Spurgeon's Cigar

The Fourth Dimension of Christian Aesthetics

2011-08-04T21:48:00.003-05:00

Frequently in the Christian academic world, and less frequently in ecclesiastical settings, Christians define aesthetics as the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. Certainly, this triad of excellencies may be traced to Plato, and is also compatible with biblical theology; however, it falls short by one dimension, one aspect theologically. I am particularly struck by the symbiosis of Goodness, Truth, Beauty, and Terror in pinnacle visions of the Wholly Other, vis, the Ark of the Covenant on Yom Kippur, the flaming cherubim bowing before the sapphire throne, John prostrate on Patmos before the sunlit Son, and Isaiah's woeful declaration upon his vision of the Most High. The Tabernacle and Temple were the Truest, Best, and Most Beautiful architectural expressions of Divine revelation in the OT, bedecked with precious jewels, and swathed in hammered silver and beaten gold, and, in the NT, the New Jerusalem in all its blinding resplendence surpasses even them, yet they are all Territories of Terror as well, foreboding and forbidding to those without. These types and shadows point toward that place where Divine judgment begins, "the house of God," the church, which, if it is to properly mirror its prototypes, should not only be a place of Goodness, Beauty, and Truth but also a place of Terror. What churches do we know where these things dwell as One, especially aesthetically in regards to their music, architecture, rhetoric, and theology?

The Purpose Driven Life

2010-11-12T09:44:00.018-06:00

John Calvin once stated that the Christian life and all of the theologizing that goes with it could be summed up this way: "humility, humility, humility."

At its core, humility has more to do with motive for action than anything else. And as present day "Christianity-at-large" has become more focused on the end result, production and "purpose," and often trying to "quantify" the Christian life in much the same way that the business world quantifies things, the art of true humility and the motive for our actions are becoming lost.

Let me briefly explain my phrase humility has more to do with motive for action than anything else. We live in a world of false humility and especially so in "Christian" circles. False humility emerges when action and motive do not align as they might appear to align. Let me be more clear - and as a good friend recently pointed out to me - action and motive always align. In other words, we always do what we desire most to do at that time. However, there is usually more than one motive for action - what will be the effect of the action, and how does the action effect me? So, a simple example of what is meant here by false humility would be doing something designed for good but doing so for the sake of a motive ulterior to that good itself when that ulterior motive is in reality greater than the motive we want people to think is greater - ie. I give $1000 to The Salvation Army because I want to help the helpless, but not only that, and in reality greater than that, I want to be recognized for doing it, and I want to get a break on my taxes as well. Most likely, this would be false humility.

False humility is born from a "wrongful" motive for action, or perhaps more accurately, a "deceptive" motive for action. I would submit that this is any motive not born out of Love (the capital "L" here is intentional). Why? It must be true that any motive that is pure is born out of Love (Keep in mind the context here is dealing with the spirit and not the flesh, ie morality - so I am not talking about eating being motivated by hunger or drinking being motivated by thirst, etc.). As an aside, the philosophical types at this point might be considering whether man is even capable of a pure motive at all, which is a very good question to ask. My short answer is no, at least not man by himself, in his natural state; such a man is not capable of a pure motive. In fact, in an absolute sense, no man - save Christ - has ever had a pure motive. Perhaps the purity of one's motive is most accurately marked by the one whose image it reflects.

Let me put some meat on the bones here, explaining true humility as pure motivation with the following:

Consider the notion of being needful versus being useful as it relates to humility and motivation - and this is perhaps my main point.

The desire to feel needed and to be appreciated is so very strong within each one of us that it perhaps motivates us to action as often as anything else. By our very nature we like to know that our efforts or our very presence are needed in a cause or a relationship. It feels good to be needed by others. It feels good to help others in need. It feels good to know that our time here, our relationships, that our causes all have a particular "purpose" behind them.

But think about this - could it be that this need to feel needed is a root cause of false humility in our lives, and thus when it looks like we are serving the Kingdom, we are more often only serving ourselves?

Or think about it this way: is the need to be needful making us more or less humble, more or less pure, more or less true towards the calling of following Christ? Is our intrinsic need to be needful a pure motive? Does it rightly reflect a new nature born of Love?

Enter the idea of being useful versus being needful.

If as Christians we are to be truly concerned about more than our own "purpose" here and if rather than being driven mostly by end-results, our motives are important (and in fact critical), then being useful must be a great concern towards living in a state of humility and reflecting the true nature of Christ.

Useful is more concerned with the greater good than needful is with self.

Useful asks how can I give, how can I be used, not how am I needed or what will the result of my giving be?

Useful is born of Love supernaturally, while needful is born of self naturally.

When Christ came to crucify the natural self and all of its impure desires, He at the same time established that true humility is about being used for the sake of the Kingdom - always, and in every circumstance.

Only when one has resigned the idea of being needed by God, can one then truly be used of God in humility. In past writings, I have quoted Karl Barth with an idea that has lodged in my mind for the past couple of years, which is this - a Holy God, who is "wholly other" and without need, who is by nature self-sufficient and self-sustaining, does not need man in order to accomplish His will. God does not need you or I in order to accomplish His will. If He is Holy, it must be so. And as His followers we must know He does not need us. But we must also understand that He sure can use us.

Think too about Paul's 1 Cor 13 passage with the repetitive theme of "and have not charity" or "love" in light of this idea of right motivation or useful being tied to humility and ultimately being tied to Love. In a very real sense, Paul is saying that having the right motivation is the center of everything we do as Christ followers. It is not enough for a Christian to simply do the right thing absent of the right motive. Just as saying one thing and doing another or professing one way and secretly living another is hypocrisy, so too is doing one thing while feigning to desire another or even doing something seemingly right without a greater motive of Love.

And this, I believe, is not only a reason for the "hollowed out" or "shallow" Christianity we see out there as well as sometimes within, but it might also be this more subtle hypocrisy that causes a lost world to increasingly look upon the "Christian" world with growing disdain.

Where the greatest concern is for "purpose driven lives," or in aligning with my vernacular here, where the greatest concern is for finding and fulfilling the needfulness of our lives, the peace of true humility will never rest its head. To simply be "driven" by Love rather than a sense of "purpose" is the path of the rarely humble Christian. To be "purpose driven" is a dangerous path where action separates from motive which leads to the nearly certain destiny of false humility and the common hypocritical "Christian."

But where Christians are motivated by supernatural Love and are willing to be used regardless of what that has to do with feeling needed, then perhaps in those moments when motive rightly aligns with action, we can understand what Calvin meant by "humility, humility, humility." And perhaps then too, by the grace of God, we can live more often as we believe.

Second Class Citizens

2010-09-16T19:53:00.003-05:00

This post is not meant to offend. I am certain there are goodhearted people within the class of which I speak. But the overt behaviors and tendencies of this group persistently dig into my side, often filling me with disgust and resentment. I am speaking of pharmaceutical and medical device companies, and their representatives with whom I interact on a daily basis.

Let me paint a picture in order to explain.

An elderly woman is in the ICU under my care. She is dying - and I do not think we can do anything more to stifle this unrelenting process. Family members surround her. Looks of anxiety and fear have now faded day after day into expressions of quiet resolution. Each morning they look at me for a small sign of hope. Unfortunately, however, it continues to be my moral duty to deliver the news of worsening circumstances.

Death is inevitable for all of us. Medicine is important because it is an attempt at restoration. We attempt to restore the dignity of the human body, but more importantly, we attempt to restore the blessed union that exists between families and loved ones, if only for a time. There is therefore a sacred trust between patients/families and anyone who resides in the healthcare arena. We manipulate the bodies and livelihoods of people daily. It is a sobering endeavor, and any exploitation of such frailty is unforgivable.

Enter the Second-Class citizens of whom I speak. In the setting of human frailty and suffering, they make no qualms about pushing their product. They target us (doctors) with a ferocity that can at the very least be described as inappropriate. At worst, they are exploiting sickness and death for monetary gain. This aggressively capitalistic approach in the setting of human suffering is a high-pitched proclamation of their shameless moral inferiority which the rest of us must endure daily. Their manufactured smiles seem to expose Darwinian fangs, which will stop at nothing to satiate a lust for wealth. Karl Marx often alluded to man's inability to check his own greed in a capitalistic society. His ideas are hauntingly accurate when applied to the American Medical System.

As a result, I often feel forced to engage in behaviors which cause me spiritual strife as a Christian. Christ reveals to us the overwhelming intrinsic value of humanity, and we should therefore treat each individual as a vitally important and blessed being. In this setting, however, I treat drug and medical device representatives according to the role they have chosen. I treat them as Second-Class citizens who reside within a world which I believe must be defined by a devotion to a distinctly humanitarian brand of morality. They have chosen to be less important than the medical patient, than the nurses and doctors attempting to restore the dignity of human bodies and relationships. They have chosen to be scavengers, greedily sifting through the remains of the dying in order to sustain themselves. They have chosen the role of moral inferiority.

I struggle with my choice however, to treat them as Second-Class citizens. I still believe that these individuals harbor the same intrinsic value as myself and even those that I love and respect. Any wisdom regarding this issue would be much appreciated. If you believe I am in error, tell me. My final thought however is this -

If we are all reaching toward God, if our hands are outstretched and our eye's gaze is fixed upon the heavens, then those who choose to exist in a realm which is beneath the dignity of that gaze must, in some sense, be ignored, must be left to wander in a precipice beneath us. Maybe we should pray for them, maybe we should grab them by the hand in an attempt to elevate their gaze as well. Maybe I am not strong enough to do either. Maybe, hopefully, you can show me a better path.

“Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven?”

2010-07-08T07:07:00.002-05:00

“Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven?” (Job 38:33)

This rhetorical question was posed by God to a human. The human’s answer was “I uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not.” (Job 42:3)

In Solomon’s wisdom, there is an admonition about speaking: “let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God: for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few.” (Ecc 5:2).

Questioning is not necessarily a virtue, but it can sometimes be a vice.

So what should one do, when s/he has unanswerable questions…questions that only the Almighty could possibly answer?

When the events of life don’t seem to follow the presupposed patterns, when change comes rushing in like a flood, when faced with the bold assertion, “you have no control,” how should the potential questioner proceed?

Deriving guidance from wise men (Job, Solomon), a tentative answer seems to be: don’t be hasty in your questioning, check your attitude, and if you can…remain quiet.

And remember, “now we see through a glass, darkly”…but there will come a day when the secret things shall be revealed.

Locked Out

2010-05-22T02:05:00.020-05:00

She wanted to talk. She was a reader. At least she had a book, a book by a female comic, fraught with obscenities. Let’s call her “J.”

“Is that Hebrew you’re reading?” J asked. “No, Greek,” I replied. I didn’t elaborate lest I pressure her into some unwanted discussion of religion. I knew she wouldn't like that.”

“What are you reading?” I courteously queried.

“The funniest book I ever read.”

A few moments of silence followed.

“Are you a Tampa native?”

“No,” J replied, "I live in Little Rock." And then the deluge came.

J was on her way to Sarasota to rescue her daughter. Let’s call the daughter “A.”

A was in a relationship with "C," whose name derived from Greek, “Christ bearer.”

A and C had cohabited in Little Rock, moved to Sarasota despite an “intervention”because of C’s repeated violent outbursts against A. Sarasota would be worse.

C had choked A, the last straw in a haystack of other violent actions in Little Rock and Sarasota.

A, an interior designer, bore two illegitimate twins to C in December. Now, with the protective order against C, J was on her way to Sarasota to bring her promiscuous and foolish daughter and “grand” babies back to Little Rock to start life anew.

Ironically, J belonged to a motorcycle club devoted to protecting abused children. Her tattoos and overly-sun-exposed, leathery skin testified that she was a tough old gal with lots of rides in her past. Now her own daughter, and her "grand" babies were victims. But what else should they expect?

Married three times, J was now separated from her current husband.

J then told me C’s story.

C’s mother, a prostitute and drug addict, bore two children, C and a younger brother.

In a drug-crazed tantrum, C's mother locked him out of the house when he was fourteen.

When the authorities came to take C and his little brother into custody, C ran away. He eventually knocked on the door of a family in the neighborhood who had been kind to him. After a lengthy legal process, the family adopted C.

"But they always had trouble with him,” J told me. “They were Southern Baptists, probably too strict on him. But I don't think he'll be able to hurt us while we're loading up in Sarasota; we changed the locks. He's locked out.”

"Why am I Doing This?" A New Doctor Facing an Uncertain Future

2010-05-05T17:52:00.001-05:00

Since the passage of the new health care bill, physicians are facing massive cuts in financial reimbursement for the services and procedures they will perform. Because of this, it’s been difficult to shake certain feelings; feelings of being undervalued, feelings even of exploitation. It is impossible to escape in recent years the constant and frustrated dialogue among physicians regarding annual cuts in wages and reimbursements as well as the ever-increasing infringement of government bureaucracy upon the medical field. I have heard the unprovoked “advice” of others time and time again over the past year that I should “just be a lawyer or a dentist.” I have heard many of my physician mentors make disheartening assertions such as “my kids definitely won’t be going into medicine.” What makes this incessant stream of negativity more difficult to endure is that I still find myself immersed in a professional training environment characterized by unrivaled demands. Working sleepless nights, enduring unyielding and stressful circumstances, constantly confronted with sickness and death, and completing year after year of education and training in a field where academic scrutiny is unparalleled, I reached a point where I found myself asking, “why am I doing this?” Ironically, the answer to my question was recently illuminated by an unlikely source.

My most recent rotation in cardiac electrophysiology seemed to fuel my ire even further as I endured the daily constant barrage of insincere smiles as well as aggressive and transparent marketing tactics from drug company and medical device sales representatives. Never seeming to miss an opportunity to push their company’s product, even in the presence of sedated patients undergoing life-sustaining procedures, I have always been, and continue to be, perturbed by this shamelessly capitalistic approach to medicine. My frustration with profit-driven corporate motives however, crystallized my original motivations for pursuing a career in medicine. During this rotation, the answer to my question, “why am I doing this,” was repeatedly answered by the patients in my immediate presence. My less than favorable feelings toward sales pitches and marketing tactics in the presence of these patients strongly reiterated my long-held conviction that medicine is NOT a capitalistic endeavor, it is a humanitarian endeavor, a sacred devotion to the restoration of health for those in need.

As I think of my mother, who died of metastatic ovarian cancer in a Baylor hospital bed 15 months ago, I reflect only with feelings of gratitude for her doctors and nurses. I think of Dr. Jonathan Oh, whose sincere compassion was a blessing to both me and my family during a difficult time. I think of her nurses and technicians, whose kindness inspired my father to catalog the following account . . . . . “into the wheel chair, out the door, and into the hall. That's when the convocation occurred. One-by-one, every nurse on our wing of the fourth floor, every technician, and every aide, as they noticed Judy exiting her door in her red pajamas, wheel chair, and nasal canula; one by one they gathered, a small crowd in white and blue surrounding Judy. Many hugs followed, many smiles, and then the tears. "You're so wonderful," someone said; "You're the sweetest person," said another; and another, "We'll miss you." Hugs, smiles, and even kisses. Judy had won their hearts, one by one, with her kindness, with her goodness, with her gentleness. They all knew Judy was headed for hospice care, and they all suspected they would never see her again.”

These are the people engaged in this sacred pact; they were the ones blessed with the opportunity to nurture her ailing body in her final days. In such moments, the all too pervasive pursuits of the modern-day physician, “lifestyle,” “reimbursement,” and so on, fade into the background and are overtaken by the power of human exchange. We are infinitely blessed in that no governmental policy, no capitalistic machine, can compromise our connection to those in need. My question, “why am I doing this,” is resoundingly answered in a quote from William Osler.

“To have striven, to have made the effort, to have been true to certain ideals - this alone is worth the struggle.”

I thank God for the privilege to pursue such a worthy cause.

The Passover Miracle

2010-03-30T09:01:00.005-05:00

While the charlatan sensationalist may revel in the Passover miracles, the liberal skeptic may question the reality of the historical record, or the ethnic Jew may culturally assimilate the meaning of the Passover as if the miracles were ultimately about him, it is not the Passover miracles, but rather the Passover Miracle that charms the discerning eye of faith. By the Passover Miracle, we mean the whole of the fantastic event, not just the incidental miracles or even the historical exodus. Those who doubt the integrity of Christianity or the veracity of Holy Scripture, and those who embrace some anemic version of Christianity, should take note of this wondrous thing: God Almighty, the covenant God of a chosen people, so profoundly exercised His sovereign sway over every element of the cosmos as to shew His arbitrary power over all things for His own glory–from the inanimate elements of the mineral and vegetable worlds to the controlled behaviors and destinies of animals, wicked kings and nations, angels, and a pitiful tribe of slaves in darkness and bondage–the Almighty exercised His power with such glittering specificity and precise exactitude, that only a dead man could not comprehend the meaning of the Passover Miracle. What a testimony to the integrity of Holy Scripture, that Jehovah, God of the True Israel, should so perfectly orchestrate history, from the microscopic flight of lice to the macroscopic movement of nations, in such a way as to create a perfect reciprocity between the typology of the Old Covenant and the theology of the New Covenant. That perfect reciprocity, writ in crimson with a pen of iron and the point of a diamond, at once contradicts and condemns all theologies of salvation except five-point Calvinism–human enslavement to darkness and bondage, sovereign election that “put a difference” between the elect and the reprobate, particular redemption exclusively for a chosen people, irresistible grace that jettisons the chosen out of bondage and darkness, the faithfulness of a covenant God that insures the destination of His redeemed people to the promised land, and the judicial reprobation of every soul outside the arc of sovereign grace.

The Passover Miracle is Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God.

A Journal Entry

2010-03-03T23:46:00.000-06:00

Odd news this past weekend. An aunt I’ve not seen in twenty years called to tell me my biological father, who I haven’t spoken with in thirteen years, died. I’m not exactly sure when he died, frankly. Perhaps I’ll refrain from actually knowing the date, “Father died today, or yesterday maybe. I can’t remember.”

My aunt wanted me to make an appearance in the probate proceedings. Apparently, I’m the only child sired by my father, though it seems he adopted one or two stepchildren, whose mother he married and later divorced. I understood very quickly that my aunt and her mother are not fans of my former stepmother, who I was told actually ran over my father with her car… twice.

One of my favorite classes in law school was Wills & Trusts. The common law that developed regarding wills is fascinating, and most of it has been codified to one degree or another in the various states. I remember one case we read actually involved a man who scrawled his dying wishes on a wall just before death.

Two hundred years ago I, as the eldest son, would have taken all of my father’s property under the doctrine of primogeniture. This is essentially what Esau gave up when he sold his birthright to Jacob for some pea soup. There was good reason for such a rule in an agrarian society, as it preserved large estates and kept families tied together to work the land.

Back to my narrative. Monday came and I called the probate court in Sebastian County, Arkansas, and a very nice lady told me who the attorney was for the executrix of the estate. I called and spoke with his legal assistant, who was very sweet to me. She informed me that I was not listed as an heir. This really didn’t surprise me, as my aunt had indicated as much on the phone. Then she told me there was a will, and I asked whether she’d fax a copy to me, which she kindly did.

“I have two children,” it read, “Phillip McGuire and Christian McGuire.” I read that sentence a few times. Checked the signature page. I can’t say I was shocked, or overwhelmingly hurt. It was expected based on my conversation with the legal assistant. But it was surreal.

When presented with a new experience that inherently provokes emotion one can quickly switch from just thinking to thinking about what one should be thinking. This, in turn, can devolve into a bathetic display of crafted emotionalism rather than actual expression. For those who wonder, I felt sad. I thought I should feel some sense of anger, as the poison of old memories was dredged up through the telephone, and I tried to gin up some truculence for good measure. It didn’t really work. Then I thought I should feel some great sense of loss. But I hadn’t really lost anything other than an unexercised expiring option, that is, the perceived option to “reconnect.” Options are not worthless, however, and it is the loss of the option that leaves the hole. But it is mishandled filial duty that caused my sadness. Christ commanded that it is the aggrieved party that has the responsibility reconcile, not the instigator. There is no doubt but that I have sin in that regard: sin that I had pride in, actually. Is that two separate sins, or just one? So if the sadness is over the lost option, and the option is lost due to my own sin, then perhaps my sadness is a mourning of sin, which would ironically be in accordance with the implied command to mourn our sin contained in the Sermon on the Mount. Hopefully, there’s truth to that, as the mere knowledge of that would be comforting.

He owed me nothing. Whatever obligations nature imposes on a biological father were long ago transferred to my stepfather, whom I affectionately call “Dad” and “Pop.” He’s the one who taught me to ride a bicycle, throw a football, and make funny noises with my hand in my armpit. Nevertheless, it is difficult to read that “Michael Shane McGuire” doesn’t acknowledge a son by his same name. I would understand a provision stating, “I intentionally make no provision for my son, Michael Shane McGuire, whom I have not seen since 1993.” That would at least have averred to my existence and proffered a reasonable explanation for the will’s contents.

Well, that didn’t happen. For those interested, Arkansas law actually presumes my father forgot to mention me. There’s a statute pertaining to “pretermitted children.” Historically, such statutes are derived from the common law which provided for children who are born subsequent to the execution of a will. The Arkansas statute is quite broad, and states that any child omitted from a will takes under the estate as though the decedent passed without a will. So in a goofy turn of events, I am legally entitled to more money having been omitted from the will than I would be had he written, “I hereby bequeath $10.00 to Michael Shane McGuire.” Somebody in the Arkansas legislature must have had a father who left him out of a will.

I suppose I could try to spiritualize this little story, make a comparison to not being found in the Lamb’s Book of Life or something to that effect. But I haven’t been struck by any great spiritual revelations yet, so any efforts to spiritualize would turn out forced and stilted.

I would be remiss if I didn’t note several things for which I’m thankful, though (perhaps thankfulness is a spiritual revelation in and of itself). The estrangement of my father gave me a very early admiration for my Uncle Hal (who I distinctly remember wishing was my father when I was four years old) and especially my grandfather, who served as my first male role models. From a very early age I was emotionally antagonistic toward my father, and the biological imperative to aspire to be a particular person was quickly focused on my grandfather. I doubt there’s a finer man such affection could be directed toward: a Bible-quoting marine. (And there’s certainly no finer man than the bigger than life, perfect version of my grandfather I maintain in mind.) That is a very real, tangible blessing conferred to me through having a wayward father. And I am thankful for that blessing. I am also thankful for my very loving Dad, who has always treated me as a son, not only in affection and discipline, but also in the effusive pride a parent naturally displays for his child’s achievements. That’s special, as is his selfless love for my mother. These are great and profound blessings.

The Pale Blue Dot

2010-02-18T22:54:00.007-06:00

The late astronomer Carl Sagan once claimed, "the cosmos is all there is, or was, or ever shall be." This is a pretty good definition of naturalism.

With the picture to the left in mind (which was taken from Voyager 1, 1990), Sagan delivered these words in a commencement address in 1996 just prior to his death:

The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light.

Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity -- in all this vastness -- there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

When you really consider the enormity of "this vast cosmic arena," in many ways it is difficult to deny Sagan. Astronomers tell us that the diameter of the observable universe is at least 93 billion light years. For perspective, our galaxy is 100,000 light years across and roughly 2.5 million light years from the nearest sister galaxy (a light year is a unit of length equal to just under 10^13 Kilometers). In a world where astronomers now estimate the existence of billions of galaxies like the Milky Way, our pale blue dot seems to many scientists "the product of a mindless and purposeless natural process which did not have us in mind" (biologist George Gaylord Simpson). Many scientists believe that the earth is a fairly typical planet orbiting around a fairly typical sun in a spiral arm of a fairly typical galaxy positioned in a fairly typical universe (John Lennox, God's Undertaker).

But from modern physics and cosmology a new idea is starting to emerge, calling into question the concept of a "typical" earth; instead, it contends for an earth that is "finely-tuned." Proponents of a "finely-tuned" earth believe that the sustainability of life on earth demands an explanation that is more than mere chance. Among the examples of "fine-tuning" from the fundamental constants of nature are our abundant carbon supply (modify the resonance of the nuclear ground state energy levels by 1% either way and life on earth no longer exists) as well as the ratio of the nuclear strong force to the electromagnetic force (had it been different by 1 part in 10^16, no stars could have formed). In fact, if you increase it by only 1 part in 10^40, then only small stars can exist (Lennox).

Just what is 1 part in 10^40? Glad you asked. Astrophysicist Hugh Ross provides this illustration to explain. "Cover America with coins in a column reaching to the moon (236,000 miles away), then do the same for a billion other continents of the same size. Paint one coin red and put it somewhere in one of the billion piles. Blindfold a friend and ask her to pick it out. The odds are about 1 in 10^40 that she will" (Lennox).

Those examples however pale in comparison to the precision necessary for our current rate of entropy in the universe. The mathematician Sir Roger Penrose states: "it would be relatively 'easy' to produce a high entropy universe...but in order to start off the universe in a state of low entropy - so that there will indeed be a second law of thermodynamics...the 'Creator's aim' must have been accurate to 1 part in 10 to the power 10^123, that is 1 followed by 10^123 zeros, a number which it would be impossible to write out in the usual decimal way, because even if you were able to put a zero on every particle in the universe there would not even be enough particles to do the job" (Lennox).

On a smaller-scale more pertinent to earth's "fine-tuning" including surface gravity, temperature, rotational speed, distance to the sun and so on, Ross "makes a rough but conservative calculation that the chance of one such planet existing in the universe is about 1 in 10^30" (Lennox).

The real impetus for this blog entry came several months ago after watching The Privileged Planet by Guillermo Gonzalez and Jay W Richards. Their main point is that the earth is the most ideally suited place in the universe in which to observe the universe. In other words, not only is the earth "finely-tuned" for habitation, but it is similarly "finely-tuned" for science. In other parts of the universe there would be too much starlight, or an atmosphere too opaque or translucent rather than transparent, or the visibility of the sun would not be possible without a perfect eclipse from the moon. And as they point out, other more specific examples are abundant.

They conclude: "And yet as we stand gazing at the heavens beyond our little oasis, we gaze not into a meaningless abyss but into a wondrous arena commensurate with our capacity for discovery. Perhaps we have been staring past a cosmic signal far more significant than any mere sequence of numbers, a signal revealing a universe so skilfully crafted for life and discovery that is seems to whisper of an extra-terrestrial intelligence immeasurably more vast, more ancient, and more magnificent than anything we've been willing to expect or imagine" (Lennox).

When pondering the content of The Privileged Planet several ideas occurred to me.

First, the infinite mind of God as the author of creation is truly a stupefying notion, especially when all that we see in the created universe only represents six days of an eternity. As Bridges has written, "what he has brought to light only shews how much is concealed."

But then, when considering the universe and our pale blue dot as a terrestrial metaphor of a greater spiritual reality, something even more telling about the nature of God with respect to man comes to the surface.

Is it possible that something seemingly "obscure" on a "very small stage in a vast cosmic arena" is actually the most "finely-tuned" of all?

Could a "lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark" really be more significant than the wonder and splendor of all the world?

If you read him with a right perspective, Sagan's words might actually point to The Truth, albeit a different truth and one more significant than he had intended - "it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

To Gonzales and Richards' point about the earth - our pale blue dot - being the only capable place of true observation of the cosmos, of seeing reality without the obstruction of an opaque or translucent atmosphere, of seeing more clearly the function of the sun during a dark and very rare solar eclipse, consider the implications of this notion as a spiritual reality as well.

