighth of the kalends of April in the month of March [March 25], which is the day of the passion of the Lord and of his conception. For on that day he was conceived on the same he suffered.” Based on this, the treatise dates Jesus’ birth to the winter solstice.

In the Year 3019 or 1419 S.R.

2011-03-25T05:37:00.000-04:00

Today is Annunciation Day [see: Luke 1:26f]. It is also the day in which the Great Ring fell, along with Gollum, into the fires of Orodruin.

In Appendix B of the Lord of the Rings, Tolkein writes, "After the fall of the Dark Tower and the passing of Sauron the Shadow was lifted from the hearts of all who opposed him, but fear and despair fell upon his servants and allies."

And in the chapter titled, The Steward and the King, Tolkein writes,

"And before the Sun had fallen far from the noon out of the East there came a great Eagle flying, and he bore tidings beyond hope from the Lord's of the West, crying:

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,
for the Realm of Sauron is ended for ever,
and the Dark Tower is thrown down.

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
for your watch hath not been in vain,
and the Black Gate is broken,
and your King hath passed through,
and he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
for your King shall come again,
and he shall dwell among you
all the days of your life.

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,
and he shall plant it in the high places,
and the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people!

On Dante's Purgatorio

2011-03-24T08:40:00.000-04:00

"Press him [the one pontificating Dante without knowing the whole], rather, for an intelligent opinion of the Ship of Souls and Peter's Gate; on Buonconte, Sapia, and Arnaut Daniel; on the Prayer of the Proud, the theology of Free Judgement, Dante's three Dreams, the Sacred Forest, and te symbolism of the Beatrician Pageant. If he cannot satisfy the examiners on these points, let him be to you as a heathen man and a publican. But if he can walk at ease in death's second kingdom, then he is a true citizen of the Dantean Empire; and though he may still feel something of a stranger in Paradise, et the odds are he will come to it in the end. For the Inferno may fill one with only an appalled fascination, and the Paradiso may daunt one at first by it's intellectual severity; but if one is drawn to the Purgatorio at all, it is by the cords of love, which will not cease drawing till they have drawn the whole poem into the same embrace."

Dorothy Sayers, Introduction to Dante's Purgatory

Print Your Organ

2011-03-10T07:00:00.001-05:00

Dr. Anthony Atala is the director of the Wake Forest Institute of Regenerative Medicine. Here is a talk he presented on the work that is being done at Wake Forest.

(HT. Journalnow)

On Lent

2011-03-09T06:28:00.001-05:00

You may have let Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday pass by unnoticed, but Wednesday marked a new season in the church calendar: Lent. The season itself is meant to commemorate Jesus’ fast in the Wilderness after his baptism and before the beginning of his public ministry when, as you recall, Jesus was tempted by Satan (Matt 4:1-11, Luke 4:1-13). Because Lent honors Jesus’ fast, the traditional church has observed Lent by fasting too. You may have heard a friend mention that they were giving something up for Lent which is a fast of that which they are denying themselves. Fasting is not meant to win more favor with God, as if it were a payment — we have the Spirit of sonship (Galatians 4:6) we cannot get closer to his love. Rather, the discipline of the fast is intended to help us focus more intently on his mercy and goodness, and in so doing to open ourselves up to the examination of the Holy Spirit who knows and searches our hearts (Psalm 139).

Lent begins with Ash Wednesday because ashes and dust are always symbols of humility and mourning. The Bible says that we are made of dust and to dust we will return. Our bodies are made of weak stuff, and they will return to that weak stuff when we die.

Through the Bible, when one mourned a death, sorrowed over sin, or grieved broken promises, they would often cover their heads with ashes and lie in the dust. One example of this occurs in the book of Job. At the end of the book, after Job had complained to the Lord for his seeming disregard of Job, the Lord questioned Job and revealed himself to Job. Job’s response to God’s revelation of himself is recorded in Job 42:1-6 which flows out of a righted understanding of the Lord and his character—one who is both holy and righteous, and patient and merciful. As we celebrate Lent, we ask that the Lord would reveal himself to us, that we would come to know him better and that our lives would reflect his character as we turn to Him.

During Lent, we seek a heart transformation—a healing from within that works itself out in our life. And so the fast of Lent is a hungering and thirsting for righteousness. In ancient Israel, as with us today, outward duties or behaviors can become disconnected from the inward realities. We can perform duties without loving the one we are serving. This was the case during the days of Isaiah. At that time, the people of Israel thought that their works of religious devotion would move God to show them compassion. However, they weren’t moving towards God; they weren’t loving him rather they were using him. For Israel, God was a means to get what they really loved: prosperity, security, respect, a trouble-free existence…. Sound familiar? God asked, if you are devoted to me, why do you not devote yourselves to the things I do? Why do you not love the weak? the oppressed? the downtrodden? Why do you not live justly? (Isaiah 58). As we celebrate Lent, we want to be careful that we seek God and not only behave as if we are seeking him. We want to be about those things he loves: mercy and justice, and we do it for his glory and not our own.

Lastly, we lean into the season of Lent with the promise and expectation that God will strengthen our hearts with confidence and love and joy. Because of what Jesus has already accomplished, we need not fear that submitting ourselves and our lives to his scrutiny will end in our destruction. God promises that for those who confess their sins and repent, for those who seek him, for those who hunger for him and his righteousness, they will find their strength renewed, they will have their joy restored, and they will delight in the richest of fare.

Now, there are many ways a person may observe Lent, here are a few ways for you to consider: Firstly, work your repentance: fast and pray. Consider fasting. If you’ve never fasted before, there are plenty of resources out there to help you think about how to do that. Consider setting apart regular times each day to pray and ask God to show you your sin and the greatness of his provision in Jesus Christ. Secondly, work your heart and mind: read and study. Consider focusing in on a topic, theme, or book of the Bible. Follow the theme through scripture or meditate on a passage. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you God’s greatness and glory. The imagery of feeding is powerful because it captures so well the activity of setting your heart on something, of absorbing it. In fact, the Hebrew word for “meditate” means “to chew”. Thirdly, work your compassion and mercy: service and justice. Consider giving up time during your day to serve. Look for the needs which other’s have which you can address. Seek to right wrongs by overcoming evil with good. There are lots of opportunities. Ask God to show you. And lastly, open your heart to God. Pray as the Psalmist prayed in Psalm 139:23 when he prayed, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

Demonizing is the Fruit of Idolatry

2011-02-22T08:26:00.000-05:00

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

All in All: The Message of 1 Corinthians

2011-02-17T12:40:00.001-05:00

Rather than spend a lot of time introducing 1 Corinthians, I thought I'd comment on a few things about the setting of the letter as well as to help give you a good pair of lenses by which to view the letter.

Concerning the Corinthian church...

The apostle Paul planted the church in Corinth on his second missionary journey which you may read about in Acts 18:1-17. One of the things we learn from Acts is that Paul had a hard go of it. In fact it was difficult enough, that he may have considered abandoning the effort. However, we read in Acts 18, that Jesus appeared to Paul to comfort him, saying, “Do not be afraid; keep on speaking, do not be silent. For I am with you, and no one is going to attack or harm you, because I have many people in this city.” Though this may not have been all Jesus told Paul, it was significant and encouraging enough that Paul remained, and in the midst of more opposition, continued to preach. Eventually, Paul was publicly charged with sedition by the Jews before Gallio, the proconsul of Achaia. Though Gallio dismissed the charges, Sosthenes who was both a convert to Christianity and the synagogue ruler was beaten before the town.

Concerning the occasion and content of 1 Corinthians...

Paul, at the writing of 1 Corinthians, is living in Ephesus. He had written an earlier letter which they misread, and have both written back to Paul and sent members of the church with the letter of questions regarding the current circumstances. In addition, Paul has received verbal reports of trouble and unrest in the Corinthian church. Both to answer their questions and to deal with his own concerns for them, Paul has written the church.

In 1 Corinthians, there are a number of questions and issues which Paul raises and speaks to that may sound very obscure, outdated, irrelevant, or just ridiculous such as his discussion on gender roles and head coverings. As you read, resist the urge to discount what he is saying. Reflect on the context of the circumstances into which he is writing, understand, and then seek to apply it to today. Just because he is speaking to a specific circumstance does not mean it is irrelevant. Indeed there is much in 1 Corinthians which could've been written today.

Among those questions which Paul addresses are the following:

The ongoing denial and refusal to confront or repent of sexual sins,
Division and bi-partisanship (Peter, Paul, Apollos, Christ...),
How a Christian is to handle conflict,
Spiritual-gift snobbery; super-apostleship, elitism, giftedness,
Idolatry and compromise with the culture,
Significant confusion about their view of the people especially as how their view relates to the dignity of the human body.

Lastly, Concerning what you need to need to know about Corinth and the church in Corinth...

There are peculiarities to the specific situation which, if we understand them, we will better be able to apply the letter to our lives. Here are a few thoughts:

Corinth is a CROSSROADS. The city is situated at the isthmus which joins the southern half of Achaia with the European mainland. At this point the isthmus is 3 miles wide, and narrow enough that dragging your cargo ship along a causeway from the Aegean to a gateway to the Adriatic was thought to be a brilliant idea which of course they did.
Corinth is NEW. It had recently been destroyed in the Roman conquest of the Mediterranean and rebuilt as a Roman colony.
Because of there was not a long-standing social order. Corinth was a city of serious OPPORTUNITY. Corinth had been repopulated by Roman citizens and freedmen and so, it did not have time to develop an established noble class. Because the social order was determined more by merit than by class, Corinth was a place of great potential for an unconnected Roman citizen or a freed-man.
This new city of great opportunity attracted many who were DRIVEN TO SUCCEED. Achievement and notoriety become extremely important for multitudes of achievers who need to set themselves apart from other gifted achievers. This is a kill or be killed, entrepreneurial city.
Because of the urgency of opportunity and success, Corinthian culture was all about the IMMEDIATE. 'Right now' is the most important time and consequently the immediate is more REAL than any long-term commitment or discipline this leads to financial, relational, and moral blindness and compromise as its citizens are driven to 'get it while you can'.
All this money and opportunity grew an AFFLUENT AND EXCLUSIVE society. Corinth was highly focused on the outward appearance and both the display of your material wealth as well as your social connection demanded that you work your relationships to your advantage by getting into some circles while keeping others out of yours.
Lastly, Corinth was a PROMISCUOUS. society. As a center of opportunity and affluence the society was decadent. In fact, to Corinthianize became a bi-word for the decadence of the wealth and moral permissiveness which worked in its citizens.
All of these traits were being brought into the church.

I hope this helps. You can read 1 Corinthians in 45 minutes. Take some time and do that while keeping these thoughts with you. See you Sunday!

Stratocruiser

2011-02-15T17:16:00.000-05:00

WGHP Farmer's Market Ride

2011-02-15T17:11:00.000-05:00

Rise and Shine Campers

2011-02-01T17:08:00.001-05:00

Spiritual Formation

2011-01-26T15:44:00.000-05:00

In her article "Why don't all these disaffected Brits convert to Christianity instead?", Melanie McDonagh reports on recent studies which reveal a surprising number of Brits converting to Islam.

Where the Faith Matters report is convincing is in its interviews with real converts, of whom Lauren Booth seems typical, though rather older than the average, which is aged 27, female, white and fed up with the mores of contemporary Brits. The interviewees identified alcohol and drunkenness, a “lack of morality and sexual permissiveness” and “unrestrained consumerism” as aspects of British society for which Islam was a remedy. Or as Ms Booth put it, after conversion to Islam, “I have glimpsed the great lie that is the facade of our modern lives; that materialism, consumerism, sex and drugs will give us lasting happiness....

So why is it that the young folk revolted by contemporary excess don’t simply make for the local CofE, or Catholic church, and rediscover the religion of their grandmothers, rather than getting their spirituality via Islam? It is, I think, something to do with the real malaise of contemporary Britain which I wrote about in a little essay in The Spectator concerning the film Eat, Pray, Love. It is the notion that what exists abroad, or what is foreign to your own background, is somehow superior to what you’ve grown up with, what’s under your nose. In the case of EPL, the heroine finds her spiritual identity in Buddhism. It would have been a good deal more interesting if she could have discovered it in her local Episcopalian church.

It may be that the British young don’t embrace Christianity because they simply don’t encounter it, at least not through the kind of religious education-as-anthropology they get in state school, which is about as opposite as it is possible to be from the Sunday School teaching which their grandmothers would have got. Actually, the death of the Sunday School pretty well marked the end of any practical instruction in Christianity for most children. No wonder they’re susceptible to the certainties of Islam, when they encounter it."