Do you see the Pale Blue Dot?

Perhaps those who have lost the spiritual for the material and the Creator for the creation need only consider more deeply the spiritual significance of the Pale Blue Dot?

Now, understanding more clearly our vast universe and the place of the pale blue dot within it, perhaps the implications of Paul's first chapter of Romans are even further reaching than even he might have realized when it was penned?

Perhaps the implications of spiritual life reflected by creation run deeper than we have ever considered?

But then again, it is only from the perspective of a "finely-tuned" Pale Blue Dot that one can truly see into eternity.

The Necessity of Love: A challenge to Darwin

2010-02-13T19:22:00.006-06:00

An appropriate and interesting topic on the coattails of BM's illuminating post.

Our Topic:

PSYCHOSOCIAL DWARFISM - also known as PSS (psychological short stature) - defined in both pediatric and endocronologic literature as a childhood disorder characterized by failure to thrive (ie retarded physical and intellectual development), depression, bizarre or self-destructive behavior, hormonal abnormalities (specifically growth hormone), and ultimately, short stature, or dwarfism.

The most fascinating (yet troubling) fact about this disorder is that it is the result of parental rejection or neglect.

Read this exerpt from a reputable medical literary source - "the pathophysiology mostly involves psychological and environmental pathology, affecting the growth and development of the child . . . . this is a form of severe child neglect."

We must conclude, then, that love is not simply something that human beings desire, it is a requirement, a necessary source of sustenance. In scientific fields, we are conditioned to draw on empirical scientific data to provide explanations for the origins of biologic phenomena. I have made it a routine habit to apply Darwin's theory of Natural Selection in order to find rational explanations for such phenomena. Darwinian theory provides us with a remarkably simple groundwork for observing Natural Law. In my opinion, when applied to the animal kingdom, its principles are almost infallible. It has often been the case, however, that applying these same principles to humanity has left me with a sense of dyssynchrony or incompleteness. Psychosocial Dwarfism provides one such example. Let me explain.

Darwinian theory claims that traits which equip individuals within a species with superior survival and breeding capabilities will be bred into the population over time. We must ask ourselves then, "how has an absolute requirement for nurturing, even love, been bred into the human population?" Would we not be a more resiliant and successful species if we simply required proper nutrition, physical stimulation, intellectual stimulation, etc., in order to develop appropriately?

This, in my mind, is one of many examples where Darwin falls short in providing us with a complete description of human development.

Here is a simple definition,
Supernatural - departing from what is usual or normal especially so as to appear to transcend the laws of nature.

The question then is this - "Is our apparent NEED for love evidence that components of humanity represent something supernatural?" The late Stephen J. Gould, a brilliant biologist/zoologist and atheist, described human existence as "a cosmic accident." The world's leading atheist Darwinist, Richard Dawkins, claims that “The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.” I would ask then, why does "pitiless indifference" lead to the human destruction we observe in Psychosocial Dwarfism?

Is BM's "third light" merely the product of random genetic mutation and competitive breeding over millions and millions of years - the result of blind, pitiless indifference? Attempt to pry his child from his arms and I believe you will receive a resounding answer. There are lights all around us, and it is unfortunate that many of them continue to illuminate the intellectual vanity of some of our greatest minds.

Comforting Light

2010-02-12T03:20:00.001-06:00

It is 1am.

I am illuminated to an idea that I have never really considered before. In scripture the metaphor of light is undeniable. And usually, the metaphor points us rightly to the holiness of God - the bright whiteness of his moral righteousness. But there is another dimension to the reality of light that I cannot deny - light is a comfort as well.

Let me briefly explain.

Having gone to bed at around 9:30p, I am now up per our current routine, awakened from some sort of RIM cycle by the cry of my two month old boy. As I, still half asleep, feed him a bottle of milk in our mostly darkened living room, I notice three sources of light.

The first light is unapproachable yet desirable - it comes from the heavens. If you have never seen the stars from 7200 feet above sea level, away from the city-glow, on a clear night, you should. Just over my right shoulder, the big dipper is positioned downward between two small mountain peaks, like an ice cream scoop poised to rake down upon some unsuspecting frozen goodness. The sky is bright with stars tonight. And I find the illuminating light comforting at this late hour.

The second light is approachable yet undesirable - it comes from the earth. Across the small frozen lake behind our back yard sits O'Malleys Irish Pub. The bright lights there are colorful and neon. The blue, green, red, yellow lights are distinguished enough to know what they represent but not clear enough to read from here. While the beauty of this light pales in comparison to the light from above, I must admit that it is somewhat comforting in a strange way to know that I am not the only one awake at this late hour.

The third light is approachable and desirable - it is the reflection of heaven upon earth. As I hold my son in front of me, the light from the stars reflects off of his face. I can see his eyes; his forming features reflect enough light to be distinguished in the dark. I approach his face with a kiss on the cheek. Although the other lights are brilliant and interesting, I find more life in this light than the others. I also find this light is most comforting of all at this late hour.

With perhaps a few flickering and interesting lights surrounding them across the countryside, a brilliant light from above that caused them to rejoice with great joy and a third light that reflected from the face of the One whom they traveled so far to worship, there is little doubt that these wise men were impressed by the holiness and innocence of the little One before them.

But perhaps at that late hour, they were made to feel the comforting light of heaven upon earth as well.

Remembering Judy

2010-02-11T06:32:00.000-06:00

One year ago today, my wife of thirty-four years died of ovarian cancer. Diagnosed on July 27, 1999, with Stage IIIC ovarian cancer, at that time Judy's life expectancy was about three years. She lived nine and one-half years.

Judy's doctors called her "a poster child for effective cancer treatment." She endured over fifty chemotherapy treatments, the first two dozen characterized by five days of post-chemo sickness that no medication could bring under control. Each cancer patient is different with regard to how they experience the side-effects of chemo, and how they respond to anti-nausea medication; for that matter, each cancer has its own various medical protocols, and each patient is unique in his/her response to specific medications. Eventually, a new anti-nausea drug alleviated the worst of Judy's nausea.

Judy experienced hundreds of radiation treatments, five major surgeries including stereotactic brain surgery, and a stem-cell transplant. The stem-cell transplant was brutal. Judy was deathly ill for thirty days at M. D. Anderson. The most vivid expressions of that treatment are too indelicate to mention here.

Despite all that, for the nine years after her diagnosis, Judy was "in good health" most of the time. She deteriorated rapidly during the last year of her life, the cancer metastasizing to her lungs and brain. Thankfully, the brain tumors never manifested neurologically or physiologically, but the lung tumors caused increasing respiratory distress and were the eventual cause of her death.

During those nine years, Judy lived gracefully and graciously, the same way she had lived the previous forty-nine years. She "walked in beauty," not just physically but in every other way, especially spiritually. Those who knew her saw the personification of God's grace throughout her life, especially during her sickness. She has left upon us an indelible impression of heaven, a testimony to the reality of God, and an almost impeccable Christian example. Indeed, "the king's daughter was all glorious within."

All who knew her miss her and love her. Those who know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior will see her again.

"Goddess of the Market": A Book Review

2010-02-08T22:58:00.011-06:00

Formidable, irascible, incorrigible, and eerily prescient: Ayn Rand.

In a recently released biography of every misanthropic, libertarian college student’s favorite philosopher, Jennifer Burns captures both Rand’s undying fervor for her philosophy as well as her personal failings. "Goddess of the Market; Ayn Rand and the American Right" is a must read for both Randophiles and political conservatives who have heard of Rand, but who may not have the time or perseverance to slog through "The Fountainhead" or "Atlas Shrugged."

Burns clearly holds admiration for Rand, but is not mired in the sycophancy one often finds with self-identified Objectivists, making "Goddess of the Market" the most even-handed discussion of Rand I’ve ever read.

Three areas of Burns’ biography of Rand were especially interesting to me: the discussion of Rand’s early childhood and move to the states; an explication of Rand’s personal life with her husband and paramours; and Rand’s atheism.

CHILDHOOD TO EARLY AMERICA

Born Alisa Rosenbaum, Rand came into this world in Russia, at a time when millions of Jews were emigrating from that country due to rising antisemitism. Rand’s father was apparently an erudite, irreligious man who owned a chemist shop. As the Bolsheviks took over czarist Russia, they took Mr. Rosenbaum’s chemist shop, in the name of the burgeoning dictatorship of the proletariat. Mr. Rosenbaum was permitted to reopen his shop at some point, only to have it confiscated once more. At this point, portending John Galt, he refused to work.

Rand was a precocious child, and her parents encouraged her education. At some point in her teens, Rand discovered Aristotle and his syllogisms while a student in Russia; she was never the same. Rand even attended university in Russia, studying history and philosophy. Of course, all of her classes had a Marxist tilt, but Rand was able to overcome pedagogical brainwashing. She was exposed to Herbert Spencer, Plato, and began reading Aristotle and Nietzsche, her two greatest influences. The only thing Rand loved as much as Nietzsche and Aristotle was the movies.

Through a family connection in Chicago, Rand was given the opportunity to flee Russia in favor of the land of the free. It was on her way to the states that the Alisa Rosenbaum transformed into Ayn Rand, taking on the new name just as would a Hollywood starlet. Eventually, Rand matriculated from Chicago to Hollywood, armed with the hopes of someday having a script made into a movie. Rand had a knack for script review, but a face for radio. She was probably on her way to becoming a spinster until she met Frank O’Connor, a young actor with Hollywood looks.

Ultimately, her big break, professionally, came when a producer saw potential profit in a gimmick employed by Rand in a play she wrote. The climax of the play was a courtroom scene with an impassioned plea by the protagonist, a person who broke the law standing up for his individualism. Rand wrote two alternate endings to the play, depending on whether the jury (made up of audience members) found the hero guilty or not-guilty.

AYN, FRANK, AND NATHAN BRANDEN

Frank O’Connor, it turns out, was a dutiful wife to Ayn Rand. It was clear early on in their marriage that Rand was going to have a brighter future than O’Connor. Every time the couple moved from one city to another, it was at Rand’s behest, even before the couple was wealthy. Once Rand became the breadwinner, O’Connor found solace in gardening, and later painting. Rand loved entertaining at her house, especially when college kids or twenty-somethings were on the guest list, and O’Connor was always the amiable host. Rand was inevitably mercurial at her salon, exploding at those who deigned to disagree with her. O’Connor was always there to smooth things over and douse rhetorical fires, usually sparked by Rand’s incendiary treatment of friends or admirers.

Rand’s philosophy was as near a complete worldview as a single person could develop, complete with political, religious, and even relational precepts. At the core of Rand’s philosophy were a rejection of altruism and an embrace of selfishness. Holding selfishness as a first principle, of course, led Rand to become an impassioned defender of capitalism, especially in light of her Bolshevik experience. She fancied herself a philosopher in the mold of those predicted by Nietzsche, who could offer a moral code sans religion. Although Rand’s morality, such as it was, made her a friend to capitalism, it impelled her to views of love and sexual expression that were abhorrent.

As Rand reached her fifties, she was idolized by tens of thousands of college students who rejected the status quo, but were not taken in by beatnik culture. One such young man was Nathaniel Blumenthal, who later changed his surname to Branden in honor of Rand. Branden, at one time, was tapped as Rand’s philosophical heir, and was the only person other than Rand permitted to be called an Objectivist, as opposed to a student of Objectivism. At some point, Branden and Rand shared a kiss. Rand called a meeting at her apartment, requiring the attendance of Branden, his wife, and Frank O’Connor. At that meeting, Rand stated that she and Branden would require a few hours alone each week. Bam! Rand made Frank a cuckold right there to his face. He sought solace at a local bar.

The flame burned out, and Rand was left confused. According to Burns, Objectivism taught "that sexual love was a response to values and a reflection of self-esteem." In Rand’s mind, to be shunned romantically was to have her whole philosophy rejected. This was unbearable for her, and she could not accept that a man thirty years her junior might simply be more attracted to a more nubile gal.

All that is not to say Rand wasn’t devoted in some way to Frank O’Connor. She needed him, and he was the emotional rampart the outlandish Rand required.

RAND AND GOD

Like many with a libertarian bent, I’m a great admirer of Rand, and tend to disregard her atheism. After reading "Goddess of the Market" I’m now convinced that Rand’s atheism is an essential part of her philosophy, and makes Rand a dangerous influence on the political right. (On the flip side, Rand hated the idea of Ronald Reagan, arguing that his religion made him far more dangerous liberalism.)

Rand sought to make capitalism and individualism distinctly moral issues, but did so in the Nietschean mold: atheistically. However, as much as Rand fancied herself a rational Aristotelean, accepting only what she could observe and deduce logically, her view of rights was more a premise than a deduction. Rand seemed to start from the premise that men have rights and are equal, without proving it up. She stated, "all men are free and equal, regardless of natural gifts." She held as a principle the immorality of the initiation of force, but her atheism prevented her from being able to support that precept. While traditional conservatives like Buckley could support their values with their religion, Rand was attempting to be the philosopher of the ubermensch. Her philosophy contained no room for a god, other than her.

Objectivism was a quasi-religion in Rand’s day. Rand was constantly followed around by The Collective, a group of youthful disciples. Branden started an organization to disseminate Rand’s ideas all over the United States. In New York, Branden’s seminars were presented by him in person, while in other cities students gathered to hear Branden’s instructions from a tape recorder placed on a table in the front of a room. And like most religions, Rand, as the leader, was not to be questioned negatively. Rand loved interacting with students of Objectivism, but she would denounce questioners she disliked by having them removed or dismissing them as having low self-esteem. One student wrote to Rand, "Last spring I discarded my religion, and this past fall I took the Principles course in Washington. Two better choices can hardly be imagined."

Rand maintained her atheism to the end. When Frank O’Connor died, she told Phil Donahue that she would commit suicide to be with him if she believed in an afterlife. I would add that after reading "Goddess of the Market" I found the Donahue interview on You Tube, and I have to admit that I didn’t realize that Donahue was such a good interviewer 30 years ago.

I highly recommend reading "Goddess of the Market." Someone, I can’t remember who, once stated that history affords great men and women one sentence: Lincoln freed the slaves; Washington was the first president; Hamilton was the first Secretary of the Treasury. I reckon Rand’s sentence would be, "She was the author of ‘Atlas Shrugged.’" She would have preferred to be remembered as a great philosopher, but both in life and in death it’s difficult for scholars to take Rand seriously as a deep thinker. She never published in academic journals, and the greatest expressions of her philosophy are contained in her fiction. But she did predict the big-government nature of environmentalists almost 40 years ago, and of course foresaw the exponential growth of the nanny state.

I’m certain Rand was brilliant. And her success story is truly American—Russian girl from an impoverished country comes to America to follow a dream. But she traded godless communism for godless capitalism. In the former, men are the highest order of creature; in the latter, Man is (to paraphrase from the book).

Go here for part 3 of Phil Donahue's first interview with Ayn Rand. Go to the 2:30 mark for a discussion on sin. Go to the 8:15 mark to see Rand's vitriolic response to a questioner who disagrees with her.

The Art of Conversation

2010-02-06T04:36:00.005-06:00

Paul states, “There are many voices in the world, and perhaps none of them without significance.” I suppose Paul was more blessed than I, certainly more gracious, for methinks I have heard many an insignificant voice. Or maybe Paul means that even a fool’s voice, characterized by a multitude of words, is yet significant because of the weighty judgment that will sever and silence the fool’s tongue for all eternity. To Paul’s credit, he did say “perhaps.” Of course, in context, despite Paul’s usage of phone instead of glosso, he refers to intelligible languages, viz, no language is insignificant. However, the point here is, no matter what language they speak, whether or not most people have anything meaningful to say. At the risk of being called a cynic, I think the answer is “no.”

I do not know who said it first, but I have quoted that person often, “People can talk only about three things: persons, events, or ideas.” The vast majority of conversations involve the first two categories, persons and events, and I can take only three or four minutes of such narrative before I develop a mysterious deafness.

I have also known people who can talk about great ideas without an appreciation of discourse. One former colleague of mine, quite brilliant, could talk impressively about profound ideas – philosophy, literature, science, and music – ad nauseum. I always think of that person when I say, “Great teachers are dialogues, not monologues.” Socrates and Jesus Christ are our examples and mentors here. They both understood, like flint and steel, that discourse sparks the fire of imagination and ignites the light of learning. Socrates and Jesus always drove their conversations heavenward to the atmosphere of transcendent truth, elevating their disciples’ consciousness to a contemplative realm. In every conversational setting, one should always try to follow their examples, drive the conversation heavenward, out of the boring dimensions of people and events and ever upward towards ethereal matters. If tedious guests stay too long or too late, just shock the social atmosphere with depthful conversation and you shall soon bid them a happy adieu.

Only readers of great books can be good conversationalists and not the majority of them unless they practice discourse. Conversation is an art, the brush and canvas of which are eloquent speaking and intense listening; great books, and the ideas within them, provide the color and form by which the ear and tongue may paint. Better to be in thoughtful discourse with a well-read atheist than a superficial theist. One would have little to learn from the tepid theist, and much to profit from the informed infidel, perhaps even an opportunity to engage the thoughtful unbeliever in a meaningful conversation about things that matter.

The writer of Hebrews encourages us to “have compassionate on the ignorant" but, alas, how difficult to love one’s neighbor if he is uninteresting. One might say that such an opinion is bitter or arrogant, but the real bitterness, the real arrogance, belongs to those whose tongues are no longer voluntary organs, who say everything that comes to their minds without refinement of the rhetorical quality or intellectual validity of what they have to say, and without respect to the eardrums of their victims. To paraphrase Solomon, “Even a fool is thought to be wise when he keeps his mouth shut.”

American Poverty

2010-02-02T18:57:00.007-06:00

So I witnessed a sad thing today.

I am doing a Geriatrics (medicine for the elderly) rotation as part of my training requirements. Today's duties were to make home visits to elderly individuals who have become immobile enough to warrant the doctor coming to them, instead of their going to the doctor. It's a humanitarian service, and I'm happy to take part in it.

The striking thing about today's activities was that my insight into American culture was illuminated moreso than my medical knowledge - this is, however, a surprise that is most certainly welcome. I'm not tooting my own horn, but I had a relative mastery of all the medical issues that I encountered today, not because of any merit of my own, but because I have dealt with these issues time and time again. I was, however, left with many troubling questions and too few answers about American culture.

What was unique about today, was that I ventured into a cultural environment to which I (a white upper middle class male) am not accustomed.

I was face to face with "American Poverty." I designate it as "American," because I believe that it is, without question, a distinct entity.

The initial challenge that I am posing here is that our classic notion of poverty (hunger, rampant disease, etc) does not exist in America. The more daunting and troubling challenge, however, is - How can we remedy the unique form of poverty that exists in America? Let me provide this example in order to explain.

As I walked into a very meager apartment, I encountered an elderly hispanic female (our patient) and her 34 year-old daughter. The mother was about 5 feet tall, and weighed about 300 pounds. The daughter, the same height, weighed more. It was evident after only a few minutes that both of them had extreme difficulty walking.

To say that these individuals are monetarily impoverished is, in my mind, unfathomable. Neither was employed, yet they had the financial means (provided by our government) not only to provide themselves with adequate sustenance, but to lead lives that could only be described as gluttonous. Both had serious health issues - hypertension, diabetes, heart failure, kidney failure, all of which are strongly associated with their obesity. Although I am somewhat ashamed of this impulse, I became momentarily agitated as I thought about our Democratic Party's incessant push to fund such lifestyles with monetary entitlements for those below "the poverty line." Thankfully however, my agitation quickly gave way to compassion.

I was initially moved by the fact that these ladies were not, and probably never will be, as fortunate as I. Moreso however, I believed I was witnessing first hand our distinctly American brand of poverty. These individuals were confined by ignorance (poor education), complacency, and most importantly, the loss of a hope that they could achieve a more worthy existence for themselves or their family (this is the white flag in a capitalistic society, often humiliating to those who wave it). They were resigned to a pseudo-satisfactory daily routine defined by lethargy, monotony, and gluttony, which had now rendered them both almost completely immobile and confined to their home.

They were honest, and they were kind to us. They are human beings who deserve our respect, most of all, in my opinion, because self-respect had so obviously been surrendered long ago.
This is our own brand of poverty. As a nation far too often defined by excess, our leaders (more specifically, Democratic politicians) continue to champion the notion that our citizens are entitled to such excesses, and those who suffer from intellectual and cultural poverty are, in the end, victimized by our collective gluttony.

Karl Marx claimed that humanity was incapable of governing itself in a capitalistic society . . . . primarily because of greed. He was obviously wrong about the value of Communism, because no single entity is more responsible for human suffering in the 20th century. However, I believe that Capitalism will ultimately be a failed social experiment because of humanity's insatiable appetite for more . . . and more . . . and more. We have all been guilty of greed at some time in our lives - it is a powerful human impulse. It comes in many forms, not the least of which is gluttony. It is a startling irony that not even the poorest of our citizens have escaped its clutches, and a troubling reminder for us to heed the foresight of Marx.

A Troubling Setback to Every Hollywood Idiot's Dream

2010-01-21T19:00:00.004-06:00

So I saw 2 movies recently, Avatar (pretty good) and District 9 (pretty painful). I was annoyed by both, however, because they're both examples of the same story that comes out of Hollywood over and over again.

The basic theme is that Americans (or whites) are crude and violent people who oppress some other group (always extremely noble and wise) in order to satisfy their greed or some other petty gain. Avatar is analagous to Native Americans (the similarities to Native American culture in the movie are purposefully obvious), while the oppressed culture in District 9 has a less well-defined historical correlate (this story's been told so many time, however, I don't think one really needs to represent a specific historical example). Anybody who likes movies like I do (and actually pays attention) knows that this theme is revisited over and over again.

Let me be clear before I make my main point . . . The American slave trade was evil . . . the destruction of virtually the entire Native American race was evil . . . the word "evil" actually feels like quite an understatement when you consider the human suffering caused by these events . . . none of us will ever experience such oppression. These events should be recognized as tragic marks on our past.

My point, however, is this. It's one thing to promote awareness of our flaws. In a country as powerful and fortunate as America, we must not forget that we are blessed, that we should share those blessings with those less fortunate, and yes, that we bear the guilt of historical sins from which our nation must mend. What we see in Hollywood, however, is something quite different. It is a sadomasochistic attempt to tear down a traditional American morality which was born of inspiration, nobility, and Christianity.
Ask yourself this simple question. Why do these Hollywood moguls continue to spend hundreds of millions of dollars to promote the same story centuries after these historical events took place? Answer: To invalidate the traditional American value system, because this system stands in the way of what these people truly want. What do they want? Again, anyone who watches movies can answer that. They want moral relativism and moral ambiguity, hedonism and nihilism. Just to provide a simple example, I'd like to offer anyone 5 dollars if they can sit through 10 minutes of movie trailers without seeing a female with her clothes off (parents, Disney movies don't count!). This sadomasochistic Hollywood fad is nothing more than a pathetic attempt by a disgustingly hedonistic group of people to inject their own deluded and self-righteous pseudo-morality into our culture. By continuously and obsessively highlighting the evils of our past, they are attempting to tear down the validity of our moral traditions, namely, Christianity. No serious historian can deny the fact that the moral traditions of America are born of Christianity - as Dinesh D'Souza claims (I'm paraphrasing here), "the two most influential pillars of Western Civilization are Athens and Christianity." Hollywood can't stand it, modern "progressives" can't stand it, our "intellectual elite" who dominate American universities can't stand it, and they will continue to attack.
I'd like to highlight one recent event, however, and challenge anyone to deny that Christianity is still a powerful force in our culture (whether consciously or unconsciously). In the wake of the recent tragedy in Haiti, I've seen some encouraging, even inspiring statistics. (Here is a rough estimate).

Financial Aid Given to Haiti:

The United States of America - $270 million
Great Britain - $20 million
France - $20 million
China (an industrial and economic powerhouse) - $1 million

To help the sick, to heal the weak, are these not the most basic tenants of Christ's philosophy? It is a well-known fact that America is the most religious of the world's modernized, industrial nations. Is this phenomenon not a product of our founding faith and our traditional morality?
Movie makers and college professors will no doubt continue their avid condemnation of our religious origins, but I believe it is the preservation of our faith which continues to set us apart as a nation - America's aid to Haiti is therefore A Troubling Setback to Every Hollywood Idiot's Dream.

Speaking of Evil: Something Uplifting

2010-01-14T17:18:00.005-06:00

If you're like me, you grew up hearing about five names significant to WWII: Hitler, Mussolini, FDR, Stalin, and a little Dutch Jewish girl named Anne Frank. While nobody reads Mein Kampf anymore (it's virtually unreadable, anyway), and FDR's fireside chats aren't widely, or even narrowly, read, Anne Frank's diary is required reading for school children all over the country, perhaps the world.

Before young Anne was taken off to one of the many prisons within that wicked archipelago of concentration camps and gulags that dotted Europe in the 30's and 40's, she was secreted away by a few brave souls, one of whom was Miep Gies (pronounced "Meep Khees"). (Hiding people in WWII always reminds me of a joke about a diminutive Eastern European, the punchline of which is "can you cache a small Czech.") Miep died on Monday of this week, at the ripe old age of 100. The obituary is here.

Some tidbits about Ms. Gies: She never read the diary prior to giving it to Otto Frank, Anne's father, out of respect for Anne's privacy. It turns out this concern, while admirable, may have been misplaced as the diary would have "incriminated" a number of those helping Anne and other Jews.

I love this quote from Gies, which she apparently wrote to the AP via email shortly before her 100th birthday, wherein she resists accolades: "Imagine young people would grow up with the feeling that you have to be a hero to do your human duty. I am afraid nobody would ever help other people, because who is a hero? I was not. I was just an ordinary housewife and secretary." Bravery and humility are anything but ordinary.

People in this space may come down differently on the means to reduce the number of abortions in this country. But I think we can all agree that people like Miep Gies, and the countless other brave souls who nobody's ever heard of, who resisted Nazi and Soviet tyranny are to be admired and emulated.

Is the Killing of An Abortion Doctor "Evil"?

2010-01-13T11:01:00.006-06:00

I know only the barest information about the principals, Scott Roeder and Dr. George Tiller. Scott Roeder killed Dr. Tiller in May, 2009, in the foyer of the Reformation Lutheran Church in Wichita, Kansas. RLC is affilated with the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, quite ironic. Subsequently, the State of Kansas arrested Roeder and charged him with murder. I do not now if Scott Roeder is insane or evil, or both. I do know that George Tiller was only one of three or four doctors in the United who performed abortions on women in their third trimester of pregnancy, that is, Tiller was a killer.

Roeder contends that he killed Tiller to protect babies, and that his killing of Tiller was a justified act against both Tiller and the state, viz, the state, whether Kansas or the federal government, complied with Tiller’s murderous practice of late-term abortions. In the 80’s Tiller’s abortion clinic was bombed, but he was unhurt. In 1993, a radical pro-life proponent shot Tiller in both arms. Since then, Tiller hired a bodyguard (an expensive luxury), but his bodyguard was either not with him or was otherwise incompetent on that Sunday morning when Roeder did what he thought the negligent state should have done, killed a mass-murderer to protect innocent life.

This week Sedgwick County, Kansas, District Judge Warren Wilbert shocked the nation by allowing Roeder’s defense team to enter a plea of manslaughter, defined by Kansas law as ''an unreasonable but honest belief that circumstances existed that justified deadly force.'' The defense team argued that, at the time of the killing, Tiller “presented a clear danger to unborn children." The operative word is “unreasonable”: was Roeder’s action unreasonable? In my opinion, not at all. But Roeder’s killing of Tiller necessitates a deeper and larger contemplation of evil. Was Roeder’s killing of Tiller “evil”? Was Tiller’s murdering of babies “evil”?

Indisputably, Tiller’s murdering of babies was evil. Those who would come to Tiller’s defense are amoralists, agnostics, atheists, relativists, liberals, profligates, reprobates, and fools. Their philosophical position is untenable, viz, “it’s alright to kill babies but it’s not alright to kill abortion doctors.” How absurd. If the killing of millions of babies is an acceptable social behavior in Malthusian, Darwinian, or otherwise relativistic terms, how could the killing of one doctor be unacceptable? Relativistically,Tiller’s death seems a minor event in comparison to his butchery, only a small spatter of flesh and blood, not a crimson river.

From an absolutist perspective, the issues are more complex. When doctors nationwide murder millions of babies, what is an ethicist, an absolutist to do? More specifically, when a doctor kills a baby in his third trimester of life, does the ethical absolutist use a bullet or a ballot?

For me, it’s the ballot; for Roeder, it was the bullet. Can I condemn him for that action? Ultimately, no, because, while I may not agree with the conclusions of his conscience, I can vividly see how Roeder’s killing of Tiller can be philosophically defended and morally justified.

I live on a quiet street in Texas. Last night I imagined ten little children playing in the yard adjacent to my west. I also imagined a madman several houses to my east walking westward towards my house, firing at every child he sees. Since I am almost always armed, what do I do? Quite simple – I go outside, protect myself in a defensive position and location, and wait for the murderer. I then aim my Glock or, better yet, my AK-47, and I take him out before he reaches the ten children to my west. I hope I never have to kill anyone, but in such a scenario I would do it in a New York minute, no moral problem for me there, no qualms of conscience. I killed a murderer and I protected innocent life. Texas law in fact recognizes my right to do that, and the state has even licensed me to carry a concealed weapon so that, God forbid, if my own defense or my defense of others ever becomes necessary, I will be appropriately and stealthily armed for the horrific event.

The above scenario is definitely analogous to Scott Roeder’s killing of George Tiller. Roeder’s supporters go a step farther than his attorneys, who advocate a manslaughter defense: Roeder’s action, Roeder supporters argue, was not manslaughter, much less murder, but rather the defense of innocent life; therefore, not only is Roeder not a villain guilty of murder but he is in fact a courageous hero who acted upon a moral principle – kill a murderer to protect the innocent. Of course, Roeder’s detractors say, “he broke the law,” but that argument is weak. Sometimes bad laws should be broken. George Washington, Martin Luther King, Oliver Cromwell, and other lawbreakers have chosen to break laws resulting in much more violence than Roeder’s killing of Tiller. As another lawbreaker, Henry David Thoreau, said, “A man who is right constitutes a majority of one.”

Bullet or ballot? That’s the moral issue for the absolutist. Sometimes I feel guilty about my own position on the matter of abortion - the ballot – nonetheless, knowing that abortion is murder, I weigh the issues morally and philosophically and choose to ignore the capital immorality of the state as long as it leaves me and mine alone.

In conclusion, I suppose I should admit that I am glad I never had a daughter who visited an abortion doctor so that he could kill my grandchild.

Some thoughts on the pending healtchare legislation

2010-01-12T20:45:00.002-06:00

I’ve been absent from this space for sometime, and hope you’ll extend forgiveness on the off chance that you log on daily looking for my witty pixels to appear on screen. I’d like to offer a few thoughts on the current healthcare debate, and the bills current matriculating through Congress, possibly toward becoming law.

The Senate Bill, as most of you know, is the one that is most likely to become law, and is considered the more “moderate.” I’m not exactly sure what a moderate healthcare bill is; it sounds like it would only provide a moderate amount healthcare, which doesn’t sound like a good selling point.

Under that bill you and I will be required by law to purchase health insurance. There are a few exceptions. For instance, if a person is indigent you and I will be required to purchase his health insurance as well. If one is an illegal alien (that is, an undocumented member of a Democratic constituency) you and I will still be required to subsidize emergency room care for him as well (including care for things that can’t be considered emergencies). While conservatives and libertarians have long lamented the creation and bloated nature of so-called entitlement programs, this new bill goes far beyond a Western European style welfare state founded on the misguided world vision of Rousseau. Instead, this bill is fascism in essence tinctured by democracy.

Communism, of course, involves the state owning all property and dictating means and amount of production, as well as prices. At one time the USSR was setting 24 million prices on products throughout Stalin’s tundra. But Fascism, economically speaking, focuses on dictating (no pun intended) production standards while permitting private ownership. I don’t generally engage in hyperbole, but in case you recoil at the idea of the term "fascism" being slung at this bill, let me explain.

The government, by decree of a single political party, is making a law that says you and I have to purchase a product offered by a heavily regulated by the government, and therefore the party. The coverage offered by carriers will be limited to plans deemed to be acceptable by the government, and therefore the party. The carriers will only be permitted to make a certain amount of money, and you and I will be required to purchase coverage that enables those carriers to make what profit the government and party has decreed an acceptable return on their capital.

This is the product of a wicked world view that sees all people as inherently good: all people, that is, except for producers. The people with this vision toss around terms like “rights,” and say that people have a right to whatever good thing the government/party wants to bestow. In this case, we are told that people have the right to affordable healthcare. No one bothers asking where this right came from. Moreover, nobody has bothered to ask why I have a duty to ensure that a nonproducer enjoys this right.

But such is the nature of entitlement programs. Producers pay money to the government under the threat of imprisonment to provide for nonproducers. (Keep in mind, one can make good arguments for this type of distribution, but those arguments always involve taking from producers and giving to nonproducers.)

The far more troubling aspect of this legislation is it forces the producer to transfer money, not to the government, but to a private company that sells insurance. It will be the law. You will have to pay money to a company whether you want its product or not, and the government will make you do that because 220 years ago a document was ratified by the several states that entitled a fledgling government to regulate interstate commerce. Once the government, under the auspices of conveying to you the right to healthcare, can force you to pay money to a private company, then it can force you to pay money to ACORN to ensure everyone’s ability to exercise suffrage.

The Altruistic Darwinian

2010-01-09T10:40:00.003-06:00

The altruistic Darwinian is like a toothless, old lion, an emasculated fool, an intellectual coward who lacks the courage or strength to live the life his philosophy demands. He boasts the theory "nature red in tooth and claw," yet in his social and political relationships he espouses altruism, the vaporous idea that a violent and egocentric universe allows for human compassion. At best he can argue that, like a pride of lions, the human pack must act in unison for its own protection and well being. That works well for women, perhaps, since prides are predominantly female with a distant male or two in the distance to breed often and kill occasionally. But such a pitiful analogy breaks down when another lion comes, a new sire, a new king, a new lord who will chase away the old lion, or gnash his jugular, and kill his cubs. Then the women, the pride, just cower in fear and willingly submit to a new king, altruistic indeed!

"Nothing is evil about the killing of an old lion or his cubs. Nothing is evil about the self-interested surrender of the fickle and fearful lioness to a new breeder; in fact, she naturally prefers the stronger male. Nothing is evil about death, or violence (violence is not "viol" in such a world), or seduction, or promiscuity, or infanticide. It's all natural," so it goes.

The altruistic Darwinist cannot abide the comparison, imagining that at least some among the human species, especially those of his ilk, have somehow evolved a benign benevolence towards their fellow apes. Presuming the relativity and therefore the ultimate worthlessness and meaninglessness of any Darwinian theory of good and evil; presuming the intellectual fodder called "altruism"; and presuming the immutable natural laws of "survival of the fittest" and random selection, the altruistic Darwinist must be, will be, and should be eaten alive by the very evolutionary theory he propounds, unless, of course, he admits that, if not among lions, then among humans, killing out of self-interest is Evil. But then the altruistic Darwinist shall be eaten alive again, for by the acknowledgement of Evil, he tacitly acknowledges Good.

Question: What is thy only comfort in life and death?

2009-12-15T19:07:00.004-06:00

Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

Heidelberg Catechism

The Dung Paddle

2009-12-07T04:28:00.007-06:00

Thou shalt have a place also without the camp,
whither thou shalt go forth abroad:
And thou shalt have a paddle upon thy weapon;
and it shall be, when thou wilt ease thyself abroad,
thou shalt dig therewith, and shalt turn back
and cover that which cometh from thee

Deuteronomy 23:12-13

As the Israelites marched through the Wilderness of Sin, YHWH dictated a special command to the Israeli soldiers when they reconnoitered enemies or marched into battle. Among their weaponry and tools, YHWH instructed the warriors to carry with them a dung paddle or spade. If a soldier needed to relieve himself, he was to go outside the camp, dig a hole for his dung, and then cover it with dirt. No doubt this command implies both practical and ethical meaning, the former hygienic and the latter symbolic. In truth YHWH's army still marches through the Wilderness of Sin, and we still need our dung paddles.

When I was a headmaster, I used the dung paddle as an illustration to teach my faculty and staff how to get rid of, well, let's just call it "dung," anything that polluted the school environment: gossip, unkindness, criticism, anger, triteness, foolishness, superficiality, wasted time, foolish words, bad ideas, and anything else that "stunk": "If its dung," I would tell them, "get rid of it, bury it, cover it up, and certainly do not bring it to me." This applies to all professions, and everyone who works with other human beings knows how one's own and others' "dung" fouls the environment. "dung" also pollutes every imaginable setting: families, churches, social networks, etc. We might not always understand it, but we know it when we smell it (:>).

So let every soldier remember - that strange contraption hanging by your sword, the dung paddle, is there for a reason. You will need it often, probably every day, so use it. Get the stuff out of your camp, get rid of it, bury it, forget it, and march on.

Hope, the Forgotten Grace

2009-12-02T10:22:00.003-06:00

Of the three Christian graces delineated by Paul—Faith, Hope, and Love—Hope is least explored and most misunderstood. Appropriately, though seldom accurately, preachers preach much, and Christians think much, about Love. Love is the apex of triangular grace, faith and hope in their proper places as subordinate co-equals.

After Love, Faith is oftened preached and discussed, unless one is a holy-roller, and then Faith is perverted and proffered in a thousand wicked ways. Even more orthodox settings contemplate faith at only superficial levels, viz, faith is an ambiguous wish that things will get better, or faith is something I do. The truth is that Faith, as a transformative experience, is a miraculous and sovereign “gift of God” or, as Paul calls Faith, “the fruit of the Spirit,” the Holy Spirit being the root and branch of the fruit, Faith. Theologically, genuine Faith is objectified by divine revelation, “faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God”; that is, one errs to think of faith as a wishful want or a wiggle of the will. Faith is neither ambiguous nor mysterious but rather always illuminated by “thus saith the Lord.” The Word objectifies Faith, to which legitimate spiritual experience tangibly attests. Faith as wishing and willing is probably the byproduct of confusing Faith with Hope.

Unlike Faith, which may always be objectifed in light of divine revelation and certifiable spiritual experience, Hope is more ethereal, transcendent, and mysterious. Faith confirms revelation, and revelation confirms Faith, but Hope arises in the heart and reaches beyond the known into the unknown, “hope that is seen, is not hope.” But Hope does not reach into a void. While Faith embraces the Word of God, Hope embraces the nature of God, particularly the Goodness of God. Hope may not have “a word from the LORD” about this or that, but Hope knows that God is Great, and that God is Good, and therefore Hope is like “an anchor of the soul,” securing and stabilizing the soul, especially in dark tempests and stormy waters. Hope may not see a guiding star or harbor light, but Hope knows her Captain’s hand is upon the rudder no matter the gale.

The Spiritual Intellect

2009-11-11T08:46:00.002-06:00

All the duties of the Law, and all the beauties of grace, hang upon two commandments: love thy neighbor as thyself, and love Yahweh Elohim with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. Ironically, not only the duties and beauties of the law and grace hang on those commandments but we hang on them as well, or should I say we’re hung on them, hung because we perpetually fail to love as the law and grace demand. The only person who ever loved perfectly, Jesus Christ, proved His love by actually hanging upon a rugged tree, the law and grace hanging with Him there in Love.

Daily we fail ethically and emotionally at the duties and beauties of Love; infamously, we fail even worse when we acknowledge that both the law and grace command us to love Yahweh Elohim with all our minds. From both psychological and theological perspectives, “the mind” refers to volition (will), sanction (conscience), and contemplation (intellect).

Although the concept of “mind” as rational intellect is not immediately obvious to the original instance of “love Yahweh Elohim . . . with all thy heart,” but rather implicit to the word leb, usually translated “heart,” nonetheless, leb does comprehend rational intellect and, therefore, inherent to the commandment is what one might call an implicit duty to love God with one’s mind. The LXX translators either did not choose to emphasize this intellectual dimension of love or perhaps overlooked the intellectual aspect of leb, but all three synoptic writers amended the insufficient LXX rendering to include an intellectual responsibility to love God with one’s mind; for instance, both Matthew and Luke add the term dianoia, and Mark even more emphatically employs the term suneseos, “understanding” or “comprehension.” Hence, despite the LXX oversight, both the Masoretic text and the GNT strongly emphasize the importance of loving God with one’s “mind” or “understanding,” viz., spiritual intellect. That begs the question, “How does one love God with the mind or understanding?”

To answer first, to love God with one’s mind, one should use his/her mind. It sounds like a cliché, “use your mind,” but St. Paul instructs that, whatever we do, should be done passionately, and that includes thinking. We might add that serious thinking usually requires some external stimulus to the brain. A really good book, not necessarily an entertaining one, is perhaps the best external source for intellectual stimulation.

Secondly, to love God with all one’s mind includes a high responsibility to sanctify the mind from the vulgar, mundane, and commonplace, and ennoble the mind through aesthetically transcendent contemplation. Of course, most of us do not live in a monastery so that we can devote 18 hours per day to the study of scripture, but rather we find ourselves thrust out into the cruel streets of secular chaos as cosmic orphans; in that sad estate, we must learn to look past the sewage in the streets, through the polluted atmosphere that surrounds us, and find roses among thorns, lilies in the thickets, and rainbows in the thunder. Art, literature, and music, especially of the classical and secular sort, are like beams of light through the darkness that, although they will not take us to heaven, certainly can make us feel (and think) that we are on the way. This duty to transcendence also demands that we learn to turn every conversation heavenward, not that we should aim to quote a Bible verse every time we engage in conversation, but rather that we should endeavor to make every conversation more meaningful, always leading conversants away from discussion of persons and events to interesting ideas and, hopefully, some affirmation of absolute truth. The ability to converse in a meaningful manner is both a science and art, learned by very few, and one that every thinking individual, Christian or otherwise, should endeavor to cultivate within himself.

Of course, the highest ennoblement of the mind derives from meditation upon Holy Scripture, whereby the will is restrained and redirected to absolute good, the conscience enlightened with righteousness, and the intellect charmed and transfigured by contemplating “things above.” This dimension of loving God with one’s mind necessarily demands intensive study of Holy Scripture, the only completely reliable source of our knowledge of the Divine. The study of Holy Scripture augmented and energized by the didactic ministry of God the Holy Spirit, actually reveals to us the person and nature of the Godhead whom, if we know, we shall adore, that is, love. In addition, if we love God, we shall love those made in his image, even if they, like ourselves, are damaged and scarred by the ravages of sin. Again, Jesus Christ is our example, “a friend for sinners.”

The King's Jewels

2009-11-06T11:04:00.003-06:00

The King’s Jewels
An Allegory of Love, Loss, and Love
Dedicated to the little children of
The First Baptist Church of Parker, Texas

Once upon a time, but not so long ago, and in a place not so far away, a kindhearted King dwelt in a beautiful, ivory castle high upon a snowcapped mountain peak. Within the exquisite white castle, the King and the royal family lived blissfully, their days filled with delectable sights, sounds, and smells. Majestic peacocks strolled the castle lawn, spreading their iridescent[1] tail feathers like Japanese fans of turquoise[2] and jade.[3] A symphony of pipes and harps and singers echoed through the palace chambers and great halls, charming every ear and cheering every heart. And the sweet aroma of freshly baked vanilla cherry-cakes, the King’s delight, always filled the air.

From atop the ivory castle rose two majestic spires, penetrating the clouds like an elephant’s tusks through cotton candy. Every dawn stained the castle as pink as a possum’s nose, but when the sun rose higher and higher, the castle’s whiteness shone brighter and brighter until, at noon, when the sun was at his zenith,[4] the alabaster[5] castle glistened like a colossal[6] snowflake. From the mountain’s northern slope undulated[7] a vast and placid sea, cerulean[8] and smooth like liquid sapphire. South of the mountain, an emerald forest carpeted the landscape to the far horizon.

One fair and sunny morning, after his breakfast of vanilla cherry-cakes and steaming hot cinnamon cider, the kindly King called his faithful squire, “Saddle the big white, for today I shall ride into the green forest.”

“Yes, your majesty,” said the obedient squire, as he rose to make his way to the King’s stable.

The King had many beautiful horses of different breeds and radiant coats—a golden palomino; a shiny, black Arabian; a dappled mare of ginger and white—but the King’s favorite steed was the white stallion, which he called “Kareese” because of his graceful gait. “Your Majesty,” said the squire, “Kareese is saddled and bridled, awaiting my lord’s boot and spur.”

“Well done, good squire,” the King replied. TaKing the bridle in hand, the King mounted Kareese, his black boot catching the stirrup and lifting him astride the shining stallion. With a gentle nudge of the King’s boot heel, Kareese reared his front legs heavenward and then bolted suddenly toward the forest. Past the flower-laden palace grounds, then clippety-clop across the wooden bridge o’er the crystal moat, the King and Kareese galloped into the verdant[9] forest. “Steady, boy, steady,” said the King to Kareese, tugging the bridle to slow the steed from a gallop to a lope, and then from a lope to a slow and graceful trot. The King delighted in the sounds and sights of the green forest—the symphony of singing birds; the gentle whisper of the wispy wind waving the leaves and branches; the butterflies’ delicate dance; the squirrels’ nervous jerKing and darting; and the hippity-hop, hide-and-seek of frightened cottontails that bounded away at the sound of Kareese’s hoof beats.

After about an hour’s ride, Kareese and the King came upon a sudden opening in the forest, a quiet meadow laced with yellow crocus.[10] In the middle of the meadow, the King espied[11] something he had never seen before, a wooden cabin with a brick chimney that blew grey smoke into the opalescent[12] sky. “Whoa, Kareese!” said the King, as they stopped within the forest at the meadow’s edge. “Let us see what we have here, and whom.” The King observed the little cabin for only a few moments, and then suddenly the squeaky cabin door swung open and a young man stepped outside. The King supposed that the young man must be quite poor because of his run-down cabin, and when the young man emerged from his little shack, the King was then certain of his poverty. The pauper’s chemise[13] was a patchwork of raggedy scraps from several old shirts he had sewn together to make a “new” one. The old shirt remnants, now interlaced as one, wove a hodgepodge of unpredictable color that made the pauper look as if he were a silly clown. His dingy, grey britches were likewise worn and tattered, but at least they were all of one color, except for the dark-blue patches on the knees. As for his hat, neither a vagabond nor a tramp would have worn that old ugly bonnet. The hat’s brown rim, once a perfect circle, now formed a dirty, crooked halo around the pauper’s head, the rats having gnawed and chewed the brim here and there. A dark sweat-stain circled the hatband all around, a sure sign of tiresome days spent toiling in last summer’s heat. The hat’s dome was rumpled and crumpled with a hole right in the middle, just big enough to rob the pauper of summer shade and winter warmth.

The King watched as the poor man fetched his sharp hoe and heavy axe to begin the day’s hard labor in the chilly morning breeze, hoeing the soil and planting his seed in hopes of a harvest of barley and beans in the distant autumn. After tending his garden, the pauper felled[14] a tree with his great axe, and then set about chopping the limbs and trunk into pieces of firewood small enough for his fireplace so that he might warm his hands and feet in the hoarfrost[15] spring. As the King studied the pauper at his heavy chores, the King’s heart stirred with compassion. “Poor man,” said he, “poor man, toiling all day for such a meager life. Poor man, poor man, indeed.” Then the King gently tugged at Kareese’s bridle, turning the stallion’s neck away from the young pauper in the meadow and toward the ivory castle high atop the great mountain by the azure[16] sea.

Soon the King and Kareese galloped through the palace gate to the stable where the squire awaited the King’s return. “Noble squire,” said the King, “Wipe him down and cover him with a warm blanket; then feed him a healthy portion of the best oats in the granary. I shall ride him again tomorrow.” At this word, the King remembered the poor fellow in the crocus[17] meadow, and thought to himself, “My stallion Kareese fares better than the young pauper. Shall a King treat a horse better than a man? How could a good King, a caring King, suffer a loyal subject to shiver and suffer in the shadow of the castle?” Upon this word the King’s tender heart stirred with pity, and thus the compassionate King resolved to return to the pauper’s cabin the next day. Indeed, the King did return the next day, and the day after that, and four more days again to observe the poor pauper.

On the seventh day, dawn’s rosy fingers spread across the heaven as the King and Kareese arrived once again at the lonely cabin in the yellow meadow. Just like every day before, the charcoal chimney-smoke swirled into the sky. Soon the creaky door swung wide and out stepped the poor pauper, ready for another day’s hard labor. At this sight, the King gently nudged Kareese to a fancy trot. At first, the pauper did not notice the King’s approach, but the gentle thud of hoof beats approaching on the grass, and the sudden sound of a strange voice summoned the poor man’s head to see the King astride the sallow[18] steed loping towards him.

“Hail,” said the King. “Knowest thou who I am?”

“Nay, sir, I know thee not,” the pauper replied, “but I see from thy fair carriage and lordly manner that thou must be a nobleman.”

“I am,” said the King, “and more than a nobleman. I am your King.” At this word the pauper dropped his hoe, fell upon his knees, and bowed to the ground before the King.

“My lord,” said he, “forgive thy humble servant. I knew thee not.”

“I forgive thee,” said the King with gentle smile. “Arise, and stand upon thy feet.” The pauper rose but kept his head bowed low in the presence of his King.

“What brings thee here, My King, here to this humble hovel and to such a poor man as I?”

Replied the King, “I have come with something in my hand, something for you.”

“For me, my lord?”

“Yes, for you. Seize the bit while I dismount.” Obeying the King’s command, the pauper’s calloused hand grasped the silver bit in Kareese’s mouth. Dismounting, the King said, “Strap him there,” pointing to a stripling cedar just outside the cabin door. The pauper dutifully obeyed and tied Kareese’s bridle to the little cedar. “Farmer, what is thy name?” asked the King.

“I am Ben Goodson,” said the pauper.

"It is a good name,” replied the King. “Ben Goodson, seven days ago I rode my great white stallion from the mountain castle to this fair meadow. I came upon your cabin, and watched you labor so hard to cultivate your ground and chop your wood. This I did every day until today, the seventh day. I vow you are a faithful man, faithful to his work, and thus faithful to your King. Ben Goodson,” the King continued, “today I bring something in my hand, something for you.” At this word, the King ungloved his hand and reached for a deerskin satchel strung astride Kareese’s saddle. Loosening its leather strands, the King reached inside the purse and drew out something in his clenched fist. Ben wondered to himself, “What can this be, this thing in the King’s hand for me?”

“Ben,” said the King, “This is for you.” As the King’s fist unfolded, a dart of light struck Ben’s eye so brightly that he had to blink and turn away. “Look here,” said the King. Ben looked again and, to his amazement, glittering in the King’s palm was a magnificent blue diamond, reflecting the morning sunlight with rainbow arrows jutting and darting from the diamond’s every facet, cut, and corner. “Ben, this is for you.”

“My King!” Ben exclaimed in disbelief, “this jewel for me!”

“Yes, Ben, for you, from the castle coffers. But, Ben,” the King cautioned, “while you may use this blue diamond to your good, you must remember that the jewel is mine. I loan it to you just for a little while, but it belongs to me, your King. You may share the jewel’s beauty and value with your family and friends, you may use it as you will to prosper, and you may adore its radiant beauty, but you must also remember that, as I now bequeath to you this shining stone, I shall one day take it again unto myself.”

“My lord,” said Ben, “thank you. You have made me a rich man, if only for a day.”

“Remember, Ben,” the King cautioned, “the diamond is yours to use to good purpose, but mine to keep when the palace treasury demands.”

“I will remember,” Ben said. At this word, the King embraced Ben, bid him farewell, and mounted Kareese. Again, the King’s spur nudged the stallion’s flank, and Kareese bolted away from the cabin toward the royal forest. Just before he disappeared into the forest, the King reigned Kareese to a sudden stop, whirling around for one last look at loyal Ben. Kareese reared high, his silver mane rippling in the sunlight, as the King’s elegant hand waved a wide “goodbye” to the faithful pauper, now made rich by the King’s favor. “Farewell, Ben,” shouted the King, “Farewell! Remember, the blue diamond is yours to use, but mine to keep.” A tear came to Ben’s eye as he watched the King and Kareese disappear into the forest. The King’s voice echoed in Ben’s ear, “Farewell! Remember, yours to use, mine to keep.”

From that day forward Ben Goodson was a rich man, rich because of the King’s kindness. The blue diamond secured favor to Ben from everyone he knew, and brought prosperity to everything he did. If Ben needed food or clothing from the grocer or haberdasher,[19] he simply showed the blue diamond, and all his needs were supplied. Ben used the precious stone to purchase more land so that his little farm became a great estate. With the jewel Ben bought tools, stones, and lumber to build himself a fine manor house fit for a lord of the realm. Most importantly, Ben used the diamond to do good to other paupers, to be kind to them as the King had been kind to him, to help them when they needed help, to give to them when they needed something, and to comfort them when they were sad, sick, or lonely. The King’s gracious gift taught Ben how to love: how to love others, how to love the King for his loving-kindness, and even how to love the blue diamond for its beauty and goodness. Because of the blue diamond, everyone who knew Ben Goodson admired him as one so favored by the King. “How kind,” said they, “How benevolent, that the great King would bestow such favor on a poor pauper and make him a rich man by this beautiful blue diamond from the royal treasury, delivered by the King’s own hand.”

In this happy estate Ben lived for a very long time, rejoicing in the King’s favor, and in adoration of the blue diamond. But Ben had forgotten something, something very important. Many years would pass before Ben would remember the King’s words, “yours to use, mine to keep.”

***************************************************************

In the thirty-fourth year of Ben’s possession of the blue diamond, Ben’s servant knocked upon the master chamber door and said, “My lord, a messenger awaits outside and asks for you.”

“For me?” Ben replied.

“Yes, my lord. He asks for Ben Goodson.”

Ben rose from his soft leather chair and walked across his fine rug of scarlet wool to the foyer door. Pulling the brass latch and opening the door, Ben gasped at what he saw—six soldiers of the Royal Guard, the King’s choicest men, astride their fearsome chargers, clad in armor full, and the King’s ensign[20] flying above them, a golden lion rising in a crimson field.