I've been reading Rebecca DeYoung's book on the the Seven Deadly Sins entitled Glittering Vices. What is apparent to me as I read the book is the lack of soul work and spiritual formation which marks much of contemporary Christianity. Rather than growing souls, we focus on an achievement, performance, and experience driven faith which looks a lot like the American dream--full of consumerist virtues and baseless optimism.

(HT Gene Veith)

America's Defining Crisis

2011-01-25T20:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the March for Life took place in Washington D.C. In recognition of the 38th anniversary of the Roe vs. Wade Supreme Court decision, here are a few items that are out there.

Over at Scientific American, we learn that unborn twins are social before birth.
Ross Douthat at the New York Times wrote this OpEd piece entitled, "The Unborn Paradox". Here is the post, "Waking Up from the Pill" he references.
Christianity Today published this piece, "Pro-life Challenges, from a Former Planned Parenthood Director's View".
George Grant has this piece at Ligonier: "15 Reasons the Abortion Industry is Losing Its Support"
Here's a piece on the oft repeated accusation that Pro-Life groups are not concerned for the mother, "The Lazy Slander of the Pro-life Cause".
Slate has had a number of articles on the debate. Here's one on Kermit Gosnell, the Philadelphia abortionist charge with murder.
Here's a piece which appeared on the Gospel Coalition site on the need for rationally clear arguments for a pro-life anti-abortion position.

Linny and the Baby King: A Christmas Story

2010-12-24T22:08:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Revel there lived a young, orphan girl named Linny. Linny worked in the castle where the King had once lived and where the Enchanter lived now. It had been many years since the King had gone away over the sea, and it had been a long time since he had sent the portraits which were to be hung in the castle but have since been discarded or destroyed or at least left unattended in forgotten halls and rooms in the great castle. At least no one thought they needed the portraits as long as they had the Mirror.

Linny’s mother had been a Knaker. The Knakers were a fun-loving people who lived in the center of the great city. The part of town from which Linny’s mother came was, of course, loud and boisterous and fun. The Knakers there always traveled in groups, and if you were to live among them, you would have the feeling that everyday begins with a parade and ends with a party. The Knakers were always talking loudly and singly loudly and were excited about everything social.

Linny’s father had been a Kwakers. (Now, this being a story about a long time ago in a land far way these Kwakers have nothing to do with those friends you may have whom are called the same--though I am informed that some of them enjoyed their oats). The part of town in which Linny’s father grew up was a full of libraries, and parks with benches overlooking ponds and stroll ways for walking. Just as there were parades and parties among the Knakers, there was quiet and solitude with Kwakers.

The mirror, the Great Mirror as it had been called, was made by the King for the people of Revel. It was a wonder. Overlaid with gold, ornate and inset with jewels, the King made the mirror so that the people could always see him even though he was away. The day the King left, he brought out the mirror and set it on the dais near the large window behind his throne which overlooked the sea, and he told them that if ever they were discouraged or afraid or needed wisdom all they need do was to turn the mirror so that it faced across the sea. And if they looked intently and patiently, they would see him in the mirror in all his kingly justice, wisdom, and splendor, and they would be reminded of his love for them, his mercy and compassion, and his promise to return. Afterward, the King boarded his ship and traveled across the sea.

Long after, but not long enough, the Knakers and Kwakers were deceived by the enchantment of THE Enchanter—though none thought of themselves as having been enchanted. The Enchanter showed the people of Revel that they could look into the mirror and see themselves. It was fascinating, for up to that time, no one in Revell had nor had want of a mirror. The Enchanter taught them that if they looked into the Great Mirror they could see themselves, and the could see how others saw them. Looking into the mirror was such a help because by it they could see whether they were a good Knaker or Kwaker. Sadly, the Enchanter helped them forget for what the mirror was made and used the mirror for what it wasn’t made. After much use, the Knakers and Kwakers grew to depend upon the mirror and soon forgot about the King and his promise. “If only,” they thought, “one could take the mirror with them…then he would not need to make the daily journey to the castle and instead could spend the time in more profitable business such as reading and thinking or talking and having parties.

Having jumped into the Enchanter’s trap, they made their wish to have their own mirrors to the Enchanter, and so the Enchanter made small mirrors for the Knakers and the Kwakers to wear about their necks which he called, Vanities. The Knakers carried vanities so that they could see themselves whenever they wanted and the Kwakers carried vanities for the same reason. The Knakers liked to see themselves at the center of gatherings and parties--being recognized and enjoyed and showing that they knew this person or that person and that they knew what everyone had been doing. The Kwakers liked to see themselves too, but they liked to see themselves thinking or reading with profound and knowing expressions and answering complex questions with correct, thoughtful and profound answers. All of this mirror watching did not make either Knaker or Kwaker merry, though many of them thought themselves happy.

Increasingly the Knakers grew noisier, their busy-ness turned them into busy-bodies, and their love for conversation turned to talking about one another. As they spent more time looking into their Vanities, they grew suspicious of how other’s Vanities reflected their image, and so they were always looking over each other’s shoulders to look into everyone else’s mirrors to see what they looked like.

Now, the worst of the Knakers were called Rotters, not because they were ‘rotten’ which is true, but because they were rioters -- they started fights wherever they went and they broke furniture whenever they visited; they were terrors every last one of them. Most of the Knakers knew that being a Rotter did not make one look good, and so they forced the Rotters outside of the city where they could be as rotten as they liked and the Knakers could keep their stuff from being burnt or broken.

As the Knakers stole glances into other’s vanities, their suspicions were confirmed by what they saw. And just so, their friendships broke, their parties became stuffy, their conversation, cliché. They found that the only way to combat all of their bad feelings was to make more noise. And so they talked louder, had more parties, spoke more words, sang thoughtless jingles, and of course looked into their Vanities.

The Kwakers, too, loved their vanities. They watched themselves thinking and reading and speaking big words, and the more they did, the more brooding they became. They thought of what their friends thought of them, and when they found out that their friends did not think much about them, they became more fearful that they were unappreciated and more sad that no one visited them.

Some Kwakers lived in foreign lands and were called Watchers. Not having been given Vanities they were able to spend more time thinking about the King rather than themselves, and they grew rich in the lore about the King and about the Great Mirror. Sometimes they would come visit, but they found their Kwaker brothers and sisters did not seem to enjoy their company, and so they returned to their homes far away.

In time, as the Kwakers used their Vanities more and more, they grew resentful at the thoughtlessness of their friends, and they harbored bitterness in their hearts. These people who were so careful about what they thought and did and said became care worn with worry and fretting. The enjoyment of quiet conversations and thoughtful strolls and thinking retreats gave way to the noise of thoughts about what others thought of them and what they thought of themselves thinking about what other’s said and whether anything they did, let alone their thinking about it, mattered.

One thing that bound all Knakers together and all Kwakers together was how foolish and shallow and dull and boring the other was. Sometimes however, Knakers and Kwakers would become friends. A Knaker would find a Kwaker to be a good listener and so one would talk while the other listened, and, sometimes they fell in love an married just as Linny’s parents did. Linny’s mother and father, both enjoyed and was infuriated by the other. One was a party pooper and the other bossy. One was superficial and the other did not know how to have fun. They each argued and made up so many times, that, as is often the case in such friendships, they married so that they could continue for the rest of their lives. But sadly, they were not able to for as long as they had imagined, and they left Linny alone as an orphan in the city of Revel.

Alone in the world and in need of food, Linny worked as a scullery maid in the castle which means, as I’m sure you know, that she had the hardest and dirtiest job. Her duties were the most thankless yet most often complained against.

The Enchanter had now lived in the castle for many years, and it had been long since the sun shone in a bright blue spring morning. Day after day, the grey clouds hung like lead over the kingdom. And what with all the noise of the Knaker’s chatter and the Kwaker’s brooding, Revel was a busy but joyless place, and for Linny it was more so.

Everyday, all she saw was the grey of the stone floor which she washed with dingy water. Everyday she gathered the used up fireplace ashes. And everyday she faced the darkness of her future, for she knew that the constant burden of always being on her knees in the dirt and soot with no hope would squeeze the joy and love from her heart. She had seen it in the older staff and she new it was in her as well. She was impatient with the children who tracked across her clean floors and she was resentful at the children who had time and toys to do what they pleased. She had even taken out her frustration on the kitchen cat whose tail she pulled. She was hurt by the name calling and fun that others had at her expense when the called her “Skinny Linny” with that mocking, sing-song voice, and made fun of her by singing,

Skinny Linny do your chores.
Skinny Linny wash the floors.
Skinny Linny, such a biddy.
Skinny Linny what a bore.

One day while she was in the throne room, washing the floor in front of a large piece of furniture, she noticed a red stone on the floor under the cover. The red stone against the grey of the slate floor caught her eyes. I would even say it hurt because she had not seen something so colorful in what seemed many months. Thinking that the stone came from the covered furniture, she thought to place it back -- she was after all, an honest young girl.

Pulling back the cover, she discovered the Great Mirror. Linny took the cover off completely, and as she looked into the mirror she saw her reflection. She remembered her father’s thoughtfulness and her mother’s mirth. She remembered the green grass and the blue sky; the stars at night and the lightening bugs that swarmed on warm summer evenings. She remembered winter nights that weren’t grey and cold but were warm and cozy with fire and friends and stories. She remembered the city before the King had gone away -- how bright and full of ease and just it was then. And she saw herself -- the scullery maid, Skinny Linny, alone and forgotten. And as would’ve been true for you or I, if we had been left alone in a sad place, she began to cry.

Almost inaudibly while she cried, she began to speak in between the breaths and quiet sobs, “Why, oh why? Where have you gone? And why won’t you come back? Make things right. Make me right.”

And as she stood before that mirror she heard the King speak. Whether she heard with her ears or just with her heart she could not tell. This is what heard,

When night is the darkest
And the winter cold
The King shall come meekly
The universe, to hold.
He shall be:
Homeless or those without home,
A gift for the giftless
Weak for those without strength,
And a kind word for the speechless
When I return from across the sea
Many will deny nor welcome nor receive
But you go this night by the sea and wait
For the return I promise, I now will make.

And so Linny who after not a little thinking and worrying and complaining, replaced the cover and did just as she was told. And speaking with a friend about what had been said, she went to the beach beyond the castle, where they found the little boat in which was wrapped a baby boy. Doing what she could and with the help of her friend, she saw that the baby was fed and warmed. The baby cried when he was hungry and he fussed when his diaper needed changing. For this was not the King looking like a baby, this was the baby King, and he needed all the help and care that every baby needs.

Not long after she found the baby, a great group of Rotters came to see Linny and the baby King. They said that Sky People had appeared to them with a great sound and light -- a light brighter than any burning and a song greater than any jeering -- it was heavy sound and light, and the terrors themselves were terrified. The Sky People told them that the son of the King, the King of Joy and Light and Love and Glory had come to Revel and that if they came they would share THE JOY of the King and find his son which of course, they had and did.

Linny kept the boy with her friend and they cared for him. Several days latter, some Watchers came from far away to see the baby King and to honor him with gifts, for they had seen signs in the sky that foretold his coming. Each of the gifts they brought honored what they understood to be how he would deliver the Kingdom of Revel from the enchantment of the Enchanter: Gold pure and bright enough for a King’s crown, Incense to veil his glory and majesty that he might walk among them as a sweet smelling fragrance, and Spice to honor the payment he would offer in the sacrifice of his life to deliver them.

Of all these things, Linny pondered in her heart like a good Kwaker and thought of them often. And as a good Knaker, her heart rejoice and sang to the King and boasted to anyone who would listen about the kindness of the King who heard her cry for rescue and deliverance.

I could go on and tell you about how the young King grew, what he learned and how he fulfilled his Father’s wish to deliver the people from the Enchanter’s enchantment and the condemnation of their own treason, but that is another story for another time.

From the day the that the Rotters and the Watchers visited Linny and the baby King, much in the Kingdom of Revel remained as it had always been. The greatest gift ever given and surest hope ever offered went unrecognized and unappreciated. Indeed, many gifts have been given with the whole heart and have gone unreceived nor recognized. The Knakers and the Kwakers continued to use their Vanities. And in the noise of their chatter and their brooding, they never heard the singing of all that is--the light but heavy song which breaks through when Kwakers rejoice and Knakers listen.

For some though such as Linny, nothing was ever the same.

We gather tonight to ponder and honor, to make merry and rejoice, for the KING who makes carefree the careworn and who makes the careless, kind has come. The evil spell of the Enchanter has been broken by the God-spell. The King’s Son has come and broken the power of Vanity and sin. The Kings’ Son has come, and He gives rest for the weary and makes them merry and gentle.

Silent Night, Holy Night

2010-12-21T10:07:00.003-05:00

This is a rambling reflection which has come together in my mind on the year's darkest day.