“Ben Goodson,” said the Captain of the Guard.

“I am he,” Ben replied.

“Ben Goodson, we are here on a matter pertaining to His Majesty the King.”

“God bless my King,” said Ben “and what is his matter?”

“Ben Goodson, thou hast something that belongs to the King, and he has sent me to require it of thee this day and at once.” At this word Ben’s heart fell, as he remembered the King’s caution, “Yours to use, mine to keep.” Every room in the manor house seemed to echo the King’s words, “Yours to use, mine to keep. Yours to use, mine to keep.” In his mind’s eye Ben looked back upon that blessed day when the King had given him the gift. Ben’s eyes blinked again as he thought of the radiance with which the blue diamond shone when the King unfolded his palm. Ben remembered Kareese’s flowing mane and elegant hooves rearing on the edge of the emerald forest, the King’s hand waving that gracious farewell, and the King’s voice, “Yours to use, mine to keep.” The King’s words had seemed so gentle then, so kind, so compassionate, but now those words were sharp as arrows in Ben’s bleeding heart. “Can it be?” he asked himself, and then turning to the Captain, “Can it be true that the King requires such a difficult thing of me, that I should return the blue diamond?”

The Captain replied, “Ben Goodson, it is difficult only as far as you have forgotten that everything you possess comes from your lord, the King. It is difficult if you did not truly take the King at his word, that what you have is yours to use but his to keep. Now, Ben Goodson, subject of His Majesty, the King, be about the King’s business, and do the thing His Majesty bids you. Fetch the blue diamond, and we shall bring it anon[21] to the King.”

Ben slowly closed the door and walked away, asKing himself again, “Could it be? Yes,” he thought, “it could be,” and then, “No, not ‘it could be,’ but ‘it is.' The King has been true to his word. It was mine to use, but his to keep.”

Though very sad, Ben knew that he must surrender the precious jewel to the King. Walking to his fireplace mantle, Ben reached for the black velvet ring-box in which he kept the blue diamond. Opening the box, Ben looked at his most valued treasure for one last time. ”Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for the happiness you have brought me. Thank you for the love you have taught me. Thank you for the riches you have bought me.” Of course, the blue diamond did not reply except to refract and reflect the firelight in Ben’s tears. “Thank you,” he said once more, and then enclosed the diamond in its dark sarcophagus. Obedient to his King’s command, Ben walked through his house and out the door where the Royal Guard awaited him. “Here,” said Ben, lifting his hand to the Captain and handing him the black box. “Here,” Ben said again, “It was mine to use, but is now the King’s to keep.”

“Is this the blue diamond loaned to you from the King’s own hand?” the Captain asked.

“Yes,” Ben said.

“Well done, loyal subject,” said the Captain. “We must be about the King’s business.” With one jerk of the bridle, the Captain turned his horse around and spurred him twice in the flank. The other cavalrymen followed suit, and Ben watched as the Royal Guard galloped down the lane toward the King’s ivory palace atop the high mountain, waving above them the scarlet ensign with golden lion rising. “Farewell, fair jewel, farewell,” said. Ben. “Thou wert mine for awhile, but thou art the King’s forever.”

Though resigned to the King’s will and submissive to his decree, Ben sorrowed greatly for his loss. The blue diamond had filled Ben’s heart with joy, his mind with sweetness, and his soul with love, but now those graces, like doves in winter, had flown away. In their absence, those darkling ravens that feed upon men’s hearts—sadness, bitterness, and lovelessness—overshadowed Ben’s mind and nestled in his soul. The sun, once golden, burned brazen, every dawn an opaque[22] veil, every sunset a welcomed corridor to shady eve. The silver moon was tarnished, the stars of heaven dim within midnight’s ebony shroud. Ben’s servants and friends wept for his anguish and wondered, “What will become of Ben? The blue diamond is gone, and with it Ben’s happiness.”

“I think he will retreat to his manor house,” said one.

“Oh, no,” said another, “I think he will return to his humble cabin in the meadow.”

And others, “He will disappear” or “He will surely die, for he has lost his heart.”

Even Ben did not know what he would do. He spent his days in sweet memory of what was, and mournful regret of what would be nevermore. Nevermore would he gaze upon the diamond’s beauty, nevermore admire it, nevermore adore it, nevermore hold it in his hand. Ben surveyed everything and everyone around him: “Nothing now, all these possessions, all these persons, nothing to me now, nothing. The jewel made them beautiful and valuable, but now they are dreadful and hollow to me, lost and gone like the precious jewel that once shone her glories upon my world, making everything beautiful, and bringing to me every good thing.”

But Ben was wrong in his sorrow, and errant about his true estate. Yes, the blue diamond had beautified Ben’s world, and had indeed been a source of all good things to Ben. In truth, though, the jewel had been only the temporal and immediate occasion of Ben’s happiness, but the original and ultimate cause of every good thing in Ben’s life, and every hard thing, was the King. This lesson Ben would soon learn, for his teacher was near.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Unbeknownst[23] to Ben, the King’s compassionate eye had never turned away from Ben, the King’s benevolent hand never folded. The wise and kindly King had observed Ben throughout his possession of the blue diamond, observed his joy, his love, his goodness to other paupers, his prosperity, and his adoration of the jewel. But from the beginning the King had purposed to show Ben the jewel’s goodness and then, by taking the jewel from him, to remind Ben of the King’s sovereignty in the matter, and of the King’s favor as the first and final cause of Ben’s happiness. Eventually that moment came, when Ben’s heart had become too fixed on the blue diamond, and not fixed enough upon the King, when the King said to himself, “It is time, time to teach Ben the lesson of the Palace Treasury – ‘yours to use, mine to keep.’” Upon that premise the King sent his Captain with Five to retrieve the diamond from Ben’s possession. Little did Ben know that, as he placed the precious stone in the Captain’s hand, in the distance and just within the forest tree line, the King watched the transaction, watched Ben open the door, watched Ben’s countenance fall at the Captain’s word, watched Ben fetch the jewel, watched Ben surrender his treasure to the Captain, watched the Royal Guardsman gallop away, and watched Ben as he bade farewell to the diamond. Neither did Ben know that, every day since he had surrendered the blue diamond, the King had saddled Kareese early, ridden through the palace grounds, crossed the crystal moat, and traveled through the forest to observe Ben’s every action and listen to his every word. The King knew Ben’s sorrow and despair, knew his heart’s pain and, just like the first time he saw the pauper, the King yet had great compassion upon Ben. But the King was resolute that Ben should learn the lesson: the King, not the fair jewel, was Ben’s ultimate source of everything good in his life and, moreover, the King was the source of everything difficult in Ben’s life for Ben’s own good, even Ben’s surrender of the blue diamond. “Ben must learn to right his affections,” said the wise and kindly King, “to be loyal unto me in all things and at all times, especially in the hardest things and the most difficult times. But how,” the King asked himself, “how shall I know that Ben has learned that lesson of loyalty at all times, and obeisance and obedience to the King in all things?” The King resolved upon a plan.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Noble Squire.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

"Do you remember the old beggar whom we found distressed in the Royal Wood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I remember.”

“As I recall, squire, we fed him, nursed him to health, clothed him in new apparel, and sent him on his way with a purseful of coins.”

“That is true, my Lord. Your kindness saved him.”

“Well, then squire, what of his old ragged clothing? What happened to those?”

“My Lord, methinks the beggar’s clothes are still in the laundry.”

“Washed?”

“No, not washed, for the maid intends to burn them.”

“Burn them! Hasten, squire! Forbid it now! Fetch the old beggar’s dirty clothes and bring them forthwith to my chamber.”

“At thy word, my King, it shall be done.”

While the dutiful squire sped away to do the King’s bidding and bring the beggar’s rags, the King retired himself to his chamber. There he walked to his mahogany bookcase, and raised his hand to the seventh shelf. From the shelf the King removed a leather-bound book, but it was not a book; it only looked like a book. It was in fact the King’s . . . "

A voice broke the silence, “My Lord?”

“Yes, Squire?”

“My Lord, I have the old beggar’s clothes.”

“One moment,” said the King, as he returned the book that was not a book to its rightful place of honor on the seventh shelf.

“Enter squire, and put the beggar’s dirty clothes on my valet.”

“But my Lord, they are filthy!”

“Yes, but clean to my purpose,” said the King. “Put them there and leave.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“And one more thing, squire, what of the old beggar’s mule? Is it stabled?”

“Not stabled, Sire, but pastured.”

“Pastured near?” asked the King.

“Aye, pastured near, my Lord.”

“Then fetch the mule as well, and tack him with a rope halter but no saddle. And do not question me.”

“Yes, my King.”

At the squire’s departure, the King disrobed himself. Then he did something passing strange for a King, as he would do many things passing strange on this day. He raked a cool piece of coal from the hearth, and rubbed it together in his hands until they were black with soot. Then he raised his hands to his face and scribbled the charcoal on his forehead, his ears, his nose, his cheeks, and his white beard, now mottled with grey coal dust. The King also rubbed his arms until they, too, were dirty, and he muffled his hair so that he looked as if he had neither washed nor combed it for a year.” Finally, he adorned the old beggar’s filthy clothes. Then the King espied himself in his mirror and said, “Beautiful! Perfect! Brilliant!”

A solid rap on the chamber door was followed by a voice, “My lord, the mule is ready with rope halter and no saddle.”

“Perfect!” said the King as he emerged from his royal chamber. Upon sight of the King, the squire startled back in disbelief, drew his sword, and cried, “Halt! Who art thou? Knowest thou not this is His Majesty’s chamber? To your knees, swine, else you’ll feel my steel!”

“The disguised King laughed out loud and said, “Fear not, loyal squire, it is I, your King.”

At the King’s voice the squire collapsed on the oaken floor and sighed, “I drew upon my King. Woe is me!”

The King laughed again and said, “Good Squire, thou drewest because thou lovedst me much, and would lay down thy life for me, but it is I, your King. Worry not. I am not mad but, to the contrary, happy in my state and mission. Take me to the swayback mule. If we encounter anyone in the palace, say nothing. Now, to the mule.”

Recovering his composure, the squire led the King, encountering no one, through the palace to the swayback mule. “I fear he will kick and buck, my Lord.”

“Then he shall know a King’s foot.”

But the mule didn’t buck. He was too old, and too fat from the King’s barley. In fact he was quite gentle at the King’s touch, so the King mounted him with no difficulty.

“Squire, I am on a special mission today, and thus this disguise. See that you tell no one. I shall return ere Venus rises.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Then the King gently spurred the mule, which was stubborn at first, but with a second spur to the flank the mule ambled off to find Ben Goodson. Never did a King look so humble, or so humorous, as this King in beggar’s clothes upon a swayback mule. But the King’s disguise was necessary for the King’s purpose to seek out Ben and to teach him the lesson of the Palace Treasury, “yours to use, mine to keep.” First the King drove the mule to Ben’s manor house, the beautiful estate that Ben owned because of the blue diamond. Outside the manor house door, the King dismounted the mule, walked to the door, and knocked politely. Immediately Ben’s manservant answered, though with some shock at the dirty beggar that stood before him.

“Sir,” said the manservant, “may I help you?” The King, that is, the beggar, replied,

“Indeed, kind sir. I am looKing for one Ben Goodson who, I understand, lives in this manor.”

“And what business do you have with Master Goodson?” asked the manservant, who could not imagine what business a dirty beggar such as this could have with his master.

“I have something for him,” said the beggar-King.

“And what is it that you have for Master Goodson?”

“It is a private matter,” said the beggar-King, pertinent only to him and me.

“Sir,” the manservant said politely, “The master is away and has put me in charge of his affairs. I can receive the thing in his name.”

"Thank you, but no,” replied the beggar-King. “I must speak directly with Ben Goodson. You say that Master Goodson is away? I prithee, tell me where.”

“I cannot tell you, sir, for he does not want to be disturbed. He has suffered a great loss, something most precious to him has been taken from him, and he desires to be alone,” said the manservant.

“Alone?” asked the King, “then he must be at his cabin in the golden meadow.”

“Sir, I cannot say, only that Master Goodson desires to be alone. As I told you, he charged me to attend his affairs, and you can trust me to receive the thing in his name.”

“No,” said the King. “I shall go to him.”

“Sir, leave him undisturbed, I implore you. I spoke of his great loss, and for that I would that you would respect his solitude.”

“Aye,” said the beggar-King. “I know of his great loss, and my purpose is to encourage him despite that loss. I respect your desire to protect your master, but my purpose is higher than your protection warrants. I will be off now. Methinks he dwells in his cabin, and I shall find him there. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Sir, I say again,” said the manservant, “please leave him alone.”

“Thank you,” said the King, walking back to the swayback mule and mounting for a ride to the cabin in the yellow meadow.

“After about another hour’s journey, the King and the mule came upon the yellow meadow where lay Ben’s cabin, but Ben was nowhere to be seen. The King dismounted, walked to the cabin door, and knocked thrice. A voice came from inside, “Who is there?”

The King replied, “It is I, sir, a beggar, seeking for one Ben Goodson.”

“Go away,” said Ben.

“Ben Goodson?” the King inquired.

Within the cabin Ben stirred at the sound of the stranger’s voice, but it was a voice not so strange to Ben. He thought he had heard that voice before, but he could not remember whose voice it was. “Go away,” he said again.

“Ben Goodson,” said the King, “I am a beggar, but I am not here to beg. I am hear to seek Ben Goodson, and to speak to him of the blue diamond.”

When Ben heard the words “blue diamond,” his heart leapt within him. “A beggar at my door,” he wondered, “here to speak with me about the blue diamond? What has a beggar to do with that?” Only one thing could have made Ben rise from his chair to meet a stranger, the mention of the blue diamond. As Ben opened the door, his eyes fell upon the unsightly beggar, ragged and filthy, with the swayback mule tied to a large cedar just outside the door. “I say, man,” Ben inquired, “how and what could you know of the blue diamond?”

The beggar-King replied, “The story of the blue diamond, and of your favor and prosperity by its charms, is known throughout the Kingdom. Known also is your great loss, and your great grief that followed. I am come to speak with you about the jewel, and about your loss.”

“What business is that of yours?” Ben asked.

“Sir,” the beggar-King replied, “you see that I am a poor beggar, and I know that you must think that such business is not mine, but I have heard of your kindness to paupers, that you were once yourself a pauper, so I am come today to learn of your kindness, and of your sorrow. Tell me, how came you to be so kind, and now so sorrowful?”

“My kindness was borrowed,” said Ben, “borrowed from the blue diamond. Any goodness in me derived from the jewel, not from myself. As for sorrow, that is all mine.”

“Sir,” said the beggar-King, “how came you to possess the blue diamond?”

“I think you know the answer to your question, sir. The jewel was a gift from the King.”

“A gift, Ben Goodson? Did the King give you the blue diamond?”

“No,” Ben replied, “the King did not give me the blue diamond, but lent it to me awhile for my good. ‘Yours to use, mine to keep,’ the King said.”

“Indeed,” said the beggar-King, “that is the King’s voice. I know it well. But, pray tell me, Ben Goodson, the wealth you acquired, the happiness you knew, and the compassion you learned, came they from the blue diamond, or from the King himself?”

Ben thought for a moment before he replied. The beggar’s question stirred something within him, something he had forgotten, but something he knew to be true. “Sir,” Ben said, “you have made me pause and think anew upon this matter, and aright as well. ‘Tis true, the blue diamond was a source of my happiness, a surety for my wealth, and a means of my compassion upon other paupers such as I, but in truth it was the King’s goodness that made me happy, the King’s kindness towards me that made me rich, and the King’s own compassion for me that made me have compassion upon others, for it was the King himself who bestowed upon me the blue diamond’s value, beauty, and power.”

“Thou hast spoken truly, Ben Goodson,” said the beggar-King, “Indeed, thou hast spoken truly. ‘Twas the King’s goodness towards you, and his compassion for you, that moved him to lend you the jewel. But now, Ben, I ask you another question, Why, if the King desired to bring you goodness and happiness, if the King so loved you, would he take away from you the very thing whereby he gave you goodness and love?”

“I know not why,” said Ben, “except that the jewel was mine to use, and the King’s to keep."

‘That is true, Ben Goodson, yours to use, and the King’s to keep, and the King has been true to his word. But, Ben, have you forgotten why the King gave you the blue diamond? It was because he desired goodness and happiness for you, and love as well. Do you think, sir, that the King’s heart is changed towards you, that he no longer desires your goodness, no longer hopes for your happiness, and no longer wants you to be a man of compassion?”

“I do not know,” said Ben. “All I know is that the King has broken my heart by taking from me the thing most precious to me.”

“Ben, I assure you that the King desires your happiness.”

“Then, why,” Ben asked, “would he take away the very thing that made me happy.”

“Because,” the beggar-King replied, “you forgot the source of your happiness, the King himself who bestowed upon you that jewel of your joy and affections.”

“Yes,” Ben said, “I had indeed forgotten that the King was the true source of my happiness, his blue diamond the occasion. But may I ask you, how does a beggar like you know such a thing about the King?”

“Because I am your King,” said the beggar.

Ben started for a moment with puzzled shock at the beggar’s statement, “I am your King,” for something seemed to ring true in the beggar’s voice. “Thou, my King?” Ben asked.

“Yes, Ben, I your King. I have worn this disguise to test your heart today, to see if you had learned the lesson that your happiness came from the King’s hand, to see if you had learned the lesson, ‘yours to use, and mine to keep.’ You have spoken well, Ben Goodson, in that you have recognized the blue diamond as the occasion of your happiness, but the King as its cause.”

Though many years had passed since Ben heard the King’s voice or saw his face, Ben discerned that he stood in the presence of his royal master. “Forgive me, my King,” Ben said as he dropped to his knees before the King. At that gesture, the King said, “Ben, arise.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ben replied.

“Ben, because you have learned your lesson well, I have something else for you.”

“My lord, I deserve nothing.”

“Quite true,” said the King, “no man deserves anything, not even a King; truly, we are all paupers and beggars. Only ill favor comes with desert; true favor comes to the undeserving, and I have true favor to bestow upon you this day.” Then the King reached into the old beggar’s coat pocket and retrieved something with his hand. “Ben,” said the King, “Stretch forth your hand.” Obedient to the King, Ben stretched forth his hand. The King extended his hands to Ben’s and dropped in Ben’s palm a beautiful black diamond.

“My King, what is this?” Ben exclaimed.

“It is another jewel,” replied the King, “yours to use, mine to keep.”

“Another jewel, my King?”

“Yes, Ben, another jewel, ‘yours to use, mine to keep,’ a jewel from my benevolent hand to yours, a jewel for your good, and for your happiness.”

“But what of the blue diamond, your majesty? Can I not have it back again, or another exactly like it?”

“The blue diamond, Ben, is now a diamond of the crown, its light forever altered and intensified so that it is now called un beau violet.[24] Even if the blue diamond were untransfigured[25] and still retained its pacific hue,[26] none could compare to it, for each diamond shines with its own unique beauty and splendor, whether blue, white, yellow, or black. Every genuine diamond is irreplaceable, incomparable.”

“This black diamond, sir, has it as great a value as the blue diamond?”

“It has perfect value to you, Ben. When you were a young man, you needed the blue diamond to enrich and satisy your life. Now that you are older, the black diamond is my perfect disposition to you. The black diamond possesses its own matchless qualities. Though the most common of all diamonds, only the finest black diamonds can be cut and faceted to shine with splendor. This is such a rare black diamond, Ben, different from the blue, to be sure, but exceptional within its realm. This black diamond is precisely what you need now and for the rest of your life. The blue diamond shone with its own matchless beauty, brilliantly transparent to the eye. The black diamond shines differently, dark and mysterious, but beautiful as well, and twice valuable: valuable first because of its rarity within its realm, and valuable secondly because, like the blue diamond, this black diamond is the King’s gift to you, precisely cut for your good, exactly faceted for your happiness, and brightly polished for you adoration.

“My King, thou art both good and wise, and this black diamond hath indeed charmed my eye in its own magnificent way. Thou has made me rich again.”

“Yes, Ben, I knew that it would charm thine eye, and thus I brought it especially to you. In fact I fetched it from my own chamber, from the book that is not a book, where I keep my most unique jewels for most unique circumstances.” Now use it to your good, whether in houses or estates, or in kindness and graciousness towards you fellow man, but use it well, Ben. Treasure the black diamond, admire it, adore it, and use it to God’s glory and your good. And Ben, always remember, like the blue diamond, this black diamond is from the King’s own hand, ‘yours to use, mine to keep.’ Someday the black diamond, too, will be transfigured and become un beau noire,[27] a diamond in the crown.”

The King then embraced Ben, and whistled twice. From the forest treeline emerged the squire upon a black Arabian, with the white stallion Kareese in bridle tow. The squire brought the King a vase of water to wash, and a royal suit to clothe himself. Once robed and amount, the King fastened his benevolent eye upon Ben. Ben expected to hear the King say, “Yours to use, mine to keep,” but no such words fell from the King’s lips, for he knew that Ben had learned his lesson. The King had better words for Ben on this, the last time, Ben would see the King, “Farewell, Ben Goodson, the King doth love thee, farewell,” then spurred Kareese toward the ivory palace beyond the emerald forest, high atop the great mountain beside the rolling sapphire sea.

[1] shiny
[2] blue
[3] green
[4] highest
[5] white
[6] giant
[7] rolled
[8] blue
[9] green
[10] flowers
[11] saw
[12] multi-colored
[13] shirt
[14] Chopped down
[15] chilly
[16] blue
[17] Yellow
[18] white
[19] Clothier, weaver
[20] flag
[21] quickly
[22] Impenetrable, so as not to allow light
[23] unknown
[24] Purple or, literally, “the beautiful purple”; this is in fact the case with the world’s most famous blue diamond, the Hope Diamond, which, under special lighting, one can observe a most unusual and definitive purple radiance.
[25] unchanged
[26] Peaceful color
[27] Black, lit. – “the beautiful black"

A White Lie

2009-11-02T04:11:00.008-06:00

Everyone knows the phrase; even worse, too many people habitually practice the white lie. Depending upon an individual’s conscience, a white lie may be defined in one of two ways: (1) a “little” lie rationalized by self-interest for convenience’s sake, or, ironically, (2) a lie born of moral necessity and ethical compulsion. One often tells the former kind of white lie, seldom the latter.

The former, a white lie as “a ‘little’ lie rationalized by self-interest for convenience’s sake,” suffices for what the savage herd means by “white lie.” By that definition, three terms are key: “white,” “rationalized,” and “convenience.” “White” implies relative harmlessness, viz., that in certain circumstances “a ‘little’ lie rationalized by self-interest for convenience’s sake” produces less harm than the absolute truth, and so one tells a white lie as “the lesser of two evils,” the other evil being truth. For instance, your boss asks, “How are you coming along on that project?”, and you reply, “It’s coming along well,” when the truth is that you have procrastinated, or you have fallen behind schedule, or you haven’t even begun the task and you say to yourself, “I’ll get it done, but to tell my boss the truth would just create more problems so I will tell him/her a ‘white lie’ to avoid further exacerbation of the problem and thus mitigate potentially unpleasant effects of the absolute truth. If I told the truth, that could make things worse, so I will choose ‘the lesser of two evils’ and tell a 'white lie.'” Another example of “a ‘little’ lie rationalized by self-interest for convenience’s sake” might occur in a familial setting, when the wife asks the husband about how his job is going, or a parent asks a child how he is doing in that difficult class, and the husband replies thusly, “Everything is fine at work,” when in fact things are going downhill, or the child says, “I’m doing better in the class” when he got a “D” on yesterday’s task. Again, such “white lies” stem from self-interest and pain-avoidance, the lie being less painful than the truth, at least in the mind of the one who tells the white lie.

In such examples, one sees easily the meaning of a white lie “rationalized.” The liar contemplates the potentially adverse effects of a lie versus the truth and then makes a decision to lie because, in his judgment, the lie is less harmful than the truth. Such rationalization of the white lie derives from a compromised ethical construct, an intellectual paradigm of a warped conscience from whence springs errant volitional decisions and actions with moral import. In other words, based upon mere human judgment and without any real moral conviction, compulsion, or justification, the liar superimposes his own deficient value judgment upon a white lie versus the truth and rationalizes that to lie is “better” than to tell the truth. The liar imagines that the white lie harms neither the liar nor the person to whom s/he lies and is in fact a protection of the liar.

By the above examples and exposition, a lie is “white” if it protects a person from the undesirable effects of truth. We reiterate, such a white lie derives merely from a self-centered desire to avoid unpleasantness and inherently rests upon no absolute moral grounds to justify the white lie; the white lie is merely a rationalized self-defense mechanism against painful truth.

We should also note that, the more one tells white lies, the easier they roll off the tongue, and the more habitual they become, increasingly debilitating an already compromised conscience until white lies become an ever darkening hue, ever darkening the heart as well. Not everyone who tells a white lie is a pathological liar, but every pathological liar was first a white liar.

The other kind of white lie derives from moral necessity and ethical compulsion. For example, a family of four has been involved in a terrible automobile accident, the father, mother, and big sister having died in the crash while a six-year-old boy’s life hangs in the balance. He is conscious enough to ask the attending physician, “Where’s my Mommy? Where’s my Daddy? Where’s my sister?”, but in the physician’s judgment, the little boy’s critical condition is so fragile that, to tell him, “Your Mommy, Daddy, and big sister are dead,” might threaten the child to the extent that efforts to save his life might be diminished because of the psycho-somatic trauma of the truth. In such a case, the child’s survival constitutes a higher moral necessity and ethical compulsion to protect his life; moreover, the heroic physician has no egocentric interest in, or self-serving interest from the white lie but rather an altruistic motive for the child’s well-being. Both philosophy and theology defend such a white lie.

In philosophical terms, a philosopher who presupposes absolute morality would defend the noble physician who told a white lie to the suffering child. Soren Kierkegaard would designate that doctor as “a knight of infinite resignation,” viz., the physician found himself dangling upon the horns of a dilemma, caught between two conflicting but unequal moral principles: telling the truth, or telling a lie to protect the child psychologically in hopes of saving his life. When conflicting ethical principles converge upon a thinking individual whose mind is ethically tethered to absolute morality, circumstances demand his will to choose one or the other moral principle above the other. The wise moralist not only sees and feels the dilemma but also discerns and acts upon the correct moral principle, not that he chooses the lesser of two evils, but that he chooses the greater of two goods. Corrie Ten Boon was “a knight of infinite resignation” when she lied to the Gestapo to protect innocent Jews, as was Rahab the Harlot, who indeed lied to the Canaanites when they asked, “Have you seen those two spies?” At that moment, Rahab found herself in a moral dilemma: “Do I tell the truth, or do I protect Joshua and Caleb, good men, from evil men?” Rahab made the right decision, choosing the higher of two moral principles. Indeed, the doctor, Corrie Ten Boon, and Rahab told lies that were truly “white.”

So the next time you are tempted to tell a “white lie,” ask yourself, “Am I telling a ‘white lie rationalized by self-interest for convenience’s sake' merely to avoid the painful consequences of truth, or am I truly caught upon the horns of a moral dilemma? Do I see, not inevitable pain and unpleasantness for me because I tell the truth, but do I see two vivid but conflicting moral principles colliding, and do I have the discernment and wisdom to choose the higher and better moral principle and thus become ‘a knight of infinite resignation.'”

Often we find ourselves telling the first kind of white lie, which is not white at all. May God grant us grace, wisdom, and courage if we ever have to tell the second kind of white lie.

The Wine of Love in the Cup of Trust

2009-10-15T10:01:00.001-05:00

In Holy Scripture, wine often symbolizes love. Solomon’s romantic love for the Shunamite supersedes even the finest wine. Our most sacred expression of Messiah’s love for His bride, Holy Communion, commemorates His love with a cup of wine.

Marital love is like fine wine in a delicate cup. That cup is trust. That cup is also fragile, easily broken by the careless hand.

In Greek mythology, Psyche and Cupid drank the wine of love from the cup of trust, but Psyche violated that trust, broke the delicate goblet, and Cupid flew from her. His last words to her were, “Love cannot exist where there is no trust.” The crystal cup was broken, the wine spilled, and Psyche spent the rest of her mournful days wandering in sorrow for those precious things she had broken and wasted, the wine of love in the cup of trust.

Like a crystal glass, trust is not only delicate but also transparent. As a fragile thing, the cup of trust must be handled with great care. As a thing transparent, the cup of trust is swiftly shattered by secrecy, lies, betrayal, and half-truths, ruining the wine of love.

Paul commands husbands to “love your wives, even as Christ loved the church,” meaning that, like Christ Himself, a husband’s love for his wife must be like Christ’s own love, completely dependable, totally trustworthy. Solomon also says of the virtuous woman that “the heart of husband doth safely trust in her.”

We live in a world of shattered glass and spoiled wine. We walk on splintery shards and trod beneath our feet the once fine wine of love, spilled and spoiled by our own careless hands.

Take heed, dear husband and dear wife, the wine of love resides in the cup of trust.

"We all do fade as the leaf"

2009-09-29T11:10:00.003-05:00

Nature’s seasons correspond to the seasons of human life, the child verdant with the sap of spring, the young passionate with summer’s fire, the mature crimson and golden with beauty and wisdom, and the elderly chilled by winter’s breath.

Isaiah’s image is of autumn, perhaps the most beautiful time of year, and the most beautiful time of life. The wasps retreat, the serpents recede, the bear finds her den, the heat abates, the fruits and grain ripen, the harvest comes, and nature robes herself in elegant crimson and gold.

But Isaiah’s words bespeak an autumnal warning.

To the springtime child, autumn is inconceivable. The summery youth thinks the blazing sun will never set. But both the blossoming child and the passionate youth should know that autumn surely comes, and after that, the winter chill.

Those in autumn must know that, despite the beauty around them, the splendor of gold and crimson must inevitably fade to brown and grey, and that any clap of thunder, any lightning flash, any sudden wind, or even a gentle raindrop can snap the leaf and cast it downward, suddenly, and with no remedy.

Isaiah’s contemporary, Jeremiah, saw Israel in her autumn, and mourned for her,

“The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.”

How thankful we should be that grace is always in season.

" O God, save thy springtime child, thy summery youth, for autumn surely comes. Save thy autumn soul, and save even thine own whose brow is kissed by winter’s chilly frost."

Pessimism Unloaded

2009-09-22T21:19:00.008-05:00

Let me provide some redirection for the readers. The point of my previous post was most certainly not to provide an evaluation of the United States government, and it has been grossly misconstrued or misread if it has been interpreted in this way. The point of the piece was to highlight a phenomenon that should be reassuring to the believer - that is, that man is engaged in a constant struggle to combat chaos or degradation - and that the inspiration for this struggle comes from something higher than ourselves.

I did however, provide some personal commentary on the United States in passing comments, which apparently some readers have taken issue with, and I certainly don't mind addressing these concerns.
I have pointed to human government as an example of humanity's attempt to stifle Nature's natural spiral toward chaos. In somewhat fleeting commentary, I alluded to the fact that I am a patriot, because I believe America practices a great deal of military self-restraint, even though she could utilize military force to expand her hold over most of the globe. There has obviously been some opposition to this notion, and rebuttle commentary has gone so far as to claim that the United States' government is "evil." I will address this issue briefly, and then I will revisit it no more, because, as I said before, this discussion is not the intent of my previous piece.

I would like to start with a few simple definitions from Webster's Dictionary:

1. Evil - arising from actual or imputed bad character or conduct.

2. To Govern (verb) - to direct the making and administration of policy; to hold in check.

3. Pessimism - an inclination to emphasize adverse aspects, conditions, and possibilities; the doctrine that reality is essentially evil.

It is my belief, in the case of the United States, that one cannot link #1 and #2 unless #3 is heavily applied to the equation.
Government is man's attempt to provide some sense of order to a community for the benefit of its individuals. This community may be twenty people, or it may be 300 million, as in the case of America. The community's "culture" then develops as a product of its government's adopted policies. I will reiterate my claim here that the constant derision by some U.S. citizens toward American government is "ridiculous," because the culture (again, a direct product of our governing policies) in which we exist affords us lives that are the envy of the world, and the standard by which all other nations are measured. It seems curious that our nation's borders are annually flooded with immigrants (and that Americans virtually never migrate to other lands), if we are an almighty center of evil as some claim. The pessimist will interject here that the reason people come to America is purely for financial gain . . . . . I am not a pessimist. I believe people come because of our culture. Some defining characteristics of our culture are democracy, freedom from oppression, equal treatment under the law, domestic civility, and unlimited educational and professional opportunity. These things are not born of evil. Unfortunately, the lives we lead, which so many across the globe can only dream of, are far too often taken for granted.
I ask the reader here to please take a moment and think of your daily life - your life at work, your life at home, even walking down the street; please think of the "culture" in which you find yourself each and every day, and the simple expectations you harbor (this is the key to my response, because this is what I believe defines "America").

We expect to be treated, at the very least, in a civil manner; it is more often the norm that we are treated with kindness and respect.

We casually walk our streets with a presumption of safety - a luxury which is most certainly not global.

In our professional lives, we assume that if we work hard, we will be rewarded.

It is assumed that regardless of ethnicity or sex, we should be afforded the same opportunities.

Cruelty is not tolerated in our daily lives, and if we on some rare occasion encounter violence, we are, quite simply, horrified.

We feel safe in our beds at night, often taking for granted that our laws that afford us protection are so effectively upheld.

With unlimited educational and professional opportunities, our children have the world at their fingertips, if only they will clasp their hands.

These are just a few examples that provide a picture of the lives most of us lead on a daily basis.

It is extremely important to note here that human collaboration will always be subject to corruption, and America is no exception. The United States government is most certainly, as MP has accurately and honestly pointed out, responsible for atrocities in the past and present, as is any government in world history. My plea to the reader however, is this - let us not forget that her policies have erected a life for her citizens that we should cherish and be grateful for. Our blessings truly abound. This is why I am a patriot. We sit at a blessed feast. We need to recognize that our fellow man who bear the burdens of true "evil" do not enjoy the same blessings afforded to us by American policy and law. It is, and always has been troubling to me, that many of our American brothers who sit with us at this feast cannot cease damning the source from which it comes.

Open your eyes, see your blessings, for they are not the products of evil.

Entropy Reloaded

2009-09-21T12:05:00.001-05:00

Please forgive the new posting. This posting is actually intended as a comment to the posting below (entitled "The Law of Entropy"), but blogger would not allow the entire comment due to length...hence the new posting.

JMB,

Though I find your musings interesting, and want to address them, I think our disagreements are at such a foundational level that I doubt we can have productive discussion (about this) – but we can try. You really need to “take the red pill.”

To start, it’s admirable that you acknowledge that you are “ferociously patriotic”. At least this is on the table and we can acknowledge that you are not dealing from a position of rationality; rather, you have embraced those mythologies which have been ubiquitously foisted upon you your entire life by the principalities and powers that surround you.

You offer no defense of your idea that the modern expression of the United States of America is not a war-mongering, imperialist bully. To the contrary, you offer an ad hominem attack on those who believe otherwise (calling them “leftist nutjobs”, who make “ridiculous claims”).

I, on the other hand could offer myriad examples that would support the idea that it is (i.e., the United States of American is a war-mongering, imperialist bully). Let me just pose a few rhetorical questions.

You have been propagandized to believe that the United States of America is “good” – but how is the legalized mass slaughter of children (through abortion) “good”? How is the prohibitionist “drug-war” which has killed thousands, expended billions of stolen dollars to no appreciable effect, and imprisoned hundreds of thousands of people “good”? How was invasion of Vietnam and the carpet bombing of Cambodia “good”? How were the invasions of Grenada, Haiti, Afghanistan, and Iraq “good”? How were the bombings, the shootings, the tortures “good”?

I submit to you that all of these things were not good at all – rather – they were (and are) evil – heinously, hideously, evil.

My belief is that these evils were perpetrated by an evil principality viz. the United States government, which has so propagandized and deceived men and women – that they will gladly kill, maim and torture for this principality, and even reminisce about the killings with swelling patriotic pride. You should mark this down…America is evil, and America is damned. Please don’t believe the propaganda – and please don’t offer the pathetic defense that Gomorrah is not as bad a place as Sodom; just remember that both of them were burned to the ground.

Of course, our disagreement is even more fundamental. You believe that the natural tendency towards chaos must be restrained. Though this idea appears logical on the surface, a dive beneath must yield the question – “who will restrain it?” The near universal answer (and your answer per your second point applying entropy to humanity) which has been offered in the recorded history of ideas has been “government.” Government will restrain this evil chaos.

I hope you see what a sick joke this is. When men and women buy into this idea, they willingly pull the principalities’ propaganda right over their eyes. The truth is, that rather than restrain evil, or chaos – government manufactures it.

Though I am not yet final in my conclusion, my contemplations thus far have led me to the provisional conclusion that men’s willingness to embrace the principalities propaganda (i.e., the necessity of human governments) is directly proportional to the depth of their understanding of the Christian doctrine of “human depravity” or “fallen-ness.”

If you believe in the doctrine of human depravity, then it follows that human governments are merely power alliances of varied collections of depraved humanity. This being the case – democracies (even “republicanized” democracies like the United States of America) ensure a slide towards the worst case scenario. Depraved humans, especially those who have a great interest in having power over their fellows, compete for the votes of the propagandized masses. Those who are the best deceivers win. Then, because their term is limited (unlike the life-long monarch), they exploit their “officialdom” for gain as quickly as possible (before the next “official” comes to power).

Though this is disturbing, for Christians who believe the Holy Scriptures, it should not be surprising. When the ancient Hebrews decided that they needed a scheme of human government like the surrounding nations, Jehovah sent them a word through His prophet.

1 Samuel 8:6-22 “But the thing displeased Samuel, when they said, Give us a king to judge us. And Samuel prayed unto the LORD. And the LORD said unto Samuel, Hearken unto the voice of the people in all that they say unto thee: for they have not rejected thee, but they have rejected me, that I should not reign over them. According to all the works which they have done since the day that I brought them up out of Egypt even unto this day, wherewith they have forsaken me, and served other gods, so do they also unto thee. Now therefore hearken unto their voice: howbeit yet protest solemnly unto them, and shew them the manner of the king that shall reign over them. And Samuel told all the words of the LORD unto the people that asked of him a king. And he said, This will be the manner of the king that shall reign over you: He will take your sons, and appoint them for himself, for his chariots, and to be his horsemen; and some shall run before his chariots. And he will appoint him captains over thousands, and captains over fifties; and will set them to ear his ground, and to reap his harvest, and to make his instruments of war, and instruments of his chariots. And he will take your daughters to be confectionaries, and to be cooks, and to be bakers. And he will take your fields, and your vineyards, and your oliveyards, even the best of them, and give them to his servants. And he will take the tenth of your seed, and of your vineyards, and give to his officers, and to his servants. And he will take your menservants, and your maidservants, and your goodliest young men, and your asses, and put them to his work. He will take the tenth of your sheep: and ye shall be his servants. And ye shall cry out in that day because of your king which ye shall have chosen you; and the LORD will not hear you in that day. Nevertheless the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel; and they said, Nay; but we will have a king over us; That we also may be like all the nations; and that our king may judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles. And Samuel heard all the words of the people, and he rehearsed them in the ears of the LORD. And the LORD said to Samuel, Hearken unto their voice, and make them a king. And Samuel said unto the men of Israel, Go ye every man unto his city.”

The pragmatics for me become, in light of my beliefs, what do I do? I thank God, that because of where I currently live, I don’t really have to “do” anything about this except refuse to embrace evil, and refuse to call “evil” by the name “good.”

It seems that even this upsets a lot of folks – but then – they’ve drunk the Kool-Aid. For me, liberty with a little chaos beats government every time. But then, I believe that Jesus was a wise anarchist…

Yep, where is Hippie Fringe when I need him?

The Law of Entropy

2009-09-18T18:23:00.002-05:00

The Second Law of Thermodynamics: The Law of Entropy.

This is a pretty interesting concept I read about in college in physics and basic chemistry. The term "entropy" can be described as a tendency toward chaos. Webster's dictionary describes it as "a process of degradation or running down or disorder." The second law of thermodynamics declares that in any system, entropy (disorder, chaos, whatever you want to call it) naturally increases . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . unless energy is directly applied from an outside agent that can reverse this process.

Here are some common examples:

1. My room naturally gets messy - unless I apply a little energy to clean it up.

2. Your house or apartment will become as cold as the winter day outside - unless you apply energy to heat it.

A very curious fact about this law is that it seems directly applicable to humanity as well. For example:

1. Little kids (especially boys) will become hooligans, unless they receive constant direction. Sometimes they turn out bad anyway (I hope big Hal isn't having any painful flashbacks of trying to rear Trey (just kidding big bro).

2. Societies must establish government and laws in order to fend off the natural human tendency for chaos and destruction - if you don't agree with this, watch some international coverage on CNN or NBC this week, or read any decent history book.

So why is it that an underlying physical principle which applies to matter in the universe also directly applies to human behavior?

I believe the reason is that human beings are the key players on a battlefield - and our adversary is Nature itself. Don't worry - I'm not trying to freak out any environmentalists or members of PETA. My point is simply this. As I alluded to in my previous piece "Atheist Sheep," we are the only agents on the planet gifted with consciousness. We are the only creatures capable of understanding the principles of Thermodynamics, and we are therefore the only entity capable of consciously countering entropy, or disorder. Now I don't want to get into an argument about the meaning of Free Will, but our consciousness gives us the capacity for choice. Our choice in the case of Entropy is . . .

1. Do we yield to our natural tendencies for chaos? There seems to be a disdain for disorder among human beings, a universal recognition of the destructive capacities of a chaotic environment. This is embodied by the almost universal sentiment that we need to avoid tribalism and war (sadists and greed-stricken men are the exception here). This is not simply driven by our desire for self-preservation, but by an intrinsic strife for something better, something higher. Take America for example (I am ferociously patriotic for this reason, among others) - despite being the most daunting military power in history, we do NOT march around the globe with the intent of conquering lesser societies. Many leftist nutjobs often rant about our "warmongering," but one can easily see how ridiculous these claims are when we consider how easily we could overtake much of the globe simply with military force. We are obviously not engaged in this type of behavior (makes you kind of proud to be an American, huh?).

2. Do we use our capacity for consciousness and choice to combat the natural tendency all matter has toward chaos? The answer to this question is obvious. Almost anyone would answer in the same way. Human proponents of chaos are almost universally considered evil. Drug dealers, war-lords, etc., utilize chaos in order to oppress the weak, because in doing so they provide some benefit for themselves.

So why this universal recognition that we should harness our capacity for choice in order to combat Entropy, to resist Nature's tendency toward disorder. As I said before, the Second Law of Thermodynamics claims that entropy can only be overcome by an organizing energy from an external force. What is it in our universe that provides us with this energy, this unique human motivation to stifle nature's forceful drive toward degradation?

C.S. Lewis, an atheist for most of his life, claimed that it was the apparently intrinsic human recognition and pursuit of a "moral law" that demanded he recognize the existence God; the fact that human choice is typically characterized by decision - a decision between what one desires to do and what one "should" do, in any given circumstance. As I've stated before, there is nothing within Darwinistic theory that can account for the development of this phenomenon. The animal kingdom is defined by instinct - animate beings engaged in activities dictated to them by their very nature. They do not deviate from acting on their natural drives, they simply act, sometimes brutally. Predators kill, prey run, etc. The human kingdom however, is defined by something else . . . . . . . . . the constant strife between that which is dictated to us by our nature vs the constant pull of something else - the input of an external force that inspires us toward something which we universally recognize, something that drives us to transcend the chaotic tendencies that press on us each moment. This is why I believe. This is why each day we must feel like we are in a fight . . . a brutal, punishing, and in a sense, unwinnable fight. Unwinnable because we will not overcome chaos - not within the world, and not within ourselves. We are not fighting to win, we are fighting for a cause. We are fighting to show a chaotic world a glimpse of that which provides the only hope for stifling her natural and powerful spiral into disorder.

Our charge to the law of Entropy is this . . . . . "you will press on me daily, you will cause me to doubt, you will bludgeon me, wound me, and yes, eventually you will take my life . . . . but I will fight."

It is through this fight that we claim our martyrdom, it is by this choice that we declare our allegiance to something greater than disorder.

ps Hippie Fringe, I haven't heard from you in awhile, I'm particularly interested to know what you think about this idea.

"Sitting, clothed, and in his right mind"

2009-09-14T15:10:00.003-05:00

Of all the stories of the NT, that of “the wild man of Gadara” is perhaps the greatest blessing to me. On a personal level, it reminds me where I was, and would be, without the Lord Jesus Christ; on levels metaphorical, ethical, and spiritual, what a portrait the story paints of the helpless, lost sinner dwelling in the cemetery of spiritual death, tormented by Satan, wild with unchained passions and unfettered licentiousness. All men are not as wicked as they could be, but all men without Christ are wicked, all dwelling in the catacombs of depravity, all with their own demonic tormentors, all rattling the broken chains and fetters of fallen conscience and moral unrestraint, and all running, crying, and cutting themselves with unconscious but, nonetheless, inevitably suicidal behavior.

But then came Jesus.

De-boarding the ship, Jesus beheld the Gadarene demoniac, the wild man who ran to Him and worshiped Him. By His omnipotent command, the Lord Jesus Christ tamed a hellish heart, so that the tortured sinner, dwelling in tombs, mutilating himself and destroying his life, a man no other man could bind, was now under the sovereign sway of the Son of God “sitting, clothed, and in his right mind.”

“Sitting” denotes a radical change of posture, from raucous aimlessness to to placid composure, from pandemonium to Peace.

“Clothed” denotes the civilization of the passions, unashamed nakedness supplanted by sanctified conscience manifested by ethical demeanor and decorum.

“In his right mind” infers mental metamorphosis, the intellect and will now being respectively enlightened and liberated unto Truth and Righteousness.

Thanks be to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, whose power to save is such that even a wild man, bent on destroying himself, now sits at the Master’s feet, “sitting, clothed, and in his right mind.”

“Jesus, what a Friend for sinners! Jesus, Lover of my soul!
Friends may fail me, foes assail me, He, my Savior, makes me whole!”

Peace

2009-09-10T11:09:00.005-05:00

Peace, properly understood, is a celestial grace wrought by the Holy Spirit in the hearts of true believers.

No more than the eye of a hurricane is disturbed by the violent winds around it, Peace is not disturbed even by the most adverse circumstances. In fact, adversitiy intensifies Peace; the bigger the hurricane, the wider its placid eye.

The "wicked are like the troubled sea." wind-torn and wave-tossed by this storm-cursed world. We hear their distressed sirens within the thunder, and see their torn masts atop every lightning-lit swell. But for the righteous it is not so even when we cry, "Lord, save us. We perish." Sometimes we "of little faith" forget that Peace sleeps in our bow even amidst the greatest tempest.

Peace, genuinely expreienced, derives not from our mere satisfaction with, or our approval of what or who is on the outside, but derives from Who is on the inside, Heaven's Dove, wings folded and nestled in the soul. Peace is His very nature, and the absence of His gentle coo in the soul is no indictment of His unfaithfulness, but of ours, whereby we can know that we have grieved, quenched, or resisted His gentle nature.

Peace is Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, enthroned in the soul through His only earthly Vicar, God the Holy Spirit. Through the violence of crucifixion, Jesus has made "peace through the blood of His cross," defeating every foe, destroying every fear, dispelling every doubt, so that "neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor anything in creation" can disturb "the peace of God that surpasses all comprehension."

On the eve of bloody Passover, the Prince of Peace said,

"Peace I leave with you. My peace give I unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

Dear Friend, have you that Peace?

Postmodern Art and the True Culture War

2009-09-04T20:14:00.034-05:00

This post was inspired by Hal's previous comments about the cultural degeneration in our appreciation for art.

"The history of art is filled with challenges - ironic, angry, lyrical, sad, or amusing - to the status system." - Alain de Botton

This is the value of art. It challenges us to expand our thoughts; to consider ideas that may have evaded us or notions that we, in our own small personal worlds, might naturally resist.

1. Challenging the "status system." - high value has been placed on art throughout history for its role in this arena. Art has often been a powerful vehicle for cultural change.
2. "Transcendence" - this is a more important role in my opinion - art (of genius) provides human beings with a transcendent experience. I think of Michelangelo's Cysteine chapel, the hand of man outstretched toward the Hand of God -not only a piece of art, but an analogy of art's loftiest goals and achievements. Art has the unique capability to elevate us toward an unseen standard to which we are all (often unknowingly) appealing.

Post-modern art is a peculiar, and in my opinion, disturbing example. While it most certainly fulfills this first described role, it dismally fails in the second.

I have been to several "postmodern" art exhibits, and I've typically been very disappointed. The source of my disappointment has been that the exhibits are so often riddled with mediocrity. The pieces often lack any realism; exclusively a depiction of the "abstract." The difficulty I have in appreciating these exhibits is this . . . . . . . . . . I typically walk away realizing that I, a man with no artistic talent, could have produced half of the exhibits myself. Muddled compositions or physical structures are thrown together seemingly without any accountability to those who will witness them.

Unfortunately, this is often the artist's intention, and herein lies the point behind his/her "art."
These excessively abstract pieces challenge traditional cultural expectations simply for the sake of being challenging. A pervasive message I have received from the artists is "how dare you place your damn traditions and expectations on me!!" Most of us probably agree that if you can't paint a picture, then perhaps you should assert your efforts in some other arena - but art's "protesters" have reached a new level of audacity where they no longer feel the need to convey their message with any elegance, beauty, complexity, or thoughtfulness. One piece was simply a toilet seat sectioned off by a velvet rope . . . . . . . . . . I thought this was fitting. It's one thing to challenge cultural traditions, but it's quite another to spit on them without providing the onlooker with any semblance of an alternative or better solution . . . . . . . instead, many of these artists seem to be engaged in pure juvenile, nihilistic audacity. The onlooker is abandoned and left only with a sense of the "artist's" arrogance and anger.

In my opinion, postmodern art is a thirteen year-old with purple hair smashing you with a water balloon and screaming "IN YOUR FACE!!!"

It sounds funny on the surface, but there is a heartbreaking undertone at play. In one of my favorite books, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde alludes to the fact that the artist inevitably, and often, unwillingly reveals a glimpse of the deepest recesses of his soul in his work. Make no mistake, nihilistic tendencies are widespread in our society today. This is a psychological by-product of a post-Darwin/post-Nietzsche era. We most certainly should not dismiss Darwin's brilliant and enlightening scientific insights, nor the intellectual clarity of Nietzsche's laments that "God is Dead" - for Nietzsche captures the spiritual torment that so many quietly suffer. Postmodern art is simply the bastard child of our increasingly atheistic culture . . . . . . . angry at her conception, she spits in her father's face.

Enter the "Culture War." I believe this is a tragic, tragic misnomer. The people who harbor these nihilistic tendencies are not our enemies. They are the tender souls who define our very purpose . . . . . . . . . . . . and we are vessels of art.

Our demeanor, our words, and our actions are the vehicles by which we, like Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Renoir, Monet, Manet, Degas, may give others a glimpse of something transcendent that inspires desolate souls to dare to reach beyond a confined experience and touch the outstretched hand of God.

A brilliant author, Ravi Zacharias, told a story of "the first postmodern architectural structure," as described to him by a friend. The house was a labyrinth of staircases and hallways, each terminating at a flat wall or dead end. Zacharias' friend said "you see, the house is built on the principle that life has no real direction or meaning, and is utterly void of coherence." Undaunted and somewhat unimpressed, Zacharias coolly replied, "did you build the foundation using the same principle?"

I think we all know the answer.

Through no merit of our own, we are our nation's foundation. We will often be mocked by those standing on our shoulders, wandering aimlessly through dark corridor after corridor. We will not let them fall. Instead, we will hold them aloft, in hope that some may come to understand the strength and meaning of the loving resolve that lies beneath their feet.

The Little-Ease

2009-08-31T10:25:00.003-05:00

Outside of the Bible, the best depiction of the natural state of man that I have ever read comes from the French existentialist Albert Camus and his brilliant novel called The Fall.

Through the main character of Jean-Baptiste, Camus explores the effect of guilt on man. “The idea that comes most naturally to man, as if from his very nature,” he writes, “is the idea of his own innocence.” The implication being that every man is guilty, while only seeking to continually convey a state of innocence.

For a while, Jean-Baptiste “succeeds” in his life as most other men–being popular, learned, athletic and handsome. Until he fails to save a drowning girl one late night on the Seine, his life is “bursting with vanity” and “satisfied with nothing.“ Camus writes, “a single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers.”

After “the fall” on that late night, Jean-Baptiste is overcome by an irrepressible admission of guilt. In failing to do what he knows he should, his awakened conscience is so flooded with guilt that despair overtakes his entire existence.

The admitting of his guilt is an admission into the little-ease.

The little-ease was a unique torture device that was devised in the Middle Ages. In a cell “not high enough to stand up in, nor yet wide enough to lie down in,” explains Camus, “one had to take on an awkward manner and live on the diagonal; sleep was a collapse, and waking a squatting.” As one’s body would stiffen, “the condemned man learned that he was guilty and that innocence consists in stretching joyously.” Therefore, if the little-ease produced any certain effect on its occupant it was an inescapable and unbearable awareness of guilt.

Sadly, Camus’ Jean-Baptiste only confirms the sentence of guilt in the little-ease while offering no way of escape. Men “merely wish to be pitied and encouraged in the course we had chosen,” and any escape from the little-ease is for him only a temporal distraction from an eternal condition. At the end of the novel his character admits, “I haven’t changed my way of life; I continue to love myself and make use of others.” Only now, his motivation and life’s work is to quench the guilt within, to quiet his screaming conscience, to forget (if only momentarily) that he can neither fully rise nor lie without being aware of his trapped and desperate condition.

Imagine, for yourself, life in the little-ease.

Inescapable…

Uncomfortable…

Horrifying…

Dark…

Isolated…

Quiet…

Frightened…

Painful…

Alone…

Hopelessness…

Insanity…

Death.

Have you ever been to the little-ease?

If so, if you’ve ever really felt the crippling, damning effect of the little-ease and then by some strange miracle, some extraordinary occurrence, some unforeseen moment, the door to your little-ease were opened for you and blinding light shown in, and you were delivered, set free and allowed to “stretch joyously”…just imagine that.

Then why, freed soul, to the little-ease would you ever return?