Noise
In listening to Volume 104 of Mars Hill Audio, I was fascinated by Ken Myers' interview with Garret Keizer who has written a book called The Unwanted Sound of Everything We Want. It's a catchy title, and I'm interested in hearing more. (Is that ironic?) In his interview he talks about the effect of noise in our culture as well as spending time providing a helpful definition of it. He reminded me that Milton places a region in hell called Pandemonium. This time of year can be just that. Mr. Myer's introduction to the conversation is worthy of a listen in its own right, and he mentions a quote by A.W. Tozer taken from a collection of essays, The Root of the Righteous. Tozer comments,

"The accent in the Church today," says Leonard Ravenhill, the English evangelist, "is not on devotion, but on commotion." Religious extroversion has been carried to such an extreme in evangelical circles that hardly anyone has the desire, to say nothing of the courage, to question the soundness of it. Externalism has taken over. God now speaks by the wind and the earthquake only; the still small voice can be heard no more. The whole religious machine has become a noisemaker. The adolescent taste which loves the loud horn and the thundering exhaust has gotten into the activities of modern Christians. The old question, "What is the chief end of man?" is now answered, "To dash about the world and add to the din thereof." And all this is done in the name of Him who did not strive nor cry nor make His voice to be heard in the streets (Mat. 12:18-21).

Tozer's comments from the 1950's are even more true today.

Introversion
At about the same time I heard Myers and Tozer, I began Adam McHugh's book, Introverts in the Church. McHugh takes on our current presupposition that extroversion is next to godliness and cites a study in which 97% of those polled believed Jesus was an extrovert though, statistically at least, just over half of humanity are introverts. He goes on to say,

If human perfection, epitomized in the person of Jesus, includes extroversion then a large number of the population will always and irredeemably fall short. This adds a theological component to the already-prevailing cultural prejudice that extroversion is the superior temperament.

All this in my own mind causes me to reflect on which (extrovert/introvert) I am and how I would better serve the church by being who He made me rather than trying to be something else. And, in this season, is there any room midst the parties and productions, for contemplation and preparation in solitude?

Contemplation
At the beginning of the month, I came across this post (H.T. G Veith) on the season of Advent over at First Things Blog entitled, "Let's Hold Back the Christmas Cheer". In it Losana Boyd reminds us the the true spirit of that season which leads up to the feast days of Christmas to Epiphany. Boyd writes,

Advent is the great season of preparation for the greatest of all gifts: Christ Himself. But as our culture makes all too obvious, this is also a season of high commercialism. As Fr. George Rutler from Our Saviour Parish in New York City reminds us:

The season of Advent is lyrically beautiful if one is willing to engage the realities it teaches: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell. The alternative is to create a parallel universe partying in a faux Christmas confection of jingle bells, dancing elves, and self-conscious bonhomie, avoiding the Incarnation of God.

Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell—the themes of the four Sundays in Advent don’t exactly seemed filled with Christmas cheer. Instead, they are sobering, encouraging a state of wakefulness from the distractions of frivolity. Advent has become something truly countercultural–at a time when holiday parties and merry making are at a fever pitch, Advent calls us to remember the passing nature of this world and the eternity that awaits.

Silence
During an evening commute I heard this report on NPR here about Brittain's X-Factor music contest in which a number songs have been submitted in protest of Simon Cowell's influence on the music industry in the U.K.. One of the bands in contention for this year's prize has submitted John Cage's protest song 4 minutes and 33 seconds. You can listen anywhere.

Quietness
Lastly, and this brings me back to noise and worship and Christmas, I was reminded of a conversation in C.S. Lewis' The Horse and His Boy between Aslan and the three companions, Hwin, Bree, and Aravis. As Aslan speaks with each, he tells them some about who they are and why events have happened to them. After Aslan leaves, Lewis writes,

Strange to say, they felt no inclination to talk to one another about him after he had gone. The all moved slowly away to different parts of the quiet grass and there paced to and fro, each alone, thinking.

It's interesting to me that sometimes the most appropriate response to the Word is silence (see: Rev 8:1).

Silent Night
And so, here we are in a season, THE season of preparation, and the spiritual benefit we might derive from it is driven back by all the noise of its production. This season which is to have so much meaning is drained of it's power just as we are drained of the joy of the news we gather to celebrate. Christmas becomes something to endure, ride out, get through, and finally be done with. It seems to me we've turned it on its head, and the feast takes place for a month prior to THE FEAST, and THE DAY becomes the heartbreak hill of this festive marathon rather than the dawning of a new age. And so, we gorge ourselves on hors d'oeuvres and have nothing left for the meal. What should be a season of preparation and anticipation in repentance, quietness, and contemplation, leading us into the joyful news that the King is born, instead gives birth to disappointment, depression, and alienation and all because of the noise of the "holiday" production.

Please to See the King

2010-12-20T16:30:00.004-05:00

I heard this song by the group Finest Kind on Folk Alley this afternoon.
I have really enjoyed their Holiday Stream.
Here's what TabCrawler had to say about the song.

"Please To See The King"
Lyrics by Unknown

Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place
By your leave, we will sing concerning our King

Our King is well dressed, in silks of the best
In ribbons so rare, no king can compare

We have traveled many miles, over hedges and stiles
In search of our King, unto you we bring

Old Christmas is past, Twelfth Night is the last
And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new
___________
The king was the wren. The wren was the king of the birds. In
ancient religions the king was sacrificed every seven years for
the fertility and good of the tribe. In some places (Ireland)
the queen was royal and married new consorts to be sacrificed.
The consort was treated well for seven years (or one year) and
then sacrificed by the new consort. A wren was killed and
dressed up in ribbons, etc. and carried around the village. This
is from Pembrokeshire in South Wales, commemorating the wren-
killing on St. Steven's Day, Dec 26. Old Christmas, still
celebrated rather than December 25, is Twelfth Night.

Fatherly Influence

2010-12-16T06:05:00.000-05:00

"In short, if a father does not go to church, no matter how faithful his wife’s devotions, only one child in 50 will become a regular worshipper. If a father does go regularly, regardless of the practice of the mother, between two-thirds and three-quarters of their children will become churchgoers (regular and irregular). If a father goes but irregularly to church, regardless of his wife’s devotion, between a half and two-thirds of their offspring will find themselves coming to church regularly or occasionally."

(H.T. Gene Edward Veith, Cranach)

Victorian Christmas

2010-12-15T11:55:00.000-05:00

It was a delightful evening at Korner's Folly. It seems we had a Kosciusko Christmas. Thanks Kevin for being such a good sport. Your kids loved it!

Voyage of the Therapeutic, Moralistic Aslan

2010-12-14T10:02:00.003-05:00

The Helm of the Dawn Treader

I've given myself since Friday to comment on the new Twentieth Century Fox and Walden Media film adaptation of C. S. Lewis', The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Time's up.

Enough has been said about a number failings and justifications about the film adaptation. Yes, we are grateful for those at Walden Media who've worked hard to preserve Lewis' intended Christian imagery. Yes, we know the story is episodic and that each island adventure makes for cumbersome movie making. Yes, Reepicheep is as winsome as Eustace is 'scrubbish' -- both were commendable, though I think Eustace more. And Yes, we know that concessions, negotiations, adaptations must occur when you take a 200 pages story and turn it into a two hour movie. And before I rant (for rant I will) I have not met anyone who did not come away with a favorable, first impression of the movie; this tells me that as it stands as a movie alone, Dawn Treader isn't that bad.

Here's an episodic list of charges against the lumbering old Leopard.

Firstly, if Warner Brothers had done to Harry Potter what Disney/Fox has done to Narnia, movie theaters would've been torn down and set ablaze with their own popcorn butter. I wonder if the Duffers had a hand in writing this screenplay.
Really? I mean, Really? I half-expected Edmund to have thought the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man into existence (ala Ghostbusters) while at the Dark Island. And speaking of the Dark Island, it's supposed to be DARK not MOSTLY dark. And what's with this Green Smoke Monster, evil-thing-which-is-never-named? I was ready to discover that Locke had made if off THE Island into Narnia and had shacked up with the White Witch.
I don't want a Morlistic, Therapeutic Aslan. In the book, Aslan is not a nurturing and consoling therapist, he is LIGHT. He appears and people are transformed. Each character is not merely encouraged to resist temptation, but when they are in the presence of Aslan, temptation gives way to sanity, soundness, and peace of mind. The proud become humble, the superior become servants, the fearful take heart, and the blinded see as his "sword of light hurts and humbles". Aslan is heavy-light, and Lewis intended that light to banish darkness, not manage it. The scenes in which people are encouraged or exhorted, come across preachy or worse, pathetic.
It left out the most important character. It's the DAWN Treader. Where was the sun? Where was light? The LIGHT is so vitally influential in all that happens in Lewis' Dawn Treader. This mistake marks a failed opportunity of cinematography. So much more beauty and dread could've been communicated without having to tell us everything. The photo above captures the only apparent acknowledgement to the sun and the land of the sun's rising in the movie.
Lastly, the Dawn Treader need not be episodic if one sees the story about transformation. The characters change as they come under LIGHT's greater influence. If the story is about the Alchemist, Aslan, as he transform's the character of each through the journey--then the story has an arc which is understandable and not clunky and even beautiful as each takes their proper station as knight, friend, woman, man.... And, even if Aslan were not central, they could've employed Reepicheep's quest to fulfill the prophecy about him as the central arc of the story. By all accounts, Simon Pegg's Reepicheep stole the show. If they would've left off the swords and the green smoke monster and explored Reep's history--it could've been so much better.
And speaking of swords, Did I say that THE sword in Dawn Treader is LIGHT?

Let me leave you with Lewis' words from his poem, "The Planets" regarding Sol (the sun) because this is what the Dawn Treader is about.

"...Far beyond her

The heaven's highway hums and trembles,

Drums and dindles, to the driv'n thunder

Of Sol's chariot, whose sword of light

Hurts and humbles; beheld only

Of eagle's eye. When his arrow glances

Through mortal mind, mists are parted

And mild as morning the mellow wisdom

Breathes o'er the breast, broadening eastward

Clear and cloudless. In a clos'd garden

(Unbound her burden) his beams foster

Soul in secret, where the soil puts forth

Paradisal palm, and pure fountains

Turn and re-temper, touching coolly

The uncomely common to cordial gold;

Whose ore also, in earth's matrix,

Is print and pressure of his proud signet

On the wax of the world. He is the worshipp'd male,

The earth's husband, all-beholding,

Arch-chemic eye."

Lastly, lastly, Thank you, Michael Ward for helping me delight in Lewis.

An Anniversary

2010-12-07T06:10:00.001-05:00

The following was a message delivered last year at Grace Presbyterian Church's Christmas Eve Service. In acknowledgment of the anniversary of my youngest's diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes, I'm re-posting it today.

Philippians 2:3-11 Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

I oftentimes fall into the pattern of reducing my life to counting integers--the equally subdivided ticks on a line which quantify the things which I believe important. All this data--this numbering--is meant somehow to bring a predictability and control to my life. I count: sermons, days, dollars, compliments, mistakes, peaceful minutes, miles.... On December 5th, I started a new line.

It took three days for what I believed to be true to be confirmed. It was 45 minutes from when my wife picked our daughter up at school till she called from the doctor's office with the results of two tests which confirmed the diagnosis that our youngest, one of three lovely children, had what 39 other children in the U.S. would be diagnosed with on that very day: Juvenile Diabetes.

It is 11 miles or 20 minutes from our house to the Baptist Hospital's Emergency Room, and it is 9 floors up Ardmore Tower to room 810 at Brenner Children's Hospital where we will stay for the next three days. On the evening of the second day I am nervous, as I prepare to administer my daughter's fourth injection -- her first full day of injections for the rest of her days, and she is nervous. She is nervous because in her mind it still counts as a shot. I am nervous because I count it the same, and this is my first time. Her blood glucose level is down to 211 from the 305 it was at dinner. I inject her with an insulin called Lantus (one of two types she receives) with one of the new pen-type syringes, one of three ways to administer insulin.

My daughter's life and my life are now divided into three's and subsets of threes. Three meals a day before which she receives doses of insulin based on her blood glucose count. Three meals a day with one snack in between. We count 180 grams of carbohydrates per day, 45 grams per meal, 15 grams per snack. We keep meticulous records of her blood sugar and times it is taken. This vigilance gives power to the illusion that the accurate and diligent collection of data provides control, and control means safety, and safety means that when I wake up at 2:37 in the morning and am unable to resist going into my daughter's room to check on her, probably for the second time that night, I will find her okay, and that she will remain okay until I wake her, before the eighth hour to measure her blood sugar and give her her first shot.

Growing up, I had imagined that my membership among the number of humanity would mean that I would one day, count. I had hoped that that this addition would add up to success, achievement, and a decent though not ostentatious life -- one that would be both moderately enviable and worth emulating.