The Art of Conversation

2009-08-25T10:51:00.005-05:00

One of the most debilitating characteristics of modern evangelicalism is a deficient and repugnant sensitivity to art, most radically epitomized by the vulgarization of rhetoric and music in contemporary worship settings. vis a vis, colloquial preaching and simplistic and pathetic musical scores that aim low and hit their mark. Consciously and unconsciously, evangelicals slaughter transcendent Truth upon the alloyed altar of immanent contemporaneity, thinking that by accommodating culture we can somehow transform culture, when in fact no one and nothing is ever transfigured when beautiful wings are melted so that heav'n borne worshippers plummet to earth. A collateral victim of this Dedalean tragedy is the art of conversation.

Every spoken or written word is a potential Trinity, the synthesis of an invisible conception (Idea), an invisible inspiration (Breath), and an audible expression of the Idea when Breath strikes Flesh (the tongue and lips), and also a potential expression of unconscious Blasphemy or worshipful Adoration. Such is the theology of Incarnation, the Word Made Flesh, when the Invisible Father conceptualized the Word, and the Invisible Spirit impregnated Mary's Flesh to conceive the Word.

Every word proffers two choices to the Speaker, speak of Earth or speak of Heaven. To speak of Earth, the speaker must only speak of Persons or Events, the mainstay of colloquial vulgarity; to speak of Heaven, the speaker must speak of Ideas, ideas that explore the various spheres of Transcendence, the pinnacle sphere of which is Truth.

The next time you converse, analyze and evaluate the content of the conversation, and then ask yourself, "Is it earthly, focused upon persons and events, or is it, if not Heavenly, at least Heavenward, winging its way to Ideas or, better, ascending Beautifully to Truth? Tragically, you will see (and hear) that we consistently fashion waxen wings destined to melt in the heat and light of the Sun, predominantly and consistently summoning our feebler intellectual, emotional, and spiritual aptitudes to contemplate, and speak of, the mundane, wasting our brains and our breath upon the common, thus unconsciously blaspheming the potential holiness of every word. Seldom do we meet the conversationalist who attempts to fashion every word a golden apple in a silver vase, making every word an angel's wing. If we do encounter such an one, we are probably at a loss for words, and that would, ironically, be most beneficial to ourselves and others. Still Silence is better than a Fast Fall.

The Word said this. "Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the Day of Judgment; for by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned."

How, and of what, did He speak?

2009-08-16T17:49:00.008-05:00

"What we don't want to do is to try and push something like this through quickly."

That's a paraphrase of Barack Obama's statement when his Healthcare bill failed to pass through congress prior to the August recess.

Two words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . WHAT HYPOCRISY!!

Obama himself demanded that the bill be passed through congress before the August recess. This was a document over 1,000 pages long. He wanted it hammered through in 3-4 weeks. Typical politics . . . "if we're gonna meet opposition, let's just sneak it past everyone before they hear about it."

Two more words . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . WHAT ARROGANCE!!

The man tried to socialize healthcare before anyone could raise their hand to ask questions. Now the typical argument posed here from leftists would be "this isn't socialized medicine, it's just a public option to drive down costs demanded by private insurance companies."

This is nonsense. Don't be fooled by this. First of all, millions of Americans receive their health insurance from their employers. Obviously corporations will opt for cheaper packages. and which one would be the cheapest? Of course, we all know the answer to that. Secondly, strong provisions would be in place in Obama's bill to steer the public away from private plans, and they would most definitely be phased out in the long run. Some also might argue, "so what, socialized medicine means that everyone gets healthcare coverage." This is correct. It means that everyone gets the exact same crapola healthcare coverage.

Here's an example - I'm rotating in breast oncology right now. There's a medication, called tamoxifen, that's able to target estrogen receptors on certain breast tumors and thus reduce or eliminate the tumor. Pretty great, right? The irony of this is that its use was largely popularized in Great Britain. Know why? Brace yourself. The reason is that women in Great Britain (a socialized healthcare system) with a new diagnosis of breast cancer typically have to wait 6-9 months before a surgeon will remove the tumor . . . . . yes . . . . . you heard me right . . . . 6-9 months. Here's another gem - a fairly common phenomenon in Canada (a socialized healthcare system) is that patients will go to the veterinarian's office to get an MRI. Why? Because the vet takes private insurance. If they don't go to the vet, they will have to wait months and months to get the MRI. What do you think provides the highest resolution images for a stroke - you guessed it, MRI. Primary bone cancers - MRI. I could go on, but you get the point. Yea, the American system is very expensive, but you can get an MRI in one day, or a necessary breast surgery in a week. And by the way, I have no problem taking a pay-cut so that more people can be insured, but I'm not dedicating myself to 12-13 years of post-grad work to be a government employee. But all these healthcare ins and outs are not my main concern.

My main beef is with Obama himself. Like so many other politicians, he stands in front of us and insults us with transparent lies (evidenced by his first quote). He is also an elitist, attempting to overhaul a system which the vast majority of Americans claim they are happy with (Rasmussen poll showed that 80% of Americans are "happy" or "very happy" with their healthcare).

Obama is your typical democratic party politician - he poses as a humanitarian via political stances such as this one on healthcare - this is how democrats get votes. In reality, he is an elitist Marxist who believes that the federal government should vastly increase its control over American citizens' lives.

I believe John Locke and Thomas Jefferson have rolled over in their graves on more that one occasion in the last six months.

Luckily, American citizens have done the public proud with their heated opposition to the bill, and it's scarier components are withering away. Yea, people have been alarmed by the angry old-timers screaming at town hall meetings over the past month - but I think they've done the republic proud. It's "by the people for the people," not "by the marxist trust-fund babies in Washington who are completely out of touch with reality for the poor, ignorant masses who don't really know what's good for them."

Hopefully lesson learned for the democrats . . . . . . . Grandma's healthcare is apparently off-limits.

My thoughts, but feathers peripheral

2009-08-12T11:26:00.004-05:00

My thoughts are but feathers peripheral,

Borne on a delicate wing,

Fragile in flight,

Yet sure of the Might

Of the Wind!

Dantean Equipoise

2009-07-31T11:46:00.003-05:00

There is a great gulf fixed
Twixt Heav’n and Hell
Spanned only by a lonely Bridge of Light.
Poets say its struts and strands are made of angels bright.
Amongst them, one of Roman race,
Stained his quill that he might trace their flight.

He sought to view fair Paradise
Midway through his darkling wood,
Raised his head and strained his heart to see it, if he could.
Stare as he might, through starry night,
No pearl-faced gates he viewed,
No emerald-circled rainbow throne with heaven’s grace imbued.

His head bowed low, his weeping heart
Convulsed him at the thought,
That he, the poet, could not write the Bridge that Blood had bought.
‘Twas then that, in his sore despair, a voice beckoned his soul,
“Who is it there?” the poet asked, and then She said, “Behold!”

“I am Beatrice fair, thou lover of my soul,
“I am your Bridge to Paradise, Beautiful, Bright, and Bold.
“I am Heav’n come down, to wing your flight
“Across that bridge you seek,
“So sheathe thy quill and follow me. Be quiet, quick, and meek.”

At her firm word his stir-red soul arose from its despair,
And followed fast the Lady Fair who winged him through the air,
Up to the very throne of God where prostrate now he lay,
And heard another, stronger Voice, that hushed all others, say,

“How came ye, weary traveler? How came ye to this Place?”
“I was guided by Another,” saith he, “She of radiant face.”
“Ah, yes,” then did the Sovereign say, “Ah, yes, I know her well.
“Beatrice well has led the souls of many men from hell.”

At this the poet turned to her, gazed in her lovely face,
And said, “I thank thee, beauteous Lady Fair, who led me to His Grace.
“I thank thee, for thou art the Bridge of Light that poets told,
"Thou' art She who sav-ed me, imparadised my soul.:"

Transfigurational Living

2009-07-23T16:01:00.004-05:00

The poet’s words infuse the cosmos with magic. Dewdrops become diamonds, every rose a ruby, every leaf an emerald, every golden sunrise a glorious chariot, and every silver moon a divan upon which the goddess Love sits enthroned. Christian poets ennoble the romanticization of nature, and in their happiest moments envision every good man a knight-errant in quest of the Holy Grail, and every good woman a virginal lady-in-waiting for her virginal Galahad, golden chalice in hand, "rose red with bleatings in it."

In particular, Charles Williams attempted to incarnate the Divine in his literary and poetic characters. T. S. Eliot said of Williams, "He attempted to do with language that which cannot be done," that is, to write in such a way that divine light emanates through the writer’s pen and upon his page, not just lodging in the reader’s mind, but twice transfiguring the reader’s mind, once in his imagination, a second time in his will as the reader incarnates the very vision Williams conveys. Heavily influenced by Dante’s vision of Beatrice as "she who doth imparadise my soul," Williams’ literary heroes, both male and female, are loci of paradise (loco with Paradise as well). Williams’ artistic endeavor is not without biblical warrant.

When Jesus Christ spoke of His Father’s house in which there are mansions (monai.), He did not mean elsewhere beyond the stars, but rather Divine Mansions erected in the souls of men and women. How do we know this? We probably don’t know this because we have been preconditioned by bad preaching to think of heaven’s Mansions as possibly far away in time and certainly distant in space, but that’s a completely wrong idea. If we carefully follow Jesus’ words in John 14, and listen keenly to the Son of God’s explanation about the "mansions," He tells us that His Mansions are inside us,

"If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our mansion (monen) with him."

All the major translations miss the mark, and almost every preacher. Call it what you will–mansion, room, resting place, dwelling place, abode–call it what you will, but Jesus does not say that the Mansion is there and then but rather here and now. Paradise has come down from heaven to earth, not just through the Incarnate Son of God, but through every person in whom He and His Father have built their Mansion. Who does not know this?

Judas Thaddaeus (not Iscariot) does not understand what Jesus has said, that "He who grips and guards my commandments also loves me, and whoever loves me, both my Father and I shall love him, and I shall manifest Myself to the one loving me."

Judas Thaddaeus is really puzzled now, "Lord, what has occurred that you are going to manifest yourself to us and not to the world?"

Dr. Robertson says that Thaddaeus is "caught on the word emphanizo," weakly translated "manifested," better translated somehow associated with the substance "light" or the action of "shining," since emphanizo derives from phaino, "to shine." More colloquially expressed, God’s Mansions are lit brightly from within. Paradise radiates from within the soul’s Mansion and through its windows. And it is that radiation from Him through us by which our lives are transfigured, and by which we transfigure others’ lives as well. How do we do this?

Just as Jesus told Thaddaeus, "Grip and guard my commandments, and love me."

Thus we see that a transfigurational life demands both an ethical and an emotional radiance of Paradise; ethical in that we grip and guard Jesus’ commands, emotional in that we Love Him. As surely as God commands ethical obedience, He also commands emotional obeisance; in fact, all moral obedience is subsumed within the emotional obeisance of Love, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and spirit and your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and prophets." By ethical and emotional adherence to the Divine commandments, our souls prove themselves to be Mansions of God, the windows of which shine upon earth with the radiant fire of heaven.

Unless Jesus has tricked us by what He said about building His Mansions in our souls, then "I go to prepare a place for you" cannot indicate His departure from earth to take on a celestial architectural endeavor; but rather, "I am going to Passover; I am Passover; and I shall purchase a Mansion for your soul, not with corruptible things such as silver and gold, but with the incorruptible currency of heaven, the precious blood of the Passover Lamb."

Old Israel had the Paschal lamb’s blood upon her hovels in Old Egypt, and light in her houses. New Israel has A Better Stain upon her Mansions in this present evil world, and a brighter light through her windows.

Shine, Fair City, Shine! Transfigure, ye transfigured!

Ignorant Worship

2009-07-14T13:42:00.004-05:00

To counter objections to my thesis from the outset, I readily admit Paul’s maxim “knowledge puffeth up.” Privileged to spend a lifetime of study and learning, I am often nudged by the Spirit to remember two things, “If a man thinks he knows anything, he knows nothing yet as he ought to know,” and “If a man thinks himself to be something when he is nothing, he deceives himself.” Socrates also oft admonishes me with his memorable words, “The one respect in which I am wiser than other men is my recognition of my own ignorance.” I also know that love better edifies than knowledge, and that wisdom is better than knowledge (We all know educated fools); but the preeminence of love and wisdom over knowledge does not mean that knowledge should be disdained but rather relegated to its proper sphere, and it certainly does not mean that knowledge should bow and curtsey, blush and blather in the presence of ignorance, which brings me to my topic, ignorant worship.

Jesus Christ Himself spoke of this at Jacob’s well when He said to the Samaritan woman, “You do not know what you worship.” Conversely, Jesus said of Himself and His Ancestors, “We know what we worship.” She worshiped ignorantly; He worshiped knowledgeably, indicating a certain intellectual dimension to worship. The First Commandment also includes this dimension of intellectual and knowledgeable worship, when Yahweh declares that we should worship Him with all our “mind.” Even more poignantly, almost the entire Pauline Corpus exists to correct some ambiguous or blatant intellectual ignorance in favor of precise, intellectual accuracy about the Person and Work of Jesus Christ.

A simple glance at the various Christian denominations also proves our point. As a general rule, the more intellectually and educationally sophisticated the pulpit, the more intellectually astute and educated the congregation. At the high end of the spectrum we see the learned Presbyterian, Christian Reformed, Methodist, and Episcopal clerics who appeal to more educated and intellectually astute congregations, arguably a tad high-brow; at the low end of the spectrum we see the fringe lunacy of Pentecostal preachers deceiving the ignorant masses, especially the poor; and in the middle we see the Baptists, Churches of Christ, Nazarenes, et. al., appealing to the moderately educated masses. These various categories of worshipers also fall within obvious socio-economic paradigms: churches with more sophisticated approaches to worship attract the rich, churches with simplistic preaching attract the poor, and churches with a moderately educated clergy attract the middle-class. One could also make the politically incorrect argument that certain theologies and aesthetics appeal to more industrious and productive individuals, while other theologies and aesthetics appeal to those who look to God as a cheap economist and therapist for their self-induced economic and emotional fragility. The major exception to these criteria is the Roman Catholic Church who, arguably, has the best-educated clergy throughout history and yet poor congregants predominate the Roman Catholic church. This indicates that evangelicals, especially reformed evangelicals, have abdicated to the Catholics and Pentecostals the responsibility of reaching the poor, the very people Jesus said should, “have the Gospel preached unto them.”

Intelligence and Ignorance also impact the aesthetics of worship. Again, as a general rule, the more sophisticated the theology of a denomination, the more aesthetically high its worship environment. For instance, just notice the difference architectural styles and interior décor of the Catholic, Episcopal, and Presbyterian churches as opposed to the architecture and décor of Baptist, Bible, and Pentecostal Churches.

In the last twenty years, the major aesthetic shift in Christendom has been in the aesthetics of music, which also follows the same pattern: the more sophisticated the theology, the more sophisticated the music, both in terms of lyrics and composition. “High Church” and “high theology” breed an ambiance of “high music” that aims to elevate the aesthetic sensibilities of the worshiper, especially his intellectual contemplation of sophisticated lyrics and his emotional meditation upon complex musical scores; “Low church” and “low theology” breed “low music” that aims more at the emotions than the mind, typified by lyrical and compositional simplicity. Plato warned against the latter.

Art in any form, especially musical art that aims primarily for the emotions is, according to Plato, not to be trusted. Plato understood that pathos should never rule logos: emotions should never rule the mind; when the heart gets over the head, tragedy follows. The opposite must be true if art has any value, Plato said; logos should rule pathos, the mind should filter and refine the emotions, and the only way the emotions can be properly filtered and refined is through intellectual rigor that leads to Truth which, in turn leads to Goodness and Beauty. That makes most contemporary Christian music suspect.

The contemporary Christian music scene, and the all to common “ambiance” of typical “praise and worship,” can hardly be indicted for being lyrically and musically complex. To the contrary, three-chord choruses, sung over and over again, with minimal lyrics and simplistic scores, rule the day. We say, “Isn’t that a great song,” not because it is truly “great” but because it so easily touches our mundane and lethargic lyrical and musical sensibilities. We don’t have to think, and we don’t have to strain our voice or our ear. “Easy listening” wins the day in contemporary worship. Ask yourself this question, “What is the greatest influence upon contemporary Christian music?” Christianity, or secular music? The answer is all too obvious. This magnetic pull of the Christian masses to vulgar lyrics and music powerfully corroborates our thesis:

Ignorance, not knowledge, permeates contemporary worship.

Knowledge is never a sure guard agaisnt errant theological ideas, religious practices, or even appropriate aesthetic sensibilities, but ignorance is always the enemy of Truth. As for me and my house, I would rather sit in the ornate secular chamber of Mozart and Debussy and gaze beyond their unconscious genius to the deliberate mystery of God, or wrestle with the honest skepticism of Twain and Voltaire, than to subject my ear and mind to an intellectually tepid and emotionally mundane distortion of God Almighty. In Bonhoeffer's day his contemporaries had marked the theology of worship "on sale"; today, we have posted that bargain in our once stained-glass, now broken, windows of aesthetic sensibilities.

Are Men Growing More Wicked?

2009-07-07T13:33:00.004-05:00

Are Men Growing More Wicked?

Yes, men are growing more wicked.

Proof shouts at us from every niche and corner: on the television, the movie screen, the radio, the Internet, at the table next to us in a restaurant, in the newspaper, in politics, economics, from the suburb to the inner city, from the most rural setting to the ivory mansion, evil is rampant, adamant, blatant, decadent, flagrant, violent, insolent, and constant.

After five decades of observing human nature and culture, my observations are existential to my subjective experience, but only a blind and deaf man would argue against objective proof of my assertion that men are growing more wicked.

As my “righteous soul is vexed from day to day,” I think often about moral and cultural deterioration. My latest contemplation of that awful subject derives from a recent conversation with an educational colleague who taught a number of years in a southeastern, metropolitan public school district. Beyond the typical incorrigibility and lethargy of the average student, numbers of her students wore electronic ankle bracelets to supervise their probation. Threats against teachers and social matriculation were the norms. We both reminisced about “the good old days” when public school schools were excellent (of course a handful still are), and the teacher was equally respected with the doctor, lawyer, and preacher. The teacher was always right, a revered authority-figure whose professional station inherently demanded respect from both students and parents. Misbehave, and the prodigal could expect an enforceable penalty; continue to misbehave, and he could expect the board of education applied (with stinging force) to the seat of education.

My! How things have changed! Punish a punk and you'll get fired and sued.

If you’ve followed this blog for any time, you’ve heard my harangue about prolific profanity in public places. Add to that the sexual promiscuity and drug abuse rampant in our culture, and one already has several unassailable proofs of moral and cultural deterioration—disrespect, irreverence, ignorance, laziness, rebellion, materialism, relativism. I know Caligula had his day, and Hitler, and Dillinger, too, but nowadays outlaws, hooligans, hoodlums, and hedonists are the rule, not the exception.

Why?

Pragmatically and historically, the 50's and especially the 60's are the origin of this decline: the advent of rock and roll and, with that, the drug and sex culture; the burgeoning entertainment industry and media controlled by reprobates and profligates; perpetual and large-scale breakage of the Ten Commandments; the intellectual and philosophical deterioration of the average university and the raping of the public mind; celebrity worship in athletics, theater, and music; relative and socialized democracy instead of absolute and socio-economic hierarchy bred from meritocracy, the psychological wasteland of divorce; pornography; sexual license; social and biological Darwinism; laziness; gluttony; Arminianism; mysticism; and, yes, the debilitating effects of multi-culturalism in the name of tolerance and equality: all these factors are symptomatic proofs of men grown more wicked.

It is certainly becoming much more difficult to love a neighbor as oneself. Those who possess moral integrity find themselves increasingly polarized from the broader culture; this is why Christian schools exist, and why so many Christians channel (and largely waste) their energies through politics, trying to “take back America for Christ.” But, of course, a political solution is only a Band-aid. A national catastrophe might spark a degree of moral and cultural reformation, not a molehill like 9/11 but a mountain like WWII, perhaps simultaneous and broad-scaled nuclear or biological detonations in American cities (I think it is almost sure to happen); but every Israelite knows how shallow is the repentance of Pharaoh and Egypt in the midst of plagues.

I am so thankful that I am a citizen of Heaven, that the Church is my Home, that the Bible is my Constitution, that a better Wind blows upon my Homeland than that shifty and violent wind of human culture; I am so thankful for God’s grace in my life, for the forgiveness of my sin through the precious blood of Jesus Christ, and for eyes that, though they must at times look with horror and sorrow upon “the things seen,” can also look above and beyond to wonderful and unassailable “things unseen.”

“Evil men and seducers shall wax worse and worse,” Paul has told us, and also that “in the last days, men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof.”

May the Sovereign and Merciful God of Heaven help Israel that she may also grow, better and better, “in grace, and in the knowledge of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

By His own decree, and in His own way and time, that Dread Sovereign, Messiah ben David, shall "wash His feet in the blood of the wicked."

Lost in Austin

2009-07-06T22:08:00.007-05:00

The Fair Tish and I went on our annual Super Secret Road Trip ("SSRT"). This was SSRT #5: Lost in Austin. The SSRT occurs around the first week of July every year, and is basically comprised of me planning a weekend in a city, telling Tish to hop in the car, and then we go. Somewhere along the way, I tell her where we're going, and it's a great deal of fun. This custom began when we were dating, and would go someplace for the day (in other words, we wouldn't spend the night somewhere).

Austin was a blast. We ate some great food, visited the Capitol, canoed, and toured the LBJ Presidential Library. We also stumbled upon a tea party, and hung out with about a thousand of our closest friends. If I could buy stock in the Gadsden Flag, I would go all in. The tea parties, if nothing else, are great stimuli for the flag business. Below I've composed ten observations about Austin. Feel free to contribute your own.

1. I didn't get bitten by a single mosquito, not one---not even while canoeing. I don't know if you can appreciate that phenomenon or not, but I must say I found it simply amazing.

2. Perhaps just as interesting, I surmise the reason I didn't get bitten was because Austin is home to 1.5 million bats that live around the lake near the Capitol Building.

3. Somebody should franchise tattoo parlors. Maybe that's already been done, but if it hasn't some enterprising inkster should take charge. Austin has approximately 700,000 people, all of whom, it seems, have at least three visible tattoos. That's visible tattoos.

4. Austin has a N. Congress, a S. Congress, and a Congress. As Congress is the main road, I believe there should be some sort of sign when you come into town about this. The Capitol Building divides North Congress and Congress. Then past the lake you have South Congress. I suppose this isn't a big deal when driving, but when it's 1:30 on a 110 degree day and you're walking around the Capitol Building on Congress and 15th hankering for a pizza at a certain primo pizza joint you read was on the 1400 block of S. Congress, and you've just noticed that north of the Capitol is N. Congress, well, you get a bit peeved, let's say, when you walk six blocks and realize there's no "S." in front of Congress....

5. While you can't smoke in restaurants in Austin, you can wear a dress that comes less than an inch below your business, if you catch my drift. Speaking of women's dresses, a feminist law professor told me once that a good answer to an essay question should be like a woman's skirt: long enough to cover everything, but short enough to keep it interesting. Driving down 6th Street on Friday evening on our way back to the hotel I saw a lot of "interesting," but I don't think everything got covered.

6. I am absolutely convinced that big cities breed racism, and that the only people who can't see that are those people who live in big cities. A quick glance around and you see self-segregated groups all over the place: Asian groups, Mexican groups, Black groups, White groups. We were at a pizza place (a substitute pizza place for the aforementioned primo joint) and I went to get a refill of my Cherry Coke (the best drink with pizza, bar none). Behind the counter was a 40ish woman of Italian heritage, and in front of the counter chatting with her was a 60ish woman of Mexican heritage. The older woman was quite upset over something regarding the ubiquitous Jackson coverage. I asked her what she was specifically upset about and she cited the tickets being sold for the funeral at the Staples Center. "Would you ever pay for a funeral?" "No," I said. "I would never charge for one either," she said. Then she paused... "It's the blacks." Maybe I'm just some hayseed hick, but I figured it was just nuts of all races.

7. Is there a requirement that hotel workers don coats that are three sizes too big for them? I notice this on every overnight trip I take now. The guy, or gal, behind the counter, regardless of age or race, has on a coat that just swallows them. I wonder whether that's taught in all of those hotel management courses they have at colleges these days.

8. I'm convinced that every waiter I had there either just moved to Austin to get into the music business, or moved to Austin 10 years ago to get into the music business. (I'm sure in the fall there will be students waiting tables, too.) The Fair Tish pointed out that the reason they probably haven't made it in music is because waiters have to work so many nights and weekends, which is when most gigs would be booked. She suggests that aspiring musicians get day jobs so they can perform at night. I thought that was a brilliant point.

9. The Pledge of Allegiance was recited at the tea party (I abstained). The recitation brought up this thought: If we added Puerto Rico as a state, then would people who pledged allegiance to the 50 star flag not have to pledge allegiance to the 51 star flag, as they would be reneging on their prior promise? What about pledgers from pre-Alaska/Hawaii?

10. There's no place like home.

The fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets

2009-06-28T21:11:00.003-05:00

A couple days ago a friend of mine asked me, “What did Jesus mean when he said that he didn’t come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it?”

I gave my initial thoughts, but decided to sit down and study this passage and related passages. The question began to gnaw at me some, and lead me to sit at my kitchen table, with two Bibles (easier to cross reference that way), Calvin, and Matthew Henry for seven hours. It was a great deal of fun. Tish, I think, was a bit worried about me. She had left the house around 5:30 and came home at 10:00 to find that I hadn’t moved. Below are some of my thoughts, and I welcome the comments of others.

1. First, we must define what Jesus meant by “the Law” and “the Prophets.” If you asked a Jew in the first century what he meant by the Law, I imagine the answer would include the moral, dietary, and ceremonial law, encompassing even the Temple economy. By the prophets, a contemporary of Jesus would understand that to mean essentially what we would understand---those men who both commented on the Law and applied it to the people of their particular times, generally threatening judgment for Israel’s transgression thereof.

2. Abolish, of course, means to annul. Fulfill, as used by Jesus, would mean to satisfy.

3. How then, is the Law fulfilled? How is it that I can eat fried catfish if the Law is not abolished? We interpret Scripture with Scripture and find that “fulfillment” of the Law is in part what enables Gentiles to be part of the commonwealth of Israel, as Paul says that the Law put the two at enmity. We see also that Paul describes the Law as a tutor, and further as a guardian or manager of a youth until the fullness of time has come. From this last statement (found at the end of Gal 3 and the beginning of Gal 4) we note that the purpose of the Law changes over time. What then are some examples of the fulfillment of the Law?

4. Dietary: Peter’s vision of scrumptious pork chops comes to mind, as does Paul’s discussion to the Corinthians of meat sacrificed to idols, and Paul’s letter to the Roman church about matters of conscience with regard to certain foods.

5. Circumcision: Circumcision, of course, precedes the Law, but Paul goes to great lengths to describe that circumcision is not necessary to set apart God’s people from the world. Rom. 2:25-29; Gal. 3 (discussion contrasting the child of the bondwoman to the child of promise); Eph. 2.

6. Sacrifices: No better place can one go for a discussion on what Christ’s sacrifice means for the Temple economy than Hebrews 8 and 9. There we read about the impotence of the blood of bulls and goats, and the power of the blood of Christ. No more sacrifices are needed because Christ died once, bearing the sins of many.

So whatever Christ meant by his statement, fulfillment must result in us no longer having to adhere to dietary and ceremonial laws. Theologically, this seems to be because such laws were provided as types and shadows, fulfilled in Christ. Now that Christ has come, there is no need to preoccupy ourselves with shadowy images when we have the resplendent beauty of Christ. This view is bolstered by:

7. Christ’s statement regarding abolish/fulfill is in the Sermon on the Mount, and must be read in context. The laws discussed immediately following this statement include laws about murder, adultery, divorce, oaths, turning the other cheek, and loving your enemies. Unlike the ceremonial and dietary laws which no longer need to be observed (in fact doing so would be an offense!) the moral laws outlined by Christ are each stricter than the Law of Moses. Now we must not only avoid murder, but unjust anger. Not only is adultery forbidden, but also lust (note the “eye” and “hand” language in that context and chew on it a bit). The divorce laws from Moses is narrowed. (The original law being a divine solution to a human problem---God creating a civil means of dealing with the fallen people who were abandoning their wives.) The same with oaths, etc. Thereby, we may view Christ’s statement regarding “fulfilling” the Law as twofold with regard to moral law: (1) Christ would live a perfect life, and (2) the Law is not only satisfied by Christ but also completed, by more fully describing the spirit of the Law. I would add a third meaning---the first of two eschatological observations----that while Christ fulfilled the Law there is an already/not yet aspect to this fulfillment in that God’s people await a time where they will fully abide by the spirit of the Law in glory.

8. The giving of the Law must be viewed in light of redemptive history. Paul points out that the promise preceded the Law by 430 years. The question, then, is not whether the gospel abolished the Law, but whether the Law annulled the promise. The answer is clearly no; rather, the Law was given, as previously stated, as a tutor or guardian until the fullness of time.

9. Now, historically speaking, the Law has been fulfilled, and adherence to dietary and ceremonial laws is not only misplaced and misguided, but blasphemous as it rejoices in the type over that what was typified. This is partly what Paul has in mind when he says, in the context of his discussion of Abraham being justified by faith, that the Law is thus established. This brings me to my second eschatological observation---the Temple was destroyed in 70 AD in part because sacrifices of goats became an abomination to God, a strange fire offered to the Lord, you might say. (I’m not preterist, by the way.)

10. While dietary and ceremonial laws are types and shadows, the moral law of God displays God’s attributes, characteristics which we as his children should possess. These are eternal, and we should bear fruit to that end, culminating in us eternally keeping God’s law in heaven.

11. The moral law of God, of course, cannot be met by us in this life. Therefore, the first covenant is obsolete. (Heb. 8). While the first covenant is obsolete, the Law is not obsolete, but fulfilled in Christ.

12. Here is pretty much what I got out of the commentaries: the Law was a vessel partly filled or a picture roughly painted, and Christ completed the filling of the vessel and painting of the picture. I like those metaphors.

Hands

2009-06-21T02:27:00.003-05:00

I'll never forget what my science teacher told me in 9th grade. She said, "from the moment you're born, you begin dying". Racing toward death, to the moment our vitality ceases: that is our destiny. Some wordless image has been burned into my mind every since I heard her say that ominous and strangely comforting phrase.

At 1:30 in the morning on March 3rd of this year I opened my eyes to realize that I had been lying in bed for 2 hours trying to sleep; the pounding of my heart had shocked my eyes open and caused me to realize the truth: I was mourning. I could feel blood throbbing through my body and pounding my temples and flooding my mind and heart with the image of my mother in her coffin, her hands that had been busy her whole life serving and loving and giving now posed on top of each other, still and at rest. I thought of her lying there and how the seeming torment and pain of life had ceased, and I longed to be like that; I would have given anything to be at peace.

So I did what I do in all of my moments of personal despair and loss and confusion: I wrote.

Hands of Love

I am the racing dead, repulsed by shrill
Pulsings of my own heart, beating bleeding
Life into these veins that would remain still,
Collapsed if my will were a heeded thing.
Lying here bound by the sound of this slow
Death, this carnal clockwork winding down and
Loosing life's coil with each chambered hollow,
I am stilled and filled with peace by Your hand.
Your hand that wrought me in my mother's womb
And through her own touch showed me purest love.
Her hands rest now as You once did, entombed,
But she lives and loves, held in hands above.
In hope my heart cries, "Death, where is thy sting?!";
She rests with Him, the Daughter of the King.

3/3/09
1:30 a.m.

The Fruit Stand

2009-06-17T15:22:00.003-05:00

I tried gardening a few years ago: squash, peas, cantaloupe, watermelon, and tomatoes. Lots of work for a little produce: break the ground; remove the stones, thorns, and debris; dig the rows; plant the seeds, encircle the garden with marigolds to keep out rabbits and squirrels; raise a rickety scarecrow to ward off what its name implies; water almost every day, and then wait. The garden was productive, and I can think of no greater excitement in recent life than the expectation of the fruit of my own hands’ work, and no greater satisfaction than to taste the fruit of one’s labor. But, alas, when I considered the time and money expended for the garden, I decided just to get my vegetables from Mr. Pug Lightsey and his sweet wife, Yvonne.

Mr. Pug’s place is just about four miles from my house, just off the county road, so it’s quite convenient just to whip in the driveway and buy fresh fruit and vegetables. If Mr. Pug or Mrs. Yvonne is not there, they have an “honest box” on a table. Each fruit or vegetable basket has a plastic spoon standing up with the price of the basket inscribed in the spoon with black felt pen. You just take the spoon out of each basket you want and, when you have made your selections, the spoons add up to what you owe. Then you put your money and the spoons in the “honest box.”

But today Mrs. Yvonne was there in her red apron. She came out of the back room immediately when I drove up. I thought I remembered Judy saying something about this lady having cancer, so I took a risk and said, "I hope you’re cancer is in remission.”

“I don’t have cancer," she said. “You’re Hal, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. I didn't know she knew me.

“I’m so sorry about your wife. May I tell you a sweet story?’

“Yes, ma’am.” I braced myself.

"The day before my biopsy your wife stopped by here for some fruit and vegetables. When I told her about the lump in my breast, and the pending biopsy, she asked me, ‘May I pray for you?’ Of course I said, ‘yes,’ thinking that she would pray for me tonight or tomorrow. But she bowed her head right here, and said, ‘Father, I pray for Yvonne, that you would give her grace and peace. Father, if it’s your will, I also pray that the biopsy would be negative. Bless and strengthen her family through this, in Jesus’ name, Amen.’”

“She was the sweetest person,” Mrs. Yvonne said, “I’ll never forget her for that, and the Lord answered her prayer.”

“Yes,” I said, choking back what was in my throat, “she was the sweetest person I ever knew. God bless you, Yvonne, goodbye.”

I picked up my cantaloupe and my fresh green beans and butter beans, and headed to my car. As I drove away, I realized that the succulent fruit and vegetables in my car were just physical and temporal, and that the real purpose of my stop at the fruit stand was to taste another and better kind of fruit, eternal and spiritual, planted in love, sown in faith, nurtured in Judy’s life, and harvested by Mrs., Yvonne, and now by me.

“Dear Father, make my life a fruit stand.”

Housekeepers

2009-06-12T12:00:00.001-05:00

Judy was an immaculate housekeeper in terms of cleanliness, organization, and aesthetic taste within moderate income. She kept our clothes washed and cleaned, the beds made beautifully, the floors clean, the kitchen orderly, and too many times did too much in teen-age boys’ rooms. She hated to vacuum (she was so small it was difficult for her), and she did not like to cook, although when she wanted to cook she could “do it up right.” As our incomes increased in mid-life, we used a housekeeper once or twice a month. We also spent a small fortune eating out, especially when the boys’ lives got frantically busy with athletics. We both worked for schools, so eating out often was practically a necessity in terms of protecting our time together and avoiding going home to cook and clean up after a long day’s work.

Now that she’s away, I’m the housekeeper. I’m amazed at what work it takes even for one person: cooking, washing, sweeping, cleaning the bathrooms, cleaning the windows, keeping the rooms straight, making the bed, doing the wash, folding the clothes and towels, putting up the dishes, keeping a grocery list, going to the store, etc. And then when I think about all that Judy did outside the home, I’m frankly amazed, which brings me to my theme, not housekeeping, but housekeepers.

In his epistle to Titus, Paul instructs Titus to exhort mature ladies to instruct younger ladies to be “keepers at home,” good “housekeepers.” Paul’s Greek word for “housekeeper” is oikouros, one who maintains domestic order. At a philosophic level, a clean, beautiful, and orderly home is a reflection of the larger cosmos, God’s house, which evidences design, order, cleanliness, and beauty throughout the earth into the galaxies. One might say that the precious wife who is a good housekeeper is a reflection of God's own orderly nature. Add to her responsibilities the care of children, including discipline, instruction, and their own cleanliness, then the housekeeper is even more a reflection of God who, in His house, cares for His children and both instructs and expects them to be orderly and clean.

I don’t see how godly women do it all, except that they possess the very virtues of heaven.

Husband, do not take your wife for granted, especially her role as a housekeeper. She is doing God’s work, more important than yours away from home.

Why don’t you take her out for dinner this evening or, better yet, why don’t you volunteer to keep the house for one week?

Self-examination and Holy Communion

2009-06-03T07:59:00.003-05:00

But let a man examine himself,
and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.
I Corinthians 11:28

I have known a few Pharisees who say, “I cannot take holy communion because I am not worthy.” What ignorance! What arrogance! The worthiness of communion derives not from the communicant, but from the One with Whom we commune; His flesh and blood, not ours, make us worthy of communion with a Holy God and the holy saints. He who abstains from communion denigrates the infinite efficiency and glorious efficacy of Christ’s sacrifice, and silently testifies that he clings to abiding sin. Paul allows no exception; he commands self-examination, not that we should abstain from communion, but that we should forthwith “eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.” Paul’s exhortation is no feeble suggestion but an apostolic imperative, the negligence of which grieves the Holy Ghost and thus sins against Christ and His church.

Paul’s word for “examine” is dokimezato, a term applied to the examination of precious metals whereby one tries the gold to determine its genuineness. Who is that refiner who sees the dross and then throws away the gold? “Art thou a foolish man?” Heaven asks. “Discard not the gold but kindle the fire and blow the billows by which the fire consumes the dross and purifies the gold.” That fire is holiness, its billows repentance, and the dross, sin.

Anticipating Holy Communion, the obedient saint, like a wise refiner, examines his soul’s gold, scrutinizing his mettle for dross, whether sin against man or God. He who rightly examines himself says, “I shall not pollute the bread with soiled hands, and I shall not stain the cup with wicked lips. Give me bread unleavened, and wine undiluted. By heaven’s graces I shalI examine myself, purging every speck of dross from my repentant soul, and I shall indeed eat of that bread, and drink of that cup, testifying to the glorious death of the Lord, Jesus Christ, until He comes.”

Saint of God, if, at the altar of communion, you remember that God or man hath ought against thee, leave thy sacrifice at the altar and first be reconciled; then offer thyself in communion to God and to His holy church. Negligence of this holy duty wrought havoc at Corinth: weakness, sickness, and even death. Woe to that Pharisee who does not “examine himself and drink of that cup,” and woe to that careless profligate who examines himself yet does not repent of his sin, for neither man is worthy of communion, and both “eat and drink damnation” unto themselves, “not discerning the Lord’s body!”

God, the Valet

2009-05-30T20:19:00.002-05:00

I didn't recognize him at first when we swirled under the automobile canopy, standing there in his immaculately pressed scarlet and gold uniform; I did notice his youthful and masculine physique, "cut" as the cliche goes, a refreshing change from the feminized men around whom I had been circulating throughout the day. He obviously exercised rigorously, probably with a disciplined workout including weights. "How are you today, sir?" He asked, "I'm doing well, sir," I replied, "and how are you?" "I'm having a wonderful day," he said.

As I exited the car I noticed his name tag, "Matt." It was my opportunity to use his name to witness to him, so I approached him and said, "Matt, do you know what your name means?" I didn't expect him to know, since it is quite uncommon for caucasian youth to know the meaning of their names, or even if their names mean anything at all, and so I was pleasantly surprised when he said, "Yes, sir. It means 'gift of God.'" I said, "That's exactly right. Do you know from what language it derives?" "No, sir," he replied.

Here was my opening.

"It's Greek," I said, "like Matthew in the Bible." I then proceeded to explain the etymology and biblical connection. I'm sure by this time he knew he was talking to a Christian, probably in his judgment a religious fool.

"Oh, I don't care about that," he said, "I am a God." The emphasis upon the "I am," especially the "am" was his.

Various thoughts raced through my mind by which I could stun him into reality, such as,

"Well, if you're a god, what are you doing in that silly uniform parking cars?" or, a more violent thought,

"Do you know I could end your divinity with the feeblest inclination of my will and one stroke of my finger?"

But the angel of my better nature bridled my flaming tongue. Besides, he was first to speak and said, "Where have you been today?"

"To a medical conference about suffering and death."

The unpleasantness of that visibly set him back, and he said, "That's a depressing topic."

"Not at all," I said, "Don't you know the ultimate destiny of all humanity is death, and your destiny as well?"

Matthew, the "god," was silent. That was my clue to walk away with purpose.

As I neared the revolving door, I knew he was watching me. I stopped, turned around, and met him eye to eye.

"Matthew," I said, "you'd better think a little more deeply about your name."

Queen of the Throat Kill

2009-05-29T10:34:00.006-05:00

The lioness stalks her prey: golden frame poised, rippling muscles taut, ears perked sharply, yellow eyes on fire, black nostrils flaring with the scent of an unsuspecting victim, her panting mouth and salivating tongue greedy with bloodlust. Ready for the kill, she watches, she lowers her head, and then, almost imperceptibly, her left paw slowly rises and falls with silent stealth upon the tundra. Another hushed step, then another, slowly at first, but deliberate, mechanical, and graceful, like a tragic ballet. Then with a sudden burst of speed, strength, and fatal intent, she springs forth with precise ferocity towards her prey. Circling wildly, spinning madly, swirling sharply, ever closer and closer, until with one final, vicious leap, she embraces her victim in a frenzied dance of death. Her pointed claws distend into wounded flesh. Her vice-like jaws and razor canines commence their search, their gnawing search, their deadly search—not for the pulsing, tender vitals; not for the beating, crimson heart, but for the throat. Instinct has taught the lioness, thousands of years of lethal, ancestral instinct, and millions of primeval kills—find the throat. Once she finds the throat, she is the queen, the queen of death, queen of the throat-kill.

The throat-kill and its aftermath are an horrendous spectacle of "nature red in tooth and claw." Even the mighty water buffalo, how much more the zebra or antelope, seized by the throat will quickly die. The victim’s body surrenders, its knees weaken and buckle, it falls to the ground; its eyes dilate in terror. Then the panting begins, the awful panting. The pitiful mouth gapes widely and gasps for precious air, but to no avail—the queen has the throat. The victim grows still, only the tail swishes, as helpless hooves paw at the unmerciful African sky. Finally, a nerve here and there twitches in desperate futility. But the feast has already begun, the grisly feast—first at the tender belly, ripped and shredded to expose the bowels, and then the blood bath. The queen’s face is kissed with the color of violent death, her chest draped in scarlet, her forelegs bathed brightly red. Ironically, her own throat, once golden, now shimmers like a ruby. The queen is clothed in crimson; she is the queen, the queen of the throat-kill.

In ancient Europe, hunters from different countries coined words for the throat-kill. The old Germans called it wurgen, which means "to strangle." Lithuanian hunters called it vertzi, "to constrict." The medieval Brits called it worien, meaning "to choke or strangle." We call it—worry; that’s right, worry. You can hear the phonic similarity between our word worry and the German wurgen, the Lithuanian vertzi, and the Middle English worien. Wurgen—worry; vertzi—worry; worien—worry. Strange isn’t it, that the vocabulary of the hunter, the dialect of death, the terminology of the throat-kill, would wind their way through thousands of years of ancient language into our modern vernacular and become our word for "mental distress, anxiety, or agitation resulting from concern for something impending or anticipated"—worry, the lioness of human anxiety; worry, the queen of the throat-kill.

Worry is like that, isn’t she? —A cruel queen that has us by the throat. In the jungle of life, on the plains of human experience, worry stalks us. She lurks behind every tree; she waits in every path; courageous to our cowardice, bold to our fear, ever vigilant to attack our vulnerabilities, worry stalks us; she hunts patiently for the precise moment of our weakness, then she strikes, suddenly and without warning; the lioness worry goes for the throat-kill.
Worry startles us with sudden bound, leaps upon us and, before we know it, worry has us by the throat. Like prey in the lioness’ mouth, we struggle against worry, we fight for our lives, we gasp for air, but worry has us by the throat. The lioness worry is killing some of us; we are almost worried to death, and she may kill us yet. But worried about what? What has us by the throat? Difficult children, financial adversity, sickness, failing marriages, others’ opinions, professional problems, past sins, present burdens, future concerns, hard choices—all these things and more stalk and prey upon us. We are food for the lioness worry.

Upon consulting my dictionary, I was surprised to learn that the primary definition of worry was not the noun for mental anguish, but rather a verb associated with the throat-kill. The lioness worries her prey. As Webster says, to worry is "to tear, bite, or snap at the throat . . . to shake or pull at with the teeth." Secondary definitions of the verb "worry" are equally violent, "to disturb something repeatedly . . . to assail with rough and aggressive attack."

Of course Webster includes our more familiar concept of worry—mental anxiety and emotional distress over an anticipated event or consequences." This definition of worry, though correct, is unthorough; it is correct in that it identifies worry as mental anguish and emotional distress about what might happen. In this sense, worry is prospective; worry speculates with fear about the future. We might call this futuristic element of worry the queen’s first and sharpest canine—dread—worry bites with dread; worry dreads what might or might not be. But like the lioness, worry has two canines; unlike the lioness, worry has four eyes. Worry doesn’t merely look forward; she looks backward as well. Worry has eyes in her face and in the back of her head. Worry is not just prospective; she is also retrospective. Worry glances into the past; no, worry glares into the past. When worry looks ahead, she dreads; when worry looks behind, she regrets. This is the queen’s second canine—regret. When the lioness worry stalks us, she watches with all four eyes, forward and backward; when she strikes us, she pierces us with both canines, dread and regret.

In a less metaphorical, more absolute sense, we understand worry to be mental fretting and emotional distress over what was or wasn’t, what might be or might not be, and the possible consequences of what was—regret—or what might be—dread. Worry is a brutal and ignorant beast; brutal in that her grip upon our throat is terrible and painful, ignorant in that the lioness worry has only one roar, "what if?" What if I had or had not done that? What if I do or don’t do this? What if this happens, what if that happens? What if?

Now we should not draw the shallow conclusion that mental anguish and emotional struggles are always unhealthy. None of us wants to be like Mad Magazine’s red-headed fool, Alfred E. Newman, whose motto is, "What, me worry?" Of course we don’t want to worry, more precisely, we don’t’ want to be worried, taken by the throat with the queen’s canines, dread and regret. But we do want to, maybe not want to, but at the very least we must struggle with life’s difficulties; trouble and trial are essential and integral necessities of life, as much as food and water, just harder to swallow, especially when they have us by the throat. If we could merely dismiss all our problems, never think about them, never feel them, we would be emotionally dead and intellectually oblivious to reality. No, we must struggle with the problems of human existence. It’s normal. We are to feel problems, deeply, to think about problems, wisely; but thinking wisely and feeling deeply about problems are not the same as worry. Worry feels, but she does not think, at least not wisely. Worry dreads; worry regrets; worry is the world’s worst pessimist. But worry is more than this; worry is also a great sin.

In fact, worry breaks every commandment of God. Worry denies the LORD God, and chooses the despot Despair. Worry erects idols to false gods. Worry worships the god of Fear, and slaughters the soul as sacrifices upon the altars of Anxiety and Anguish. Worry takes the name of the LORD our God in vain, and silently curses God. Worry observes no Sabbath, but makes us labor seventy times seven. Worry never rests. Worry is a murderer; she kills peace; worry is a thief; she steals time; worry adulterates love, and lusts instead for dread and regret. Worry dishonors and disavows the goodness and mercy of God the Father. And Worry covets; she covets self—self-interest, self-concern, and self-pity. Worry is a great sin.

Worry is also a foolish waste of precious time, mental power, and emotional energy. If you regret something in the past, fix it if you can; if you sinned, seek atonement; if you injured someone, make restitution; if you offended another, ask forgiveness. But once you have done all you can, what else can you do? Worry? If you have done all you can to remedy a wrong, or even if you cannot undo what you have done, why worry about it? If the tree falls to the north or to the south, let it lie. And if you dread something in the future, why boast thyself of tomorrow? If the Lord wills you may or may not have cause to dread, but in either case the future is a kingdom, not a queendom; God is sovereign there, not the lioness worry.

But the dreadful and regretful soul betrays the Sovereign of the Future and the Prince of the Past, and says, "we will not have this king to rule over us. Give us worry; let us pay homage to the Queen of Dread and Regret. Let us obey her decrees of ‘what if,’ ‘what might be,’ and ‘what might have been.’" But worry is a queen as impotent as she is cruel, a regent of empty possibilities, and a despot of despair. Worry can’t change a thing, but she can change you; she can change your allegiance from the king’s merciful hand to the queen’s merciless canines, regret and dread. And she can bring you under her power, and seize you by the throat. Worry is vanity and vexation of spirit, a waste of time, mental powers, and emotional energy.

Worry is also a complaint against God. Our lives are in God’s hands, every aspect of our lives. Our circumstances, our failures; faults; sins; every event past, present, and future—all are in God’s hands. His sovereignty has planned our lives, and His providence guides us, even through the jungle. But when we worry about this or that, we are in fact protesting God’s plan and resisting God’s hand. Even worse, worry is the antithesis of trust, which is the very essence of a right relationship with God. Worry says, "I don’t like God’s plan; I don’t like God’s hand; I cannot trust God in this matter." Worry murmurs against God. Worry denies the power of prayer, and the power of God to answer prayer. Worry resists, quenches and grieves the Holy Spirit, whose grace is peace, and says, "I do not want the peace of God which surpasses understanding. Give me regret and dread, give me fear, anxiety, and distress. I will not have the peace of God in my heart, but the world’s worry at my throat."

Worry is like Shimei, always throwing stones at us; worry is like Pharaoh, a cruel taskmaster; worry is like Judas, she finds us even in our most peaceful gardens, and kisses us with betrayal; worry is like Thomas, she doubts; worry is like Peter, impetuous, fickle, and sometimes in denial; worry is like the devil himself, a great red dragon with beating wings flying in the storm clouds of our minds; worry is a roaring lion that stalks us in our dark jungles of fear; worry is a snake that slithers into the hidden crevices of our hearts, laying her eggs and injecting her poison; worry is a wolf that howls in the middle of the night and makes us tune our trembling ears to her voracious voice. Worry is devilish.

What do we worry about—our children, our marriages, sickness, sorrow, death, financial pressures, professional failure, marital strife, mistakes, others’ opinions? Well, get this straight—we will have problems with our children. Don’t worry about it. It’s going to happen. Yes, our marriages will have some rough spots. Don’t worry about it. Yes, we or someone we love will get very sick one day—our parents, our spouse, our children, a precious friend—don’t worry about it. Yes, we will have financial pressures; we might even be poor, or go bankrupt—don’t worry about it. Yes, we will somehow fail in our professional lives; we might even hear some badly coiffured Donald Trump say to us—you’re fired! —don’t’ worry about it. Yes, we will make mistakes, probably embarrassing ones—don’t worry about it. Yes, some people will think I’m a jerk, or a loser; don’t worry about it. Yes, we will have sorrows in life, and burdens to boot; sorrows so great they will overwhelm us, and burdens too great to bear alone—but don’t worry about these. Job said, "Man that is born of woman is of a few days and full of trouble." Job suffered, but he didn’t worry. Even Jesus said, "In the world you will have tribulation." But he also said, "don’t worry about it"—"be of good cheer, I have overcome the world."

"OK," you say, "I shouldn’t worry. But I do worry; the lioness has stalked me and caught me; her teeth have seized my throat with regret and dread. My knees are weak and buckling, my eyes wide with fear, and I am gasping with worry. What shall I do? How do I stop the throat-kill of worry?"

Well, dear friend, your first problem is that you are a bad speller. "A bad speller?" you reply. Yes, you are a bad speller. You spell p-r-a-y p-r-e-y. The one—p-r-e-y—is the lioness’s teeth in your throat, the other—p-r-a-y—is the king’s hand upon your shoulder. Both Queen Worry and King Jesus require you to bend the knee, but to whom will you bow and how? Will you bow to Queen worry, with her teeth in your throat, your knees buckled, your heart weakened, and your breath begging for life and peace? Or will you bow the knee to King Jesus, with His hand upon your shoulder to strengthen the feeble knees, empower the fainting heart, and breathe the invigorating wind of the Almighty Spirit? Will you bend the knee as prey, or bend the knee and pray?

The Great apostle teaches us, "be careful for nothing," which means that we should not be "full of care" about anything; but some of us interpret Paul’s words too precisely; we think that when Paul says, "be careful for nothing," that that is exactly what we should do, "be full of care about nothing," full of care about nothing we can control, full of care about nothing we can change, full of care about nothing we can do, which are precise definitions of worry—to be full of care about nothing. But we have missed Paul’s meaning, who enjoins us to be full of care about no-thing; no matter how great or difficult the problem, no matter how loud the roar, how terrible the beast, how sharp the teeth, Paul enjoins us to "be careful for no-thing, but in everything by prayer and thanksgiving let your request be made known unto God." Change your spelling, dear Christian, and no longer say p-r-e-y but p-r-a-y. Declare this to Queen Worry and King Jesus—every time the lion roars, I shall pray; every time the beast attacks, I shall pray; every time the queen’s canines, dread and regret, seize me by the throat, I shall rebuke the devourer and say, "Get behind me, Satan. This is the King’s matter, not the queen’s murder. I shall not be prey, but I shall pray." By prayer, I shall translate every earthly burden into a heavenly blessing; by prayer I will make the lion to lie down with the Lamb. By prayer I shall transfigure regret into redemption, and dread into hope. By prayer I shall overcome the world, and the worries of it.

Another way to break the throat-grip of worry is to meditate upon Christ and His word. Now, it is almost a humorous question, but if a lioness had me by the throat, about what would I be thinking? The raw power that has me in her grip? To be sure. The awful jaws around my throat? Without a doubt. The sharp teeth in my windpipe? Most certainly. The regret of what has befallen me, and the dread of what awaits? Of course. But do we not understand? This is exactly what the queen of the throat-kill wants us to do—think about her, her power, and her teeth, dread and regret; think about worry while we bleed into her teeth. "Think about me," says the lioness worry. Think about my strength, my jaws, my teeth; think about the throat-kill. But above all," worry says, "don’t think about lion-slayers."

Don’t think about Samson, upon whom the Spirit of the LORD came mightily when he met a young lion in the way and tore her to pieces with his bare hand. Don’t think about that. And don’t think about how God strangely filled the dead lion with honeybees to make honey in the lion’s carcass, to strengthen Samson and his family. Don’t think about the supremacy of the bare hand empowered by the Spirit, or the sovereignty of God to bring honey out of a lion’s teeth, and strength out of struggle. Don’t think about that; that about me, my jaws, my teeth, the throat-kill. Don’t think about lion-slayers.