Over the course of my life, my counting has taken different forms. As a child, I counted presents at Christmas time and meatballs in my Spaghetti-O's at dinner time. As a teenager, I counted the "hutts" as center for the high school football team as I passed the ball through my legs to the hands of a team mate whom I should've counted a much closer friend for the intimacy we shared five days a week for four months each fall. As a college student, I counted years, semesters and class hours till graduation. After graduation, I counted the dollars for an engagement ring which I would give to one whom I counted above all the rest, and whom I was counting on saying, "Yes". In my first real job as a teacher, I counted down the classes to the end of the day, the days of the week to Friday, and the hours of the weekend till Monday. As a seminary student I was one of a graduating class of 90 or so, who were counting on positions in the church in which they would go to make a difference and whose lives would "count for Christ". While working in the second of three churches, I would learn to number mortgage payments, diapers, bottles of formula, and doses of Tylenol. I had always hoped that I would count, but I never imagined those things which I would end up counting. And now, I count blood sugar levels and doses of insulin.

In our house we've been counting the days until Christmas. And as I said, that all changed on the fifth of those days. Since then, I've been thinking of how that first Christmas was replete with counting. When Gabriel first appeared to Mary to tell her that she was chosen to bear and raise the King of whom the number of the days of his reign would have no end, she neither balked at her own unworthiness nor chaffed at the inconvenience but in humility both rejoiced and received what was put upon her. You recall that when Mary became pregnant she was only betrothed to Joseph. And when Joseph discovered she was pregnant, he intended to divorce her privately because he was a kind man. Nevertheless, he could after all count, and a pregnant fiance did not add up. But even while he was still counting what he should do, the Angel of the Lord appeared to him to assure him. Mary was carrying the one who would deliver his people from their sins. And so, Joseph obeyed the command of God to marry a woman bearing a child not his own. The irregularity was plain for all to see, and no doubt it was probably assumed that this couple, for whom some may have had high hopes, was not only un-special but of no account.

And so it came about in the long line of human events, that Caesar Augustus wanted to count the world so that he might have more money to count. Because Joseph was numbered among the descendants of King David, Joseph and his new wife walked the 80 miles from Nazareth to the ancestral home of David's descendants, Bethlehem. As you might imagine if you were to return to your home town, you would likely count on some help and a place to stay, but Mary and Joseph were relegated to the inn. And not only the inn, but the inn's stable because there was no room. In this stable, after her numbered days were completed, Mary delivered Jesus, the Son of David, the Son of Man, the Son of God that he might deliver us.

Now in the fields beyond the region of Bethlehem, there were shepherds, who being good shepherds, counted their sheep. All of a sudden, the Angel of the Lord appeared among them glowing with light so heavy that it almost crushed them. His first words were, "Don't be afraid." And he told them of the birth of Christ the Lord. And that they should you go to see him, and as a sign that this was both special and true, the Angel told them that they would find, this king in swaddling cloths lying in a manger. And then, countless angles appeared in the dark sky lit by numberless lights and sang. They sang of wonder, of triumph, of the turning of a tide, of good news that the interminable slide into the same ol' same ol' relentless skid further into the ways things shouldn't be, had been arrested by the stark cry of newborn in the City of David. These shepherds marveled that they were the first to hear this news -- those whom the world did not count. They traveled to Bethlehem and saw it just as they were told, and they shared with Mary and Joseph all that they had seen and heard. And they went away rejoicing and praising God for all that they had seen and heard.

About the same time in another land, Wise men -- Magi, were counting stars in the sky and they counted a new star -- a star which foretold the coming of the king of the Jews. These same also, came to see this new born king, and bearing gifts to honor the king, they rejoiced at being among the first number to visit and honor him. Of all these things, St. Luke tells us that Mary counted as a dear treasure and pondered them in her heart even as she treasured the child in her arms.

As I take into account this Christmas, my 44th, and the numbered events of Jesus' birth and the numbered circumstances which I and my family are walking through, I am most stayed and strengthened by the good news that there was One who did not count.

In his letter to the Philippians, St. Paul tells us that Jesus Christ did not count. Now, when he entered the wilderness at the beginning of his ministry, he both counted the cost and counted the days of his temptation. As a good shepherd, Jesus counted and still counts the sheep. I'm sure he counted the days he had left with his disciples even as he counted down the Passovers. After being handed over by the religious elite to the efficient and heartless Imperial justice, I do not doubt that he lost count of the lashes and the insults and the blows. And how could he have counted the weight of such a payment for such a debt and born the condemnation from his Heavenly Father -- one whom he never counted as an enemy? Yet, St. Paul tells us that Jesus did not count this one thing: "equality with God something to be grasped". The honor and glory offered was not one to be taken, demanded, or expected. Rather, it was to be received and conferred but only after his being born -- and that to serve and suffer. And so in this act of love and obedience, we see that Jesus did not count himself above the rest, but he numbered himself among the least: a homeless family with tainted reputation, wandering to the ancestral home of a dried up royal dynasty.

St. Paul tells us, he "made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men". This means more to me this Christmas because by that I realize that he subjected himself to the same body which has a pancreas and the same endocrinology in which requires that that same pancreas produce insulin so that cells can use glucose. By being born that first Christmas, the King of Glory bore the first of many ignominious sufferings. And though it may mean many things, it does mean at least, this: that he played by his own rules, and though he was greater, he did not count himself above the rest -- he did not count himself above me or you or my Maddie. He counted the cost of the humiliation and the suffering and the waiting well worth the price because of the joy set before him. St. Paul tells us that for those of whom such a great accounting has been made, for those who treasure these things in their heart, they will be set free from counting: offenses born, rights owed, wrongs endured, successes achieved, victories won and failures lost. But rather, having been counted by the one who did not count, they will be set free from counting themselves so that they might count on Him and count others more important.

I will go home tonight, and count, and you too, will likely count hours till bedtime or hours till morning. But if we are to keep Christmas, this Christmas, and if we are to keep from falling into the mire and false security of those things which you and I like to count on, we must treasure the one who "did not count equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, talking the form of a servant, and being born."

A Victorian Christmas

2010-12-06T15:09:00.002-05:00

I've known Charlie and Ruth Jones (aka Peculiar People) for almost 20 years. Since they moved to Greensboro from Nashville, about 3 years ago, I was able to attend their N.C. performance at their home on S Elm St. My wife and I had a great time, and I thought that my friends would enjoy it.

Since then, as I've thought about the show, the time period (Victorian England), the main character (G.K. Chesterton-who was himself a journalist), it occurred to me that the show fit perfectly with Korner's Folly. Charlie and Ruth's heart to see Christians engage and be engaged by the arts and the Korner's love the arts along with their desire to engage the community with the arts seemed to line up. So, in mid-October, I invited Charlie over to visit the Folly and asked him to consider bringing his show to Kernersville. Charlie was really taken with the house and the Korner's story: their love of the arts, community-mindedness, love of hospitality, and he was also taken with the house itself; it charmed him. We spoke with Bruce Frankel about the possibility of having the show at the Folly and how we could use the event to be a blessing to the community. Bruce was very helpful and accommodating, and we were able to set a date.

Personally, this event allows opportunity to introduce others to this wonderful home and a wonderful ministry. I have a heart both for the Folly and for the ministry of Family Promise. Victorian Christmas brings together a number of things I love: Charlie and Ruth, G.K. Chesterton, the Folly, Family Promise, music/poetry/the arts, and my friends whom I know would enjoy the evening. Additionally, the enjoyment of the company of others enjoying themselves and each other feels particularly like giving a gift. So much of Christmas becomes a trap about all the stuff. This evening reminds us of what is precious: one another and particularly the one whom G.K. Chesterton devoted his life to following: Jesus Christ.

The evening is set at Christmas in the London home of G.K. Chesterton. As people arrive the Folly they will be welcomed and introduced to the Folly and invited to tour the home before the show and see all the Christmas decorations as well as enjoy the charm of the home. At about 7:30 people will be invited to the second floor Reception Room where we will join the Chestertons and their friends for a Christmas party. The evening is interactive, and the audience is invited to join the Chestertons in singing carols and playing games. Throughout the evening the Chestertons share their talents by reciting poetry and telling stories. Additionally, a story is unfolding among the characters themselves as they celebrate Christmas. The evening is very engaging is appropriate for primary ages and up. During the evening, we will invite people to make donations to Family Promise of Forsyth County as well as acknowledge opportunities to support the preservation of the Folly.

There are a number of reasons why we need to support ministries like Family Promise. Firstly, the ministry is about homelessness, and we are in the coldest part of the year. I cannot imagine a family trying to survive sleeping in car in a parking lot somewhere; that doesn't need to happen.

Secondly, Christmas reminds us of the blessing of hospitality. In this age of 'entertain-me', that is, the culture we live in causes us to expect high-quality, competent entertainment and service in whatever we participate in. It is good to be reminded that we are called serve others by opening our lives and homes. Because of the high level of expectation and the pressure to succeed, I believe we shut down and shut out others because fear failing at "entertaining". "Entertaining" sounds so burdensome. Why not merely be open to receiving others warmly? I think that is what hospitality is about, and the warmth of community and fellowship is certainly what we should be about as we celebrate God drawing near to us. Over and over again one reads and hears that this is the loneliest time of year. I think this is very sad.

Lastly, the first Christmas was about hospitality. The Word who made this home for us and placed us in it, came to visit and he was not received so warmly. Additionally, Mary and Joseph were refugees of sorts in a home which was occupied by enemies. They were not received by family or even the inn, but relegated to the stable. The care of those in need was very close to Jesus' heart and the community which he established. Family Promise has more which it is doing, but the primary ministry is to offer hospitality to homeless families. We have the means through our resources: financial, abilities, time, and building space to alleviate significant suffering in the lives of others. It would be a tragedy to repeat the unkindness to Jesus himself by continuing to neglect those whom we might help.

The event is Tuesday, December 14 from 7-9pm. Resevations and tickets may be purchased by calling Grace Presbyterian Church, 993-3384 x12 or at the church office from 9-Noon, Mon-Friday.

Victorian Prudery or Irish Earthiness?

2010-12-01T18:05:00.001-05:00

I'm planning on our congregation singing the Irish Christmas carol "Don Oiche Ud I mBeithil" or "That Night in Bethlehem" in worship this Sunday. It is definitively Irish in both its melody but especially in its depiction of the infant Jesus. Here is an English translation of the carol:

I sing of a night in Bethlehem
A night as bright as dawn.
I sing of that night in Bethlehem
The night the Word was born.
The skies are glowing gaily.
The earth in white is dressed.
See Jesus in the cradle
Drink deep of His mother's breast.

And there on a lonely hillside
The shepherds bow down in fear.
When the heavens open brightly
And God's message rings out so clear.
Glory now to the Father
In all the heavens high,
And peace to His friends on earth below
Is all the angels cry.

I am especially taken with the last two lines in the first verse:

"See Jesus in the cradle
Drink deep of His mother's breast."

I wonder how that line strikes the average Christian? I wonder if they would be both uneasy and not a little scandalized? Not many carols speak of the nursing baby Jesus. Rather, we are more familiar with the lyrics of "Away in a Manger":

"The cattle are lowing
The poor baby wakes
But little Lord Jesus
No crying He makes."

"...no crying he makes?" This is Victorian prudery not gospel modesty. I can imagine also, that the Irishness offended the English, Victorian sensibilities. This carol strikes me as an Irish carol through and through because of three things.

Firstly, I believe the Irish loved the Incarnation and our union with Christ through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. That God would become man amazed them. It was a wonder. That God would come and dwell with men, was cause for the highest order of praise. Hear these words attributed to St. Patrick,

"I bind unto myself today
the strong Name of the Trinity,
by invocation of the same,
the Three in One, and One in Three.
Of whom all nature hath creation,
eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
praise to the Lord of my salvation,
salvation is of Christ the Lord."

Can you hear it? -- the binding of self to the Triune God, the God of nature's Creator? The thought delighted the Irish.

Secondly, the image of Jesus nursing is decidedly "earthy". Doesn't it seem undignified? Well, that begs a question doesn't it? How dignified was it that the King of Creation was born in barn amidst all that...you know. Nevertheless, this is the way it was. It's not cleaned up and made unrealistic. "God put on skin and moved into the neighborhood." You cannot get more earthly than that.

Lastly, the picture of Jesus nursing is an image of thriving. I believe I recall reading in Thomas Cahill's great book on the influence the Irish had on Western culture, How the Irish Saved Civilization, that pagan, Celtic culture was obsessed with death. All of the their gruesome stories of death and demons mirrored a great fear of death as well as a hopelessness and despair of life. When the Celts heard in the gospel that the Son of God died a gruesome death in their place? Well, that set them free to glory in the beauty of creation--not merely fear it.

Here's the first rendition I recall hearing. This version is by the Chieftains from their Christmas album, The Bells of Dublin. Burgess Meredith reads the English translation at the beginning.

Congregational Singing

2010-11-17T20:36:00.000-05:00

Bifrost Arts from josh franer on Vimeo.

Over the past year I have grown in my appreciation for the music of Bifrost Arts. This video is an example why.

The Four Holy Gospels

2010-11-15T13:35:00.000-05:00

Fujimura - 4 Holy Gospels from Crossway on Vimeo.

Makoto Fujimura is illuminating The Four Holy Gospels in conjunction with a project at Crossway Books to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the King James Bible.
(H.T. Justin Taylor)

Voyage of the Dawn Treaderness

2010-11-15T08:55:00.001-05:00

In order to encourage the Christian community's teachers, leaders, and pastors to engage and utilize the upcoming movie based on C.S. Lewis' Voyage of he Dawn Treader, a group of Christian leaders has created narniafaith.com. There are a number of resources including study guides and sermon outlines.

I am dwarvish generally, and a snob regarding the superiority of books over movies (especially Lord of the Rings and the Narniad). As I have viewed the trailer, I think I will be disappointed again. Can you discern what changes were made to the story by watching the trailer?

What is especially disappointing is that the writers of the screenplay seem to have not taken any clues regarding the imaginative key of the Narniad as discovered by Michael Ward and explained in his most recent book, The Narnia Code. Speaking of which, the BBC documentary on Ward's work also entitled, The Narnia Code, will be released in the U.S. in early January 2011. I'm thinking Christmas present?

And speaking of Christmas present this book is out now.

Light, Color, and Long Shadows

2010-11-08T17:30:00.000-05:00

Farm at the end of Glenn Hi

Mr. Whicker's Farm

Maple Trees at the entrance to our neighborhood

Wilson, Wilson, and Jacobs on C. S. Lewis

2010-11-04T04:33:00.000-04:00

Justin Taylor posts and comments on C. S. Lewis here. The embedded video is long, but worth it. Then again, you knew I'd say that.

Alan Jacobs, ND Wilson, and Doug Wilson in conversation | Full Edition from Canon Wired on Vimeo.

Classical Flash

2010-11-03T18:04:00.002-04:00

This is starting to be passed around. It's awesome.

High-tech Hearts

2010-11-03T15:19:00.000-04:00

John Muether, both a professor and friend at RTS in Orlando has this to say in an article posted on Ligonier's website about cyber-friends and communities.

Contrary to the inconvenience and inefficiency of genuine community, virtual communities have the advantage of allowing one to leave as easily as one joined. Disappearing can be as simple as not responding to an email. (Who among us is prepared to cast the first cyberstone at someone who got buried under his email inbox?) Or there is a one-click means of “unfriending” a cyberpest. With these exit strategies, social networks are less communities than lifestyle enclaves. One sociologist has aptly described them as “networked individualism.” Individualism and consumerism were not invented by the internet, of course. But the internet allows these dynamics to flourish and to dominate our social arrangements.

So our challenge is to reckon with the multitasking, split-screen, ringtone culture of the internet. Calvin College’s Quentin Schulze encourages us to distinguish between good and bad “habits of the high-tech heart.” Technological restraint is good for the soul, the mind, and the church. We need to reshape our environment to enlarge our attention spans and deepen our commitments to friends and community.

Merry Meeting

2010-10-26T09:21:00.002-04:00

I just learned that Tolkein and Lewis first met on May 11, 1926 my birthday--albeit not 1926. Alan Jacobs in his book on Lewis, The Narnian, writes of Lewis' first impression of Tolkein in this way,

"...the two young dons talked for the first time. In his diary entry...Lewis contrives to condescend to a man who, though just six years his senior, had achieved far more and whose career seemed at that time far more promising: 'He is a smooth, pale, fluent little chap.... No harm in him: only needs a smack or so.'"

In spite of the posturing, this is for me, a merry meeting which brought together two for whom and whose work I hold dear. And to discover their meeting happened on my birthday, provides a picture for me to better understand my fragmented and sundered self. Because of these two, I so enjoy the merry wedding of language and story--of epic and symbol. These twins: Tolkein and Lewis, are my Castor and Polux--the rider of Rohan and the boxing apologist.

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers"

2010-10-25T06:00:00.001-04:00

Here's the text:

What's he that wishes so?
   My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
   If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
   To do our country loss; and if to live,
   The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
   God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
   By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
   Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
   It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
   Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
   But if it be a sin to covet honour,
   I am the most offending soul alive.
   No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
   God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
   As one man more methinks would share from me
   For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
   Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
   That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
   Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
   And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
   We would not die in that man's company
   That fears his fellowship to die with us.
   This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
   He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
   Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
   And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
   He that shall live this day, and see old age,
   Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
   And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
   Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
   And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
   Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
   But he'll remember, with advantages,
   What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
   Familiar in his mouth as household words-
   Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
   Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
   Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
   This story shall the good man teach his son;
   And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
   From this day to the ending of the world,
   But we in it shall be remembered-
   We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
   For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
   Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
   This day shall gentle his condition;
   And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
   Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
   And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
   That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Blessed are the Peacemakers

2010-10-19T15:22:00.002-04:00

This article will be posted in Thursday's Kernersville News under the Words to Live By Column.

Recently, I’ve been attending a weekly seminar on conflict resolution and mediation or as the Bible would call it, peacemaking. I know you’re thinking, “Why would a pastor need training on that? The church is full of peace-loving congregants and wholesome marriages.” Indeed, study after study show that the church fares no better than the world in scandal, conflict, and divorce. For many this is confirming evidence that Christianity is no different than any other religion and that being a Christian doesn’t work. I know it looks discouraging, but in reality we shouldn’t be surprised. We know full well that the church is full of sinners—the same may be said of most of her pulpits. As I’ve sat through this class there are three things that have jumped out at me which I’d like to share.

Firstly, conflict offers us an opportunity. Relational conflict provides a unique opportunity to demonstrate the power of the gospel and to glorify God. As the offended and injured forgive and as the offender and sinner repents the categorical distinction between those who believe and those who don’t is delineated. In the humility of obedience as we engage with those with whom we have conflict or as we step in to mediate, we exemplify the ministry of Jesus Christ who has given us this ministry of reconciliation and peacemaking. Jesus himself says that peacemakers will be called the sons of God. In making peace, not in avoiding conflict, do we show ourselves to be His children.

Secondly, our ability to forgive is directly proportional to our apprehension of the forgiveness we have received. Jesus himself taught us this when he said to Simon the Pharisee, “He who has been forgiven much loves much”. The conclusion we may draw from this is that unforgiving people do not believe they have been forgiven. And that may be in two ways: either the unforgiving person is proud and self-righteous or the unforgiving person is ashamed and self-contemptuous. In both cases contempt is present. As one pastor has said, “Either it’s I hate thee, or I hate me”. The presence of contempt in any relationship is the most common indicator that the relationship will not last. Surprising enough, we don’t stick it out with people we perceive hate us. However, when a person who has offended sees love and compassion in the face of the person they have offended, a wall of hardness and fear crumbles and a breakthrough happens. Regardless of what situation you face, do you have full-confidence that if you look to Jesus, you will see compassion, love, and forgiveness? Sadly many of us don’t, and many of us profess to be Christian.

Lastly, if we bear the grudge and or allow the bitter root to grow in our hearts, it will destroy us. Ken Sande, in his book The Peacemaker, notes, that “unforgiveness is the poison we drink in hope that others die”. Sadly, too many people are in bondage to the compounded effects of shame, contempt, resentment, and regret. Though the road to reconciliation and restitution may be a long journey, the way out of the maze of despair begins first with looking to and trusting the One who paid our debt – who stood in our place before the judge and bore the condemnation we should have received. In His face, we see mercy and love, and the wealth of that resource is sufficient for every need.

Imaginative Redemption

2010-10-11T17:21:00.000-04:00

There's been a good bit or hubbub in the news in response to Al Mohler's blog post, "Yahoo, Yoga and Your's Truly"

Our local FOX news channel ran this piece last week, and the NBC affiliate WXII has this Associated Press piece posted on their website.

John Mark Reynolds at First Things, Evangel Blog has written both a winsome and clever rejoinder to Mohler. He writes,

"We must acknowledge that many good things come to mankind through the common image and grace of God in each human being. Christians of all stripes would never want to hide the truth that some great idea or good thing came from another faith. That is the false path of those Muslims who take Christian churches, turn them into mosques, and then bury the earlier Christian history as if it did not exist.

Better is the acknowledgment of what a thing was and then a joyful description of what it now is.

For example, in the United States of America the art of some city landscapes was often built on materialist or secular assumptions and ignored the needs of human beings. It needs imaginative redemption and artistic reconceptualization.

Such an appropriation of the best of the cityscape cannot be syncretistic, but must condemn the greed and the materialism that sent money makers soaring over cathedral domes. This can be done, however, without tearing down a single beautiful building or covering up their sordid histories. Just as the Narnia stories redeemed the image of Bacchus for generations of children, so better Christian story tellers can redeem the best of the skyscrapers in our cities."

The Grand Design ain't so grand, and as for design?

2010-10-09T16:07:00.000-04:00

A review over at The Economist has this to say of Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow's new book, The Grand Design. Particularly curious is the assertion of Hawking and Mlodinow that "philosophy is dead".

There is a potted history of physics, which is adequate as far as it goes, though given what the authors have to say about Aristotle, one can only hope that they are more reliable about what happened billions of years ago at the birth of the universe than they are about what happened in Greece in the fourth century BC. Their account appears to be based on unreliable popularisations, and they cannot even get right the number of elements in Aristotle’s universe (it is five, not four).

The authors rather fancy themselves as philosophers, though they would presumably balk at the description, since they confidently assert on their first page that “philosophy is dead.” It is, allegedly, now the exclusive right of scientists to answer the three fundamental why-questions with which the authors purport to deal in their book. Why is there something rather than nothing? Why do we exist? And why this particular set of laws and not some other?

It is hard to evaluate their case against recent philosophy, because the only subsequent mention of it, after the announcement of its death, is, rather oddly, an approving reference to a philosopher’s analysis of the concept of a law of nature, which, they say, “is a more subtle question than one may at first think.” There are actually rather a lot of questions that are more subtle than the authors think. It soon becomes evident that Professor Hawking and Mr Mlodinow regard a philosophical problem as something you knock off over a quick cup of tea after you have run out of Sudoku puzzles.

Of these sorts of philosophical leaps as well as the assertion that science has superseded it, C.S. Lewis wrote,

If the solar system was brought about by an accidental collision, then the appearance of organic life on this planet was also an accident, and the whole evolution of Man was an accident too. If so, then all our present thoughts are mere accidents--the accidental by-product of the movement of atoms. And this holds for the thoughts of the materialists and astronomers as well as for anyone else's. But if their thoughts--i.e. of Materialism and Astronomy--are merely accidental by-products, why should we believe them to be true? I see no reason for believing that one accident should be able to give me a correct account of all the other accidents. It's like expecting that the accidental shape taken by the splash when you upset a milk-jug should give you a correct account of how the jug was made and why it was upset.

Suffering in Fath

2010-10-07T16:44:00.001-04:00

A friend shared this with me today, and in it I am reminded of all those who are my heroes in perseverance and hope. Thank you, friends.

Watch the full episode. See more Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly.

Confessio: Rolling Downhill

2010-10-06T17:22:00.010-04:00

If I ever write a book, I think I'd like to write a confession -- something in the vein of Augustine or Patrick. Not a defense mind you, but an admission. If I do write that Confession, this piece I wrote several years back will be in it. I'm posting it in remembrance of October 6 twenty years ago.

I’m a person with distorted perspectives. My portions aren’t normal. I think I can endure limitless pain, difficulty, adversity, etc… as if I could just go out and ride 50 miles at a whim. I, for some unknown reason, think I am exempt from the pain, monotony, trouble, and inconvenience of training. Who do I think I am? Actually, I do know why I think I’m exempt; it’s pride, arrogance, hubris. My proportion disorder manifests itself in every aspect of my life: work, play, home, tv, food, sleep, what have you. However, I have never had trouble with over-exercising. Granted, during those moments of self-aggrandized testosterone poisoning, I have overestimated self. Over the long-haul though, I’ve never been the one to over-commit to healthful discipline. Martin Luther spoke of living a disciplined life as a drunken man riding a horse: he climbs up on side, rides, falls off the other side, climbs back up that side, rides, falls off the other side, and so on.

What feels so dangerous about getting on my bike again is the fear of the inevitable slippery slope of disappointment, self-indulgence, failed passion, flagged commitment, finally to be overwhelmed by external and internal pressures, and at last, quitting. Or maybe just falling off and forgetting to get back on.

One of the last times I rode my bike was in 1990. Through the summer I rode up and down over the Parkway around Boone, North Carolina preparing and working toward a level of fitness which I thought would take me from 206 to about 180 pounds. I was planning on doing a biathlon in Greensboro and then a century ride in Goldsboro in late September. It was my desire to reach a level of fitness that would allow me to not merely finish but to compete.

My wife, Jennifer, and I had ridden the half-century of Seyboro Cyclists’ Harvest Hundred the previous two years. It was a great couple-thing to do. Our first year, we traveled to Goldsboro, NC which is, by a Carolinian’s reckoning, ‘Down East’. The Down East coastal plain has its own culture manifest particularly in its style of Barbecue. Books have been written on the virtues of Carolina Barbecue. Carolina barbecue is always pork. It may be chopped, pulled, or sliced, or it may be seasoned with a sauce that’s tomato-based, vinegar-based, or mustard-based; but it’s always pork. In the Carolinas there are differing styles and any Carolinian will argue his preference till they’re blue in the face. Though I grew up in Western North Carolina where a tomato based sauce is used, it was when I traveled to Goldsboro and had my first vinegar-based, Eastern Style Barbecue, that I fell in love. I was and still am hooked. I won’t go near Goldsboro without stopping for a plate of Eastern Style at Wilbur's.

Jennifer and I traveled to Goldsboro because that’s where her relatives lived. We would stay with her aunt and uncle Pilkington and usually visit with her Grandma Catherine and her Grandpa and Grandma Bowen.

The first two years we traveled to Goldsboro, Jennifer and I ‘toodled” the half-century route. The first year we did the ride I don’t think either of us had done a ride over thirty miles, let alone fifty. So when we finished the ride just under 4 hours we thought we had done great. About twenty minutes later, we heard a lot of excitement at the finish line, and as we moved closer to see, we saw a pack of riders sprinting to the finish. They had ridden the century in about four and a half hours. They rode twice as far, in about the same amount of time. That’s what I wanted to do.

The third year, I trained a little harder, and tried to prepare myself for the Century. As usual, we traveled to Goldsboro, stayed with her Uncle Terry and Aunt Nancy, visited Grandma Catherine, and went to Wilbur’s Barbecue with her Grandpa and Grandma Bowen.

Dinner with the Bowen’s was interesting. Mr. Bowen was a retired executive with Southern Bell, self-made man -- opinionated and intimidating. For Jennifer it was, I believe, hard to make the emotional and relational transition from child to adult around them – as it always is with those who have watched us grow up. I, on the other hand, was a diffusing influence, and, I believe, added an unfamiliar mix to the relationship which allowed Jennifer to relate to her Grandparents differently. Grandma Bowen pressed me into offering to drive them to Wilburs in their Cadillac so that Grandpa Bowen wouldn’t have to drive – he always had a before-dinner-whiskey. Good thing too as he kept pointing to a radio tower beacon light and commenting about the C-130’s that kept the skies busy over Goldsboro as the flew into and out of Seymore Johnson Airbase. Airplane indeed.

Grandma Bowens eyesight was worse. She was now, due to the effects macular degeneration, a degenerative eye disease, legally blind. While we were at Wilbur’s that evening, she kept swooshing her forehead with her hand. Finally, she asked, “Would someone please shoo this fly away from me?” It turned out that she was drinking her sweet tea from the side of the glass and had forgotten that there was a straw in it. As she drank, the straw would poke her hair, tickle her forehead, and she’d wave her hand to get that pesky fly.

I think that evening, Alvin and Thelma Bowen became a lot more winsome and a lot less intimidating to Jennifer and me. They had idiosyncrasies, and despite their intelligence and accomplishments, they were human. It was, sadly, the last time we would see them.

The following morning Jennifer and I rode out with the pack from the Goldsboro YMCA. We began as a peleton, traveling at 19 miles an hour – an easy warm-up pace. Jennifer was tucked behind my rear wheel, and we were sucked along in a great mass of people power. It was quite an experience.

At about the sixteen mile point, I was pressing Jennifer to push forward and stay close to me. She needed to stop. I slowed down. She clipped my back tire, and flipped over her handlebars onto the pavement. She skinned the underside of her elbow and her thigh pretty badly. The pack, in its methodical cadence, disappeared in the distance. After twenty minutes along the side of that rode, assessing the damage, receiving first aid, checking the bike, Jennifer and I got back on our bikes. Something had snapped in Jennifer. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but she was off like a rocket. There is something to experiencing the thing you fear the most. When it doesn’t kill you, you have a surge of carelessness, anger, and drive that propels you forward in ways for which you could never have trained. She was an animal.

At about thirty miles her half-century route turned back towards Goldsboro. My century route continued out into Johnston County. Watching her ride off, exhilarated, and heading home, and I looking forward, alone knowing that she had twenty miles to go and I had seventy was one of the loneliest moments I have ever experienced. All I had as friends was orange spray painted arrows on the asphalt. Lost? Alone? Seventy miles?

At about forty miles I caught up with another rider. The fellowship forged by the common necessity of company and help always makes for the easiest relationships. We traveled together up to the seventy-five mile aid station. I felt great. Climbing back on the bike, I realized that I hadn’t much left, and I was alone again. At about eighty-five miles, I caught two riders. Obviously struggling, I thought we could help each other. Maybe it was presumptuous, maybe I was intruding, maybe we were bonking. They didn’t seem to want my company. The discomfort of not being wanted was overcome by my desperation for company and help, and I was grateful for it. I stuck with them till about the 92 mile mark. They veered off to a gas station for a break, I turned into the headwind and pushed the hardest eight miles I’ve ever worked. By the time I crossed the finish line – at about six and a half hours I was toasted. I ate like a pig, and the discomfort of being butt sore, leg sore, and back sore made me almost weepy. I didn’t think I wanted to ever get back on my bike again.

I did get back on my bike, and was as fit as I had been since high school football. Two weeks later, Jennifer and I took our mountain bikes to Boone in order to ride the Virginia Creeper with Ed and Pat, her parents. The Virginia Creeper is a rails to trails ride in Southwestern Virginia between Abingdon and the North Carolina state line. If you begin on the southern end at Whitetop Station you can ride down hill all the way to Damascus. Riding fifteen miles -- all downhill. That’s my kind of ride. We never went on that ride. And I have yet to do the Virginia Creeper.

Phone calls in the middle of the night never bring good news. The phone call that Pat received on October 6 of 1990 was not good news. The call was made by a policeman at the Bowen’s house. The house had caught on fire, and it was believed that the Bowens had expired. “Expired,” it sounds like they were a coupon. Over the course of the next twelve hours the bad news became horrific. The house had not ‘caught’ fire, but had been set on fire, and it had been set on fire to cover up the murder of Alvin and Thelma Bowen. Fourteen years later, and it still seems so surreal as to be unbelievable. A cocaine addicted man who seemed to have it in for old people, broke into their house murdered Alvin, raped Thelma, and murdered her. To the best of our knowledge, nothing was taken, and after he murdered them and before he set the house on fire, he sat in their living room and smoked a cigarette.

The details of the crime were well documented. The murderer was tried and convicted of three other rapes and murders that year. To recount the details here seems like hyping the narrative in order to manipulate you, the reader. It was an awful, brutal, and heinous crime. It is a super-giant planet in the fabric of my space-time continuum – one which exerted and still does, a tremendous amount of gravity, and one which has exerted a sometimes imperceptible but nevertheless ubiquitous force in my life, and the lives of my wife’s family for over a decade.

That the crime remained unsolved for over eleven years may cause some to wonder how you continue on. I’m sure we would’ve collapsed in upon ourselves like a black hole. The medical examiners report, the police investigation, the fear, the questions, the pressure: we should’ve imploded; we could’ve died. One almost did die.

Three months after Ed, Pat, Jen, and me should’ve ridden the Virginia Creeper, Jen’s mother, Pat, was in Duke Medical Center having a radical neck dissection to remove melanoma which had attached itself to muscle tissue, lymph nodes, and nerves in her neck.

As far as I could tell, the people at Duke were great: aggressive, forthright, and informative. Pat began immunotherapy almost immediately. Of the tissue that was removed, cancer was found to be in 98% of it. The prognosis wasn’t good. Melanoma is so very aggressive that once it metastasizes they speak of when it will kill the victim. It’s as inevitable as gravity.

I don’t mean to be flippant, but cancer and violent crime -- it’s an little unsettling, and for one who has been committed to riding downhill, not a little overwhelming. I had the route all planned out. Now all my plans were up in the air. Seminary, success, children who know their grandparents, life untainted by tragedy and loss, an easy thrilling down hill ride. I wiped out before even got on the bike.

I pretty much stopped riding in 1993. Oh, I’ve been on the bike, but it’s like I fell off and forgot to get back on. Life moved on, I finished seminary, I’ve been a minister for ten years, and have three kids. Pat, miraculously survived her melanoma to contract ovarian cancer five years later – she was receiving chemo in the same hospital and on the same day my wife delivered our son. Pat survived – again, and she moved on. My wife moved on too and discovered her love for art and now is an devoted artist and painter. I, on the other hand, was dropped on the Virginia Creeper. No longer even trying at life, it seemed as if I were sitting on the side of the trail, at the bottom of the hill, too tired, sad, or dulled to continue. Maybe, I was waiting for train to come pick me up.

10 Things I always seem to see while counseling couples

2010-10-02T22:10:00.004-04:00

I always seem to end up sharing these ideas with couples I am counseling whether they have been married a long time and have gotten into a difficult spot or they are an engaged couple preparing for marriage. These are simple propositions without qualification. Though they are not laws, they do seem to be reasonable generalizations.

Every woman I have counseled longs to rest in the arms of a strong man. This is a longing for security. In this longing are deep issues of identity and meaning.
No man I have counseled wants to rest in the arms of a strong woman. Rather he wants to have the sort of arms in which a woman might rest. This is a longing for significance. In this longing are deep issues of identity and meaning.
The wife does not feel secure because her husband has a good job and provides lots of stuff. She feels most secure when her husband is present, direct, and engaged.
The husband feels most significant by what he sacrifices for his family and provides for his family.
When relational intimacy (emotional and physical) breaks down because of conflict, the conflict is confounded by the fact that the wife does not feel secure (You don't seem to cherish me; I don't think you love me) and the husband does not feel significant (What do you mean I don't love you? I work a job I hate everyday for you). The conflict escalates because each partner's longing for either security or significance is threatened. Oftentimes each is asking questions about their own issues rather than addressing the other's longing. The husband is distant and aloof. The wife feels disconnected and unsafe. The husband senses her distance and caution, and his longing for significance is threatened. The argument escalates when the husband grows angry that the wife doesn't see his sacrifice or doesn't feel safe. As anger escalates, the wife increasingly does not feel safe and pulls away. The husband gets angrier. On and on this cycle escalates until someone pushes the "thermonuclear self-destruct button". Couples should work to see the other's longing and address the question each is asking. The wife is asking, "Do you love me? Do you cherish me?" The husband is asking, "Do you see my sacrifice for you? Do you feel safe?"
The husband's fear that he is insignificant is oftentimes lurking behind arguments about money and sex.
The wife's fear that she is unsafe is oftentimes lurking behind arguments about sex and money.
The wife should recognize and acknowledge the sacrifice the husband makes without expecting less from him.
The husband should recognize that his ability to provide is not what his wife wants most, but rather this is what he wants to be for her. He should continue to sacrifice but not at the expense of being present with his wife.
Husbands, it is not enough for you to have told your wife you loved her when you married her. When you vowed to love, honor, and cherish, you promised to continually be telling her you love her. USE. YOUR. WORDS. She needs to hear you tell her love her and why you love her. Set your heart on her by telling her and talking with her.

"They love the sweetness of life"

2010-10-01T12:28:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking about the ethics of scientific animal research. I see the benefit humanity has derived from the cures and treatments which have been developed through animal research. Indeed, I personally have benefited from the cures and protocols developed through that research.

On the other hand, I know that how we treat animals and how we view them as beings is not merely a question of ends but of our humanity--our humaneness if you will. The forces which drive animal research are not merely the altruistic concern for others and the benefit they provide our fellow man, but the potential profit and fame enjoyed by those who find cures (researchers and pharmaceutical companies). The payoff for finding a cure for, say cancer, can feed a greediness which pushes people to think in categories of industrial efficiency to maximize profit rather than the best way to demonstrate humane compassion.
As I've been thinking, here's what I've been reading.

C.S. Lewis (via BBC) wrote against a contemporary practice of performing surgical operations on animals without sedation or anesthesia which is illegal today. In his essay, "Vivisection" he writes the following:

"The Christian defender ... is very apt to say that we are entitled to do anything we please to animals because they 'have no souls'. But what does this mean? If it means that animals have no consciousness, then how is this known? They certainly behave as if they had, or at least the higher animals do. I myself am inclined to think that far fewer animals than is supposed have what we should recognize as consciousness. But that is only an opinion. Unless we know on other grounds that vivisection is right we must not take the moral risk of tormenting them on a mere opinion.

On the other hand, the statement that they 'have no souls' may mean that they have no moral responsibilities and are not immortal. But the absence of 'soul' in that sense makes the infliction of pain upon them not easier but harder to justify, for it means that animals cannot deserve pain, nor profit morally by the discipline of pain, nor be recompensed by happiness in another life for suffering in this. ... 'Soullessness', in so far as it is relevant to the question at all, is an argument against vivisection."

The news media has brought the subject up once again because of several situations here in North Carolina:

A researcher in Winston-Salem was lately criticized for his apparent insensitivity as reported in the Winston-Salem Journal's Researcher regrets use of slides in presentation.
Several months ago an animal research facility was shut down because of apparent violations with respect to its animal care. You may read an article here about the lab's closing.

And here are a series of articles posted at Slate.com about the circumstances which exposed the need for more government oversight of labs doing animal research.

Lastly, Ron Lutjens writes a two-part series in ByFaith Magazine on a Christian view of animals entitled "The Chief End of Animals" (and the second part is here).

The following prayer is take from 4th Century church father, St. Basil, and is the lead paragraph of Ron Lutjen's article listed above.

"O God, enlarge within us the sense of fellowship with all living things, our brothers the animals to whom thou gavest the earth as their home in common with us. We remember with shame that in the past we have exercised the high dominion of man with ruthless cruelty so that the voice of the earth, which should have gone up to thee in song, has been a groan of travail. May we realize that they live not for us alone but for themselves and for thee, and that they love the sweetness of life." --Basil the Great, c. 330-379 A.D.

Planet 51

2010-09-29T20:35:00.002-04:00

Over at Space.com is a report of an exoplanet (a planet orbiting another star) which is at an optimal orbit around it's star--one which is favorable to life. Astrophysicist Steven Vogt has this to say about the discovery.

"Personally, given the ubiquity and propensity of life to flourish wherever it can, I would say, my own personal feeling is that the chances of life on this planet are 100 percent," said Steven Vogt, a professor of astronomy and astrophysics at the University of California, Santa Cruz, during a press briefing today. "I have almost no doubt about it."

How does "life flourish wherever it can"? If "life happens" why can't it happen anywhere?

Making plans for Christmas

2010-09-14T10:14:00.002-04:00

Stanley Greydanus reviews last years Disney remake of A Christmas Carol. You can read the entire review here. But he begins with this provocative reminder:

The "attack on Christmas" may be a hot story this year, but it’s nothing new. Over 350 years ago Christmas was forbidden in England by an act of Parliament under Cromwell’s anti-Catholic Puritan party; businesses were ordered to remain open, and even traditional Christmas fare such as plum pudding and mince pies were condemned as heathen. In Puritan New England, Christmas remained outlawed in Massachusetts until the second half of the nineteenth century.

On the Marx

2010-09-14T08:14:00.000-04:00

Watched a Marx Brother's movie last night, and I was reminded of one of my favorite scenes.

"What Sort of Tale"

2010-09-11T20:18:00.000-04:00

I began Ralph Woods' The Gospel According to Tolkein today. Many of my friends took his class on fantasy literature while students at Wake Forest University. I too am a fan. Below is an excerpt from an article he wrote on Lord of the Rings called "Frodo's Faith" which you can read in its entirety here.

There are many competing stones that vie for our loyalty and Sam tries to distinguish them, to locate the one hope-giving story:

"We shouldn’t be here at all [Sam says to Frodo], if we’d known more about it before we started. But I suppose it’s often that way the brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of sport, as you might say. But that’s not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually -- their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn’t. And if they had, we shouldn’t know because they’d have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on -- and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same -- like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren’t always the best tales to hear though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of tale we’ve fallen into?"

Sam has discerned the crucial divide. On the one hand, the tales that do not matter concern there-and-back-again adventures -- escapades undertaken because we are bored and seek excitement and entertainment. The tales that rivet the mind, on the other hand, involve a quest that we do not choose for ourselves, Instead, we find ourselves embarked upon a journey or mission quite apart from our choosing. What counts, says Sam, is not whether the quest succeeds but whether we turn back or slog ahead. One reason for not giving up, not quitting, is that the great tales are told about those who refused to surrender -- those who ventured forward in hope. Heel heroism, Sam implies, requires us to struggle with hope, yet without the assurance of victory.

Frodo interjects that it’s best not to know whether we are acting out a happy tale or a sad one. If we were assured oh happy destiny, then we would become presumptuous and complacent; if a sad one, then cynical and despairing. In neither case would we live and struggle by means of real hope.

"Don’t the great tales ever end?" Sam asks. Frodo says no. Each individual story -- even the story of other fellowships and companies -- is sure to end. But when our own stony is done, Frodo adds, someone else will take the one great tale forward to either a better or worse moment in its ongoing drama. What matters, Sam concludes, is that we enact our proper role in an infinitely larger story than our own little narrative: "Things done and over and made into part of the great tales are different. Why, even Gollum might be good in a tale."

Sam has plumbed the depths of real hope. The "great tales" stand apart from mere adventures because they belong to the One Great Story. It is a story not only of those who fight heroically against evil, but also of those who are unwilling to exterminate such an enemy as Gollum. As Sam discerns, this tale finds a surprising place even for evil. For it is not only the story of the destruction of the ruling ring, but also a narrative of redemption.

The Agenda of Seminary

2010-09-10T15:44:00.007-04:00

Dr. Richard Pratt was asked to comment on what he would change about seminary by the Gospel Coalition. You can read the whole article here. Incidentally, I had another friend who was told by his mentor who, upon hearing that he was going to seminary warned: You'll loose all your courage, and It takes ten years to get over seminary. Here's what Richard had to say...

If I were king and could wave my magical scepter, I would radically change the basic agenda of seminary.

After 22 years of teaching in a seminary, I slowly began to realize something. We were not preparing the kinds of leaders that evangelical churches in North America need. Let’s face it; evangelicalism has seen better days. God is at work in many places and in many ways, but on the whole, the news is not good. Our numbers are dwindling; our theology is unraveling; our zeal for Christ is dissipating. Now more than ever, we need seminaries to give the church leaders who are empowered by the Spirit for radical, sacrificial devotion to Christ and his kingdom. And they’d better do it quickly.

I was recently in China, talking with the president of a house church network of more than 1 million people. He asked me for advice on preparing the next generation of pastors. I looked at him and said, “The only thing I know is what you should not do.” He smiled and asked, “What’s that?” My reply surprised him. “You should not do what we have done in the West. The results of that approach have become clear.”

The agenda of evangelical seminaries is set primarily by scholars. Professors decide how students will spend their time; they determine students’ priorities; they set the pace. And guess what. Scholars’ agenda seldom match the needs of the church.

Can you imagine what kind of soldiers our nation would have if basic training amounted to reading books, listening to lectures, writing papers, and taking exams? We’d have dead soldiers. The first time a bullet wizzed past their heads on the battlefield, they’d panic. The first explosion they saw would send them running. So, what is basic training for the military? Recruits learn the information they need to know, but this is a relatively small part of their preparation. Most of basic training is devoted to supervised battle simulation. Recruits are put through harrowing emotional and physical stress. They crawl under live bullet fire. They practice hand to hand combat.

If I could wave a magic scepter and change seminary today, I’d turn it into a grueling physical and spiritual experience. I’d find ways to reach academic goals more quickly and effectively and then devote most of the curriculum to supervised battle simulation. I’d put students through endless hours of hands-on service to the sick and dying, physically dangerous evangelism, frequent preaching and teaching the Scriptures, and days on end of fasting and prayer. Seminary would either make them or break them.

Do you know what would happen? Very few young men would want to attend. Only those who had been called by God would subject themselves to this kind of seminary. Yet they would be recruits for kingdom service, not mere students. They would be ready for the battle of gospel ministry.

A Shrinking Condundrum

2010-09-08T08:24:00.000-04:00

An Associated Press article which came out this week entitled,

Methodist survey aims to stop membership decline

NASHVILLE, Tenn. — It's the conundrum Protestant denominations with declining memberships and shrinking budgets are desperate to solve: How to stem the decades-long losses and attract new worshippers.
The United Methodist Church, the third largest denomination in the country, thinks it could be closer to finding the answer. It commissioned an ambitious survey of nearly all its 33,000 U.S. churches to find out what its growing memberships are doing to keep congregations thriving.
Of those churches, the four key factors of vitality stood out as "crystal clear findings that are actionable," according to the survey:
_ Small groups and programs, such as Bible study and activities geared toward youth.
_ An active lay leadership.
_ Inspirational pastors who have served lengthy tenures at churches.
_ A mix of traditional and contemporary worship services.

Kyrie by Bifrost Arts

2010-09-07T14:25:00.000-04:00

Find more BIFROST ARTS albums at Myspace Music

Foolish Consistencies: Ecclesiastes 8:2-9

2010-09-05T04:37:00.002-04:00

Here are some of my thoughts from this week's sermon, The Wise Heart.

Considering the fools folly, here is what is true about the fool:

The fool never vows. He does not bind himself to others in promises, but rather says, “I shall do what I want to do on my own terms.”
The fools presumes upon other’s patience. He behaves as if it is everyone else’s privilege to patiently put up with their foolishness.
The fool is self-centered. He says, “I will obey on the condition that after I define the terms of our relationship and require that you put up with my foolishness, you must like me for it.”
The fool sets his own standards. He says, “I evaluate my performance of obedience with the standards I determine at any given moment.” One of the reasons we studied the seven deadly sins last year was so that we’d know what we ought to feel bad about rather than left to ourselves and the world's evaluation of our performance.
The fool knows. He says, “If I am to obey, you must make yourself available to hear whatever I have to say, listen to whatever advice I have to give, and do what I am telling you because I can see the future.” I know that sounds silly, but I intended it. Even so, have you ever heard a fool talk?
The fool is untouchable. He believes that he may use wicked means to accomplish good ends. He forgets that the One Ring uses its possessors, or if we were to use C.S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, he forgets that, “evil always breaks its own tools.”
The fool is his own king. He secretely believes, “I am the REAL king.” Classic examples of these kinds of fools: Denethor, the Steward of Gondor in Lord of the Rings and even Boromir; contrary to these two Faramir the son and brother is wise. Eustace Scrub in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is contrasted with Lucy whose eventual obedience to Aslan in Prince Caspian is exemplary.

Mormon Politics and American Nationalism=Another Gospel

2010-08-29T17:30:00.003-04:00

Russell Moore on "The Gospel and Glenn Beck" via his blog, Moore to the Point.

"Too often, and for too long, American “Christianity” has been a political agenda in search of a gospel useful enough to accommodate it. There is a liberation theology of the Left, and there is also a liberation theology of the Right, and both are at heart mammon worship. The liberation theology of the Left often wants a Barrabas, to fight off the oppressors as though our ultimate problem were the reign of Rome and not the reign of death. The liberation theology of the Right wants a golden calf, to represent religion and to remind us of all the economic security we had in Egypt. Both want a Caesar or a Pharaoh, not a Messiah."

Is No Fault a Fault?

2010-08-29T05:52:00.000-04:00

Beverly Willett writs an article on New York's recent adoption of no fault divorce at The Daily Beast.

Last Sunday, I read that Governor Paterson had signed a bill making New York the fiftieth and final state in the country to enact no-fault divorce. I was heartsick. We would never stand for arranged marriages, so why do we tolerate unilateral divorce, where the power rests in one person's hands to vote on behalf of the whole family? If no-fault is good, why do we have the highest divorce rate of any Western nation? Why is the divorce rate for second marriages even higher? Studies show most “unhappy” marriages ride out the storm. No-fault removes that option.

More Bitter than Death: Ecclesiastes 7:15-8:1

2010-08-27T17:38:00.000-04:00

As the Teacher has considered his pursuit of wisdom in chapter 7, he has shared that the day of our death has more to teach us about life than the day of our birth. Additionally, he has shown us our fretting and worrying about tomorrow is only relieved by our being able to "see the sun" -- which is to see that this life is not all there is.

This week the Teacher concludes by reminding us that wisdom is not found in the face of another man like himself. Here's summary of the first seven verses.

verse 18 It is good to grasp the one and not let go of the other. The man who fears God will avoid all extremes.

Our problem is not that we need either more rules, "do not be overrighteous" nor is it found in less restriction "do not be overwicked". Our deliverance into wisdom comes neither with legalism nor with foolishness. How does one avoid all extremes? It begins first with the fear of God.

verse 19 Wisdom makes one wise man more powerful than ten rulers in a city.

Here the Teacher reminds us that our deliverance or safety does not rely on our having more input or advice. Though counsel is good and the sign of a humble and teachable spirit, one can actually avoid God and the wisdom he offers in a self-reliant dependence upon others.

verses 20-22 There is not a righteous man on earth who does what is right and never sins. Do not pay attention to every word people say, or you may hear your servant cursing you-for you know in your heart that many times you yourself have cursed others.

The fact of the matter is that no man is the righteous one who fears God. And this is not argued by saying we have all done the most wicked thing we could imagine, but rather that we all have succumbed to the most petty sins of the heart which fuel gossip, envy, and slander. Our problem is not that we merely do wicked things, but that if we are honest, our innermost selves are deeply bent and broken.

verses 23-24 All this I tested by wisdom and I said, "I am determined to be wise"—but this was beyond me. Whatever wisdom may be, it is far off and most profound—who can discover it?

Lastly, the Teacher shows us that no amount of self-determination or effort can win the fruit of wisdom. It is beyond him, far off and unknowable.

Lastly, lastly, lest you think this all dark and despairing, the Teacher again is leading us to joy. He is drawing us to the conclusion that, "Wisdom brightens a man's face and changes its hard appearance" (verse 8:1). As you prepare for Sunday and the celebration of the Lord's Supper consider, what brightens your face? What softens your hardness? On Sunday, we'll look at this more in depth for in this is found the wisdom which Qoheleth has been seeking.

American Teenage Mutant Christians

2010-08-27T16:53:00.002-04:00

Thanks Nathan G for pointing to this.

( via CNN) -- If you're the parent of a Christian teenager, Kenda Creasy Dean has this warning:

Your child is following a "mutant" form of Christianity, and you may be responsible.

Dean says more American teenagers are embracing what she calls "moralistic therapeutic deism." Translation: It's a watered-down faith that portrays God as a "divine therapist" whose chief goal is to boost people's self-esteem.

Dean is a minister, a professor at Princeton Theological Seminary and the author of "Almost Christian," a new book that argues that many parents and pastors are unwittingly passing on this self-serving strain of Christianity.

She says this "imposter'' faith is one reason teenagers abandon churches.

Those Who See the Sun: Ecclesiastes 7:8-14

2010-08-20T16:33:00.000-04:00

The second section of proverbial sayings in Ecclesiastes 7 is comprised of verses 7-14 which reads,

"Extortion turns a wise man into a fool, and a bribe corrupts the heart.

The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride.

Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in the lap of fools.

Do not say, "Why were the old days better than these?" For it is not wise to ask such questions.

Wisdom, like an inheritance, is a good thing and benefits those who see the sun.

Wisdom is a shelter as money is a shelter, but the advantage of knowledge is this: that wisdom preserves the life of its possessor.

Consider what God has done: Who can straighten what he has made crooked? When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider that God has made the one as well as the other. Therefore, a man cannot discover anything about his future."

The Teacher, having moved from the topic of death, is now pressing us with the questions of life. Predominantly he is forcing us to face the reality that we do not hold our destiny in our hands. We look to many keys to fit the lock which will either free us from our present fears or from the many unforeseen fears which may befall. Nevertheless, we are still bound to the reality that we are not ensured success or blessing in this life "under the sun".

In verses 7-10, one is shown what will happen if one refuses to admit that they are not in control.

Firstly, "extortion turns a wise man into a fool." In other words, you will use your strength to oppress. You will use power to pressure, threaten, force others to give you what you want. Parenting? Supervising? Shepherding?
Secondly, "...and a bribe corrupts the heart." You will use your resources to manipulate others, or manipulate them by allowing them to manipulate you. It may sound convoluted, but dysfunction comes in many shapes and sizes. Parenting? Supervising? Shepherding?
Thirdly, it "...corrupts the heart" You will so compromise yourself -- your most inner self -- by allowing yourself to be manipulated and used that it will harm your person. In other words, no illegitimate means may be used disinterestedly. That is, if you play with mud, you will get dirty.
Fourthly, being "...quickly provoked in your spirit..." This sort of anger is the indignant, resentful, and embittered anger. Michael Eaton, comments on this passage by saying, "a tolerated resentment, makes its home in the heart." This is what the author of Hebrews refers to as a "root of bitterness".
Fifthly, one thinks "...the old days better than these..." You will avoid today's problems by pining for the past. Rather than face what is before you, you languish in regret beset by the sickness unto death.
Lastly, the Teacher mentions, "...like an inheritance..." There are many who, rather than deal with what is in front of them and live in the reality of their circumstances, the look to the future for an unforeseen and unreasonable windfall to deliver them. They are full of dreams about their plans, but they are not busy about their present.

The second half of the passage speaks to the fruit of the pursuit of wisdom, and how one, if they seek and consider, they will be as one who "sees the sun". And in the Teacher's language, that is to be able to see that life under the sun is not all there is. "Consider what God has done," he challenges. It is our thought life's pursuit of this endeavor which will lead to peace and joy.

Are You Hip?

2010-08-19T07:44:00.000-04:00

Article in the Wall Street Journal by Brett McCracken earlier this week on hipster Christianity here. He concludes,

"If the evangelical Christian leadership thinks that "cool Christianity" is a sustainable path forward, they are severely mistaken. As a twentysomething, I can say with confidence that when it comes to church, we don't want cool as much as we want real.

If we are interested in Christianity in any sort of serious way, it is not because it's easy or trendy or popular. It's because Jesus himself is appealing, and what he says rings true. It's because the world we inhabit is utterly phony, ephemeral, narcissistic, image-obsessed and sex-drenched—and we want an alternative. It's not because we want more of the same."

Sorrow is Better: Ecclesiastes 7:1-7

2010-08-14T11:07:00.002-04:00

Here's a summary of the teaching of Ecclesiastes 7:1-6 which I will elaborate on Sunday morning.

Ecclesiastes 7:1-6 (NIV) reads, "A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth. It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure. It is better to heed a wise man's rebuke than to listen to the song of fools. Like the crackling of thorns under the pot, so is the laughter of fools. This too is meaningless."

"A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth."

Firstly, it is as if the Teacher is saying: a crowd will welcome a fool if he is wearing a good perfume even if he stinks, but when the perfume wears off he’ll be nothing but a stinking fool. However, if a man with a good name (character/wise-hearted) joins a crowd, his welcome will not wear off even if he stinks. Another way of illuminating the analogy would be to say, just as a good character and reputation are more important to a successful life than the accessories you might carry with you in life. So too, reflecting upon and living in light of your own death will enrich your experience and success in life. Remember: ‘success’ has to do with wisdom and not material gain or comfort. Derek Kidner explains the passage this way, "In the same way, the day of death has more to teach us about life than the day of our birth. The lessons we learn from death are more factual and paradoxically more vital.”

"It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man;"

Secondly, the Teacher tells us, a character of wisdom (a good name) is grown in painful places and not at parties. I wonder how many college freshman moving onto campus' this weekend believe this to be true?

"the living should take this to heart."

Thirdly, he says, a heart of wisdom (a good name) is grown inside out not outside in. To take this into your heart means to meditate upon it, to work it in, and to receive it as a precious truth. Only in taking it in will you be able to live it out.

"Sorrow is better than laughter, because a sad face is good for the heart.The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure."

Fourthly, the teacher shows us that a heart of wisdom (a good name) is not acquired by the avoidance of suffering and sadness. The avoidance of suffering and sadness is the predominate malady of our age. C.S. Lewis went so far as to say that this is the enchantment to which we had succumbed in our age. In his sermon “The Weight of Glory”, he writes,

“Do you think I am trying to weave a spell? Perhaps I am; but remember your fairy tales. Spells are used for breaking enchantments as well as for inducing them. And you and I have need of the strongest spell that can be found to wake us from the evil enchantment of worldliness which has been laid upon us for nearly a hundred years.”

Alan Jacobs in his biography of Lewis, goes on to explain that that the evil enchanters of our age are the magicians and scientists who have told us and tell us that we can have heaven on earth. And what is the "strongest spell that can be found"? It is, of course, the God Spell or the gospel.

"It is better to heed a wise man's rebuke than to listen to the song of fools."

Fifthly, he teaches us that a character of wisdom (a good name) is acquired through discipline (wise man’s rebuke) and not diversion (song of fools) .

"Like the crackling of thorns under the pot, so is the laughter of fools. This too is meaningless."

(As an aside: Derek Kidner references another commentator who attempts to capture the Hebrew literary device either a pun or alliteration between "thorns" and "pot" as "nettles under kettles"--I just think that's cool.) And so finally, the Teacher is reminding us that a deep and abiding joy (wisdom) is not the fast igniting highly combustible fire of thorns, but it is a hard to ignite, slow burning, and long-lasting fire of an oak.

The point of these sayings as it relates to the larger theme of Ecclesiastes is not as one might initially reckon as a morose obsession with death, but rather he is addressing how one may acquire the deep, abiding joy that, as Paul says, "surpasses knowledge." For the Teacher, a deep, abiding, and unshakable joy is just that only if it is able to face death.

Ecclesiastes Wisdom

2010-08-09T15:34:00.000-04:00

Began studying today for next Sunday's sermon. I've been working on paraphrasing Ecclesiastes 7:1 which reads: "A good name is better than fine perfume."

Here's my exposition: People will receive a stinking fool if he smells of fine perfume, but they will keep company with an honorable man even if he stinks. When the perfume wears off, all that is left is a stinking fool, but an honrable man always has his wise heart.

The Real Power

2010-08-05T15:04:00.000-04:00

"Haven't you been told that it's strictly non-political?"

"I've been told so many things that I don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels," said Mark. "But I don't see how one's going to start a newspaper stunt (which is about what this comes to) without being political. Is it Left or Right papers that are going to print all this rot about Alcasan?"

"Both honey, both," said Miss Hardcastle. "Dont' you understand anything? Isn't it absolutely essential to keep a fierce Left and a fierce Right, both on their toes and each terrified of the other? That's how we get things done. Any opposition to the N.I.C.E. is represented as a Left racket in the Right papers and a Right racket in the Left papers. If it's properly done, you get each side outbidding the other in support of us--to refute the enemy slanders. Of course we're non-political. The real power always is."

C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength

Re-reading That Hideous Strength, I came across this discussion between Fairy Hardcastle and Mark Studdock. In light of the the growing animosity between Right and Left politics, I found the the insight offered by Fairy Hardcastle that the 'real power is non-political' very helpful. We know that that the gospel is neither conservative nor liberal, traditional nor contemporary. The presence of the Kingdom of God will not be defined by any other standard. I had, however, not considered that evil is the same way.

Because evil is neither Right nor Left means that it can employ either Fascist or Communist ideology -- or to put another way either traditional/conservative or progressive/liberal. Traditional values can be used to advance an agenda which oppress, violate, foster injustice -- so too can those who promote progressive values. Neither one is either Kingdom, but rather are means by which the real powers are obscured or hidden.

Confession: Water of Life

2010-08-04T15:52:00.004-04:00

I've been considering writing out prayers for our congregation's worship service. Here's this Sunday's Confession.

Our Heavenly Father, forgive us our sin. Instead of turning to you who is the fount of every blessing, we have dug cisterns of our own when we were thirsty. We have, in our stubbornness, assured ourselves that we may have peace without you. But Father, there is no peace.

In our restlessness, we have given ourselves over to pleasure and comfort believing we would never be free of sadness, pain, or boredom.

We have been faithless in our devotion to you, and have not kept our promises, nor have we wanted to honor those to whom we have made promises.

Rather than love you and others, we have set our affections on other’s approval or upon circumstances playing out as we demand. We have looked to them to save and deliver us, even as we hoped they would give us peace.

We have kept for ourselves the recognition and property which belongs to and is due to others. Our over-desires have conceived in us an envy in which we would rather see others deprived of the good they enjoy if it means that you would not give us the same.

These are the kinds of people we are, and we are sorry.

Father we want more than regret over our failings,

We want brokenness for the offense to you.

We want more than managed behavior,

We want to love you obediently.

We want more than cleaned up lives,

We want new hearts.

Father, we cannot be who we ought, let alone who we want because we do not have the power to be other than who we are: miserable sinners. And that is what we are.

But is that all you must be?

No. To those who are dead, Jesus Christ came to give life. To those who are stuck in old thoughts and patterns of living, Jesus came to make all things new. To those who are sick with sin, Jesus says, I have come not to call the righteous but sinners. And to those who are thirsty, Jesus Christ says, "...let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him."

The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!" And let him who hears say, "Come!" Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift of the water of life.