"Don’t think about the shepherd boy David who, to protect his flock, took the lion by the beard, smote him, and slew him. And don’t think about David’s mighty man, Benaiah, the son of valiant Kabzeel, who "slew a lion in a pit on a snowy day." Think about the adverse conditions in your life. Think about the snow, the pit, and the lion; think about the throat-kill.
"Think as the slothful man thinks, ‘There is a lion in the way, and I shall be slain in the streets.’ Think as the defeated Israelites thought, ‘The lion is come up from his thicket, and the destroyer . . . is on his way; he is gone forth from his place to make our land desolate; and our cities shall be laid waste, without an inhabitant.’ Think about the lion-fearers, not the lion-slayers; not Samson, or David, or Benaiah. And dare not think of Daniel. Think not of fearless obedience; think not of joy and peace amidst trial; think of the evil queen worry, lurking in the den of regret, crouching in the cave of dread; shall you not tremble? Think of her there, waiting for you. ‘The lion hath roared, who will not fear?’4 But think not of Daniel, to whom God ‘sent his angel . . . and shut the lion’s mouth.’5 And above all, do not think of Lamb, the Lamb against whose darling soul the strong lions roared, and opened their mouths like hell without measure. Think not upon the Lamb, not upon His flesh torn for your flesh, not upon His soul pierced for your soul, His blood spilled for your blood. Think not upon the slaughtered Lamb, but upon your own slaughter, your own throat, and upon the lioness’ teeth. Think not upon Lamb, who by His death slew the lioness worry, for He will convince you that ‘neither death, nor life, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature,’ not even the lioness worry, can separate you from the Lamb’s love. Think not upon the Lamb, for He will keep you in perfect peace. Think upon me," says the lioness worry, and "I will keep thee in a perpetual fret. I will have you by the throat. But if you think upon the great Lion Slayer, I will lose my grip, for He will have you by the heart."

That Samson will slay worry, and summon the honeybees; that Benaiah fears not the snow for His household, and will tread any pit to slay worry; that David wields the deadly sling of grace and will strike worry in the forehead; that Daniel silences worry’s roar and stills her teeth. Worry cannot bite the throat whose mind stays upon the Lion Slayer, and whose heart is reposed upon the bosom of the Lamb.

The Death Knell of My Political Career

2009-05-27T21:05:00.004-05:00

What I am about to write will guarantee that I will never hold elective office. (That and the fact that such aspirations are mere velleities.)

Have you considered the potential value of a dictatorship? I know, I know, self-government is the cornerstone to our system, and it's a sacred aspect of our government, but let me make a quick pitch.

All governments are dictatorships, one just sometimes has trouble identifying precisely who the dictator is. In Nazi Germany the dictator was Hitler. In the nacent USSR it was Lenin, then Stalin, yet the Russian version of despotism differed. Hitler aspired for over a decade to ascend to ultimate power in Germany, believing that only he could save Germany from its republican government which gave away the store to France and England after WWI. Of course, revanchement and the abolition of all Jews were also important compenants of Hitler's rise to power. (The former being laudable, the latter pure evil.)

Lenin, on the other hand, would have never come to power had he claimed he wanted to be dictator. Instead, what he wanted was a dictatorship of the proletariat, represented by the Communist Party. Regardless of whether the bourgeois class was more numerous or powerful, the Communists technically saw the peasants as being "better" and therefore wanted them to be the dictators of their country, and all countries. (I believe it's debatable whether Stalin, the erstwhile seminarian, actually believed in Communism as much as he believed in power. Lenin, however, appears to me to have been a true believer.)

Lenin and Hitler both viewed the public masses as a group to be mobilized rather than a constituency to represent (I got that from a book I'm reading... a parallel biography of Stalin and Hitler. I can't remember the author's name at the moment, or I'd properly cite to him.)

The US has always been a dictatorship, but the identity of the dictator has changed over time. Originally, the dictator, if you will, consisted of property owners. They were fully vested in the system, and by and large viewed government's role as protecting their property and getting out of their way so they could make money. This dictatorship did many horrible things, most notably own people. However, that dictatorship also liberated those people, fathered the industrial revolution, fulfilled the manifest destiny, and presided over the greatest economic expansion in history.

Now, if you have a face and are 18 years old you can vote. Actually, you don't even have to have a face... At least I think you don't have to have a face, because that's the only explanation I can come up with as to why someone would oppose a voter ID requirement.

So, any person can vote. It doesn't matter whether you have the morals of Larry Flynt, the intellect of Sean Penn, or even whether you speak English. Think about that a minute. We live in a country where the difference between a winner and a loser could be a idiot pornographer who can't speak English. But that's not what I'm upset about.

Right now when the government issues bonds, the fed is printing money to purchase the bonds. That's not just a recipe for inflation, it's inflation flambe. And why are we just printing money? Why, because we need stimulus. This stimulus is in the form of giveaways to various interest groups: geographic, ethnic, and ideological. Need to organize a community and register fake voters? Give ACORN some cash. Need to kill more unborn children? Stimulate Planned Parenthood. Just print the money.

Of course, China won't let us just keep printing money, because when we do we instantly devalue their currency, which is pegged to the dollar, not to mention devalue their biggest asset: U.S. Treasuries.

Obviously, Obama is the man in charge of all this, but he's kowtowing to the real dictators: welfare recipients, unions who've driven their companies into the ground, and various minority communities. Why, the only reason Obama tapped Sonia Soto to be on the Court is because he can't get amnesty through the Congress this year. It's all one big catering job; attempts to placate constintuencies in the era of identity politics.

Well, I'd rather have Dick Cheney as a dictator than La Raza, Planned Parenthood, and ACORN, thank you very much. Frankly, I'd rather have Obama as dictator than that motley crew of interest groups. So there you go, I'm for a dictatorship, at least a different dictatorship than the one we already have.

Lastly, and this is way off topic, if it is so important to ensure the US has large auto companies, then why don't we just start a new one? Wouldn't that be cheaper than bailing out all the crappy companies in Detroit? Sheesh.

Joel Limbaugh and Rush Osteen

2009-05-07T09:12:00.004-05:00

In my last post I took pot-shots at O'Reilly, Hannity, and their ilk. I was hoping to provoke some response from their devotees but, alas, all quiet. So may I add to that list Rush Limbaugh and every other knee-jerk conservative who appeals to the popular masses. If Limbaugh, O'Reilly, and Hannity were truly oracles of conservatism, I would convert to liberalism at once. I don't like shallow thinkers to speak for me, and I certainly do not need them to confirm, much less fortify, my opinions. In fact, in both style and content, they offend me.

Both of my sons are politically conservative, one more verbally so. As he was praising one of those pundits, I said to him, "Why would you listen to him? He can't teach you anything."

Let me state my point another way: do the rambling rhetoric and superficial observations of those tv/radio personalities truly represent conservatism? Only at a superficial level. Limbaugh and his cronies are the political equivalents of Joel Osteen, appealing to the conservative masses but embarrassing to those who know better.

Joel Osteen edifies none of my Christian friends. How could he? They're too informed to listen to, much less agree with his rubbish; he's just a theological puppy, cute, but no bark and certainly no bite. But many of those same friends would die without their daily dose of ear-grinding whining from mass-consumption conservatives. What a terrible commentary upon the depth (?) of their political savvy. My friends would be better off to listen to NPR; that would at least give them the opportunity to sharpen their critique against liberalism rather than just say "Amen" to what they already agree with. How convenient, how boring!

If you want to think about politics, then think about it.

But, to do that, you'll have to turn off your television or radio and read.

One page (yes, one page) of Jefferson, Locke, Montesquieu, Rousseau, Bork, Scalia, Thomas, D'Souza, or Buckley would benefit you more than one month's listening to Joel Limbaugh and Rush Osteen.

Nuclear Key Club

2009-05-05T23:25:00.001-05:00

I always disdained pep rallies and, much to my satisfaction, a mature intellectual life confirmed and strengthened that distrust of the what Voltaire called "the savage herd," a philosophical analogy to the "broad way" of Jesus Christ. As opposed to being swayed by (and swaying with) the crowd, I much preferred a James Dean slouch under the bleachers to a bleached smile under the spotlight.

Particularly alien and offensive to my psyche, with mutual disdain, was the Key Club, possessing "the key" to what I did not know, perhaps the key to success, the key to society, the key to the future? The key" to what I did not know, but I did know they did not have the key to my Camaro (Yes, "Don't Tread on Me" has ever been my motto).

A few years ago during a wistful laugh over the Presidency of George W. Bush, it dawned upon me: "Key Club with Nuclear Power." Yes, that was it: George Bush is someone I never would have "hung around with," him under the banner "Key Club" and me under the bleachers. I could see him in the high school annual, "Vice-President of the Key Club," just beneath the Key Club president's picture, "Billy Clinton." The only difference I now perceive is not in their grins but in the placement of their hands; no, not on the sacred gavel or the mystic motto, but on the red button.

I then began superimposing this less than far-fetched fantasy upon newscasts, sound bytes, and talking-head interviews (more "talking" than "head" - O'Reilly, Hannity, et.al. former members of the Thespian Society and Debate Team who couldn't make it into the Key Club; I really don't watch them because I much prefer listening to intelligent liberals rather than superficial conservatives) . . . I began transposing that vision of the Key Club upon power-broker politicians: Teddy Kennedy, Tom Daschle, Lindsay Graham, John Cornyn, Christopher Hayes, Rick Santorum, Diane Feinstein, Jesse Jackson, Jr., John Warner: yes, that was it: Nuclear Key Club; high school superficialites destined for the ultimate Key Club: The United States Congress and, heaven help, the Presidency. I wouldn't have hung around with those guys . . .

Now if you think that I am just a whining cynic, emotionally caught in high school inferiority or adult anonymity, just try this once . . . try this the next time you watch a newscast (and want a good laugh) . . . try to imagine this: "What would this nuclear power-broker have been in high school?"

I actually experimented with this theory last night. There they were, Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi standing side-by-side . . . consummate wimp and consummate . . . we'll, you figure it out . . .

Key Club gone nuclear . . .

I'm still slouching under the bleachers . . .

Regarding the Individual

2009-04-30T15:47:00.016-05:00

If the human being is truly an eternal entity, then "the individual is not only more important but incomparably more important (than a state or a nation), for he is everlasting and the life of a state or a civilisation, compared with his, is only a moment."

-C.S. Lewis

The residents at Baylor Medical Center have a daily noon conference where a lecture topic is discussed. Today, the topic covered was "quality measures." One of our leading physicians discussed the nationally-based evaluation system for hospitals. This is the one that you read in U.S. News and World Report. Like many other government-implemented systems, it is crude and imprecise but, nonetheless, constructed for a noble cause. The discussion was on mortality rates in the hospital.

Depending on the diagnoses given to patients upon their arrival to the hospital, the likelihood for death due to those specific diagnoses is estimated. If hospitals have death rates that exceed the predicted values, then their score is above 1.0 for that particular disease; if their death rates are below predicted, their score is below 1.0 - this is obviously the desirable score. This is published data, and anyone can look it up. We were also reminded that when we finish residency and are practicing under our own medical licenses, we will each have our individual data or scores published for public perusal (ouch!).

During the discussion, an interesting point was made. Since Baylor is a tertiary referral center, we are often sent the sickest patients, and we accept them. This can obviously be detrimental to our mortality scores, and thus our reputation.

One resident spoke up and said, "If I get a call from an outside hospital to transfer a patient who is obviously dying, why would I accept that patient? If I know the patient is beyond saving, and accepting him/her would only cause a permanent blemish on my institution's and my personal record, what is the motivation for transfer?"

As a physician, it's hard to argue with this point. One might argue, "Well, you don't really know if they're going to die."

Actually, I disagree with such an argument. While none of us are infallible, I think when patients reach a certain point, it is fairly easy to recognize when medical intervetion is futile. Even residents typically know when their patients are going to die.

My point is this. While I was pining over this question posed by my fellow resident, I was haunted by Lewis' statement.

So why accept the dying patient?

To allow someone to die with more dignity.

To restore the calm of a distressed family.

To nurture wounded souls.

To clarify the meaning of love for those who do not fully understand.

To provide a glimpse of Heaven in the face of death.

To remind others that we are eternal beings.

To make the statement, "the sick man in front of me is more important than my ratings, my 'career,' my state, my nation, the earth, even the universe, a finite entity."

What a powerful image.

I hope that when I wake in the morning, God will grant me the grace to humbly embrace Lewis' ideal.

Watch Out!

2009-04-29T07:50:00.002-05:00

Looking for snakes . . .

It’s something I do every day, especially every morning when I first walk out the door, and every evening when I return from fishing or working outside, more especially on rainy days when heaven’s goodness drives the serpents to dry ground.

Looking for snakes. It’s a necessary trade off for living in a beautifully natural setting. I’ve killed over a dozen snakes, perhaps two dozen, over the last five years, seven in one day, mostly venomous copperheads.

I usually awake long before dawn and take my first stab at writing. Two cups of coffee (really two half cups) is my limit, and then at a stopping point I break to wake my puppy and take him outside. Before I do, though, I fill his bowls with water and food, and then turn on the back porch light. Before I step out the door, I always look down and from side to side. Usually I think to myself, "I hope I don’t forget to do this." The son of the previous owner had forgotten to look down and felt the strike, copperhead fangs to the ankle. I look down and from side to side, and then I walk the deck to be sure that some coiled and sleeping serpent has not made himself at home on my property or in my path. A strike would kill the dog and maybe me, at least make me very sick.

Every time I walk to the boathouse I carry a rake or a machete, sometimes my short-barrel shotgun, and always my pistol. I scan everything everywhere. I have killed several snakes on my deck steps. Walking down it’s difficult to see the serpent just beneath the lip of the next step; he's seldom there, but sometimes he is; you wouldn’t want to step on him.

Friday evening as I returned from fishing, I followed my pattern. "Shadow," I said to my little dog, "We have to watch for snakes." My two-million candlepower Q-beam scowered the yard, the flower beds, and every rising step. Nothing tonight, nothing, that is, until I reached my back porch. There, uncoiled but not straight, crooked and still, lay the villain lounging in the dusky light. I commanded my dog, "Shadow, stop! Stay!" I gently lay down my shotgun (I couldn’t shoot my porch, pooch, and living room) and coyly walked past the snake to the hard rake. Carefully and quietly I seized it, flipping the teeth upward and the straight bar downward. I lifted the rake with both hands and then swung downward with all my might. The first blow seldom kills the snake, just numbs it, or, worse, misses and agitates the snake. This time I did some damage to his spine. Second blow–I almost severed the head at three inches and deadly to the mark. Even dead snakes wiggle and writhe and always give me the heebie-jeebies. And he was a big one, about three feet long.

My heart is always in my throat when I kill a snake, I always sweat, and my heart-rate always increases. I also always experience a degree of anger and hatred toward the slithery thing. I turned the rake teeth downward, lifted the limp torso with the tendon-strung head, and said, "Turtle food." An epithet for the snake might have crossed my mind as well.

Snakes are everywhere. No, not those kinds of snakes, but the deadlier kind. The kind that slither into the soul and strike at the mind, will, and heart.

How alert are you? Are you careful or careless, watchful or naive, well prepared or passively unaware, empty-handed or adequately armed?

Snakes love the twilight, not the noonday, the gray day, not the bright.

Carry a Light, a familiar Weapon, and . . .

Watch your step!

A Moral and Ethical Question

2009-04-28T05:30:00.001-05:00

I'm in Dallas for the next few days. I'm staying with a person who is my superior, and we have a witness in town. We ate dinner last night, and their conversation was full of rampant wickedness.

What's my responsibility? If I'm at dinner hearing ribald humor, what do I do?

Frankly, it's a perplexing situation for me. I didn't participate, but I didn't denounce either. Well, I did at one point in a passive-agressive way

What am I supposed to do? Am I to just disengage, or am I to actively denounce, or something else?

God Doesn't Need You

2009-04-27T12:35:00.002-05:00

The least understood aspect in the redemptive work of God is also the most important.

It is this—the first cause and highest motivation of God’s redemptive work is for His own sake, or more specifically, for the sake of His own holiness. Contrary to the most popular “Christian” mantra of the day—Jesus Loves You and has a wonderful plan for your life, God’s chief concern is not the manifestation of His love towards men; rather, it is His own holiness.

But what is holiness?

“Holiness is self-affirming purity. In virtue of this attribute of his nature, God eternally wills and maintains his own moral excellence. In this definition are contained three elements: first, purity; secondly, purity willing; thirdly, purity willing itself “ (A.H. Strong).

Wholly other is often how holy is described. Dorner writes, “that is holy which, undisturbed from without, is wholly like itself.”

Most often we associate “self-affirming purity” to holiness and less often its equally important counterpart—“maintain(ing) his own moral excellence.” However, scripture makes no such distinction:

“Thus says the Lord God: It is not for your sake, O house of Israel, that I am about to act, but for the sake of my holy name, which you have profaned among the nations to which you came. And I will vindicate the holiness of my great name, which has been profaned among the nations, and which you have profaned among them. And the nations will know that I am the Lord, declares the Lord God, when through you I vindicate my holiness before their eyes” (Ezekiel 36:22-23, ESV).

From Ezekiel (as well as I Jn 1:5 and elsewhere) we learn that the primary cause of God’s restorative action among men is “for the sake of (His) holy name” and the vindication of his holiness. The secondary effect is man. If He is as He is revealed by His word, then God must be holy. And to be holy is to remain holy--“it is the part of goodness to protect goodness” (Dorner). “God must maintain his holiness, for this is his very Godhead. If he did not maintain it, love would have nothing to give away, or to make others partakers of” (Strong).

While it is ever so popular to sing about holiness during praise and worship, it is equally as uncommon to ever hear about it during teaching. (At this point the smartly attuned reader might grab a towel to wipe the drops of sarcasm in my use of distasteful and inaccurate modern church vernacular). Among the reasons that the holiness of God is confined to the modern praise song genre--where verse twelve was established from verse one and reemphasized in six, seven and eight--is that mindlessness often substitutes for the mysterious in contemporary “Christianity.” And the mysterious is rarely explored or taught and hardly ever preached (sans HB). As such, the mystery of God's holiness just isn’t practical enough for the modern “Christian” mind, so it largely lies unexplained and unexplored.

As I have tried to grasp the significance of this idea--God’s vindicating holiness as the first cause and primary motive in setting His Kingdom aright—admittedly, I’ve struggled to find its practical import. Seemingly, this truth would set man further from God rather than closer. That God, and only God, is fit to satisfy His own wrath and maintain His own holiness must be true. But what does this mean for man? For me? How does the high truth of His holiness affect our daily lives? Are we merely an afterthought to God? And as weeks passed by, I found no good answers.

Then, this past week, it hit me.

As I was reading an essay from a particular Swiss theologian, I encountered an idea that I hadn’t considered in a long time—God doesn’t need you.

God doesn’t need anything.

While we are creatures of need, God is not. Further, I thought that this must be an all-important aspect of His holiness, His wholly otherness—God does not need. One of the key truisms of His being “wholly like itself” is just that--God does not need. Otherwise, every being not “wholly like itself” has need. Thus, they are distinguished as creatures.

This underestimated truth—God doesn’t need you—suddenly made the essence of God's holiness more understandable. The practicality of holiness is that at its highest level, in the essence of the Godhead, it isn’t very practical at all. Practicality always necessitates need. If something is to be practical it must first be needful, right? But God doesn’t need us in order to be God. In other words, God does not need to be practical. If He is so, then He wants to be so, but He does not have to be so. Contrary to popular thought, His high truths do not have to be contextualized to man in order to be any truer or effective or relevant. And he certainly doesn’t need you to establish His holiness, nor does He need you in order to preserve His holiness. Thus, the origin of holiness is not practical concerning men—it needs not men in order to be what it is.

“Neither is (God) worshipped with men's hands, as though he needed any thing, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things” (Paul, Acts 17:25, KJV).

But if you insist on practicality, here it is--one practical implication of God’s holiness is for us to realize and rest in the truth that our God needs nothing.

Nothing from us makes Him any more or less God, any more or less holy, any more or less capable of carrying out His will.

But wait a second...Or does it?

I would submit that most “Christians” live as if God does need them. How else could He accomplish His will without our testimony, our prayer, our sacraments, and our efforts? The theological error that comes from this line of thinking—that God does need man in order to accomplish His will—is abundant and popular.

If you doubt what I am saying, then consider these common lines of thinking born from our false sense of God’s need, or just visit any run-of-the-mill church, look and listen:
• God needed to create man because He was lonely;
• God needs your decision and your cooperation in order to save you;
• God needs some men to accept His invitation because He loves them all;
• God needs you to help restore His creation and its culture in order to prepare the way for His second coming;
• God needs to establish a physical kingdom on earth;
• God needs a priest in order to establish His true church, one who perpetually atones for the sins of His people;
And on, and on.

“The principle that holiness is a manifestation of love, or a form of benevolence, leads to the conclusions that happiness is the only good, and the only end; that law is a mere expedient for the securing of happiness; that penalty is simply deterrent or reformatory in its aim; that no atonement needs to be offered to God for human sin; that eternal retribution cannot be vindicated, since there is no hope of reform. This view ignores the testimony of conscience and of Scripture that sin is intrinsically ill-deserving, and must be punished on that account, not because punishment will work good to the universe,--indeed, it could not work good to the universe, unless it were just and right in itself. It ignores the fact that mercy is optional with God, while holiness is invariable; that punishment is many times traced to God’s holiness, but never to God’s love; that God is not simply love but light—moral light—and therefore is “a consuming fire” to all iniquity. Love chastens, but only holiness punishes in judgment” (Strong).

Where holiness is not seen as the preeminent and fundamental principle in all of God’s action, men will generally have an inaccurate and exaggerated view of their own importance and a theology marked by “a summer ocean of kindliness, never agitated by storms” (Dale). They will also misunderstand God’s love. Where “holiness is a manifestation of love” or worse (ie. God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life), then God must have need, since He would need everything to work towards “the securing of happiness” as “the only good, and the only end.” Since we know that this does not always happen, it would make God needy if true--if God is incapable of always accomplishing His will, then He is no longer wholly like himself if anything happens against His will. Incidentally, this is why Joel Osteen can never reconcile a 9/11—ie. certain bad things happen against God’s will. When “holiness is a manifestation of love” it must be this way since it is up to man to meet God’s need, to respond to God’s call, and to help secure the “happiness” God so desperately needs people to experience.

Let me introduce the God of modern America. What an impotent, namby-pamby God!

How different is a true understanding of God, where holiness is the preeminent and fundamental principle in all of God's action.

A true understanding of God realizes that He loves us not because His need is to love, but rather, He loves us because His desire is to love. He loves us because He will love us, not because He should love us. His love isn’t bound by need like ours is; His love knows no bounds. Born out of His holiness, the transcendent nature of the love of God (ie. greater than need since God doesn’t need) meets exactly what men need! If “holiness is the track on which the engine of love must run”(Strong), then all other imitations of love—love not born of holiness--are but malfunctioning trains soon to be derailed. Think of how this implicates our loves here on earth; think of how this should implicate our love towards Him--not solely born of need but of desire as it is reciprocated as best we can.

Only God can meet our deepest need because only God has no need Himself. And as we more fully understand that God needs nothing, perhaps we as his children can more fully know the depths of His holiness, His justice, and ultimately, His love.

Perhaps too, we can live with less need ourselves as we are holy as He is holy, shunning our fleshly idols more often, saying with Paul, “to live is Christ and to die is gain.” As we become more holy and we need less and less, the fear of the Lord will become grafted into our souls more and more as it was with Solomon and Job. We will come to understand how His wholly otherness makes His love possible and ultimately meaningful.

In light of these truths, we should live then not as if God needed us, but rather we should more fully live because He loves us.

Three Men and a Mountain

2009-04-25T20:25:00.019-05:00

Once three men stood before a great and strange mountain.

All three men faced the ominous task of climbing the mountain.

The first man saw the mountain and said, "This mountain is too great for us to climb. It is too wide for us to circumnavigate, and too high for us to scale."

The second man was blind and said, "I do not see the mountain."

The third man saw the mountain but said to the other two, "The mountain is only an illusion; the mountain is not real. Even if the mountain is real, it is only temporarily so. If we wait long enough, the mountain will change with the tides or floods or winds, and then we can climb the mountain or detour around it with little problem, or perhaps the mountain is truly as I say, merely an illusion, and will completely disappear and become the faint etching of a faded dream upon our memories."

The mountain that rises before the three men is Evil. Respectively, the three men who stand before the mountain of Evil represent the theist and two kinds of atheists.

The first man is the theist who sees the mountain of evil and admits his impotency to navigate and scale the mountain. "This mountain is too great for us to climb," he says, "and its expanse so great that we cannot get over or around it. Someone Else must do that." The theist knows the mountain is there, but he cannot explain the mountain, or how it came to be.

The second man, the blind man, is the typical atheist who, while denying the existence of God, is blind to the mountain Evil. He does not see that, if he says in his heart, "there is no God," to be logically consistent he must also declare "there is no Evil"; but he is blind to his own illogic; he does not see the philosophical contradiction; he is blind to the ominous mountain that overshadows his boastful claim.

The third man is the logically consistent atheist. He is somewhat reticent to admit the truth of his convictions, but he recognizes that, if he admits the existence of Evil as an absolute entity, he must therefore admit its opposite, absolute Good, for absolute Evil demands the corollary absolute Good; and absolute Good demands the absolute existence of God. The consistent atheist recognizes this trilemma, and with cavalier boldness he decries the mountain as "only a temporary illusion, or an ultimate chimera." To him, Evil is at most only relative, not absolute; Evil is defined by individual or social opinions and, depending upon the tides of time, the floods of circumstances, and the winds of change, the mountain of Evil will erode or evaporate from one generation to the next. The logically consistent atheist knows, embarrassingly, that Hitler and Jeffrey Dahmer were temporarily Evil only in relative individual and social terms; exterminating six million Jews, and murdering one’s homosexual lovers and eating their flesh, are Evil only in terms of prevailing opinion as to what is right and wrong. After all, should not the strong survive when nature itself is "red in tooth and claw"? The consistent atheist knows that Raskolnikov was correct when he said,

"Without God, everything is permissible,"

or Kurtz in the Heart of Darkness,

"Exterminate the brutes! Kill them all!"

Where is this Raskolnikov, this Kurtz, this Wise and Fearless One who says,

"Evil is no-thing, just a charming chimera, an elusive illusion, an imaginary mountain."

I have seen the blind man standing before the mountain; he is all around the mountain on every side but cannot see the mountain.

I have heard that the third man also stands before and around, and even on top of the mountain, the Wise and Fearless One with perfect vision of the relative height and depth, the illusory length and breadth of the mountain . . .

I have heard a rumor that he exists, but . . .

I do not see him, and . . .

I do not hear him, only his faint echo . . .

Could it be that this third man, this Wise and Fearless One, is himself an illusion?

Second Amendment Applicable to the States

2009-04-21T20:55:00.001-05:00

Some of you will recall that I wrote a piece in this space last year in the wake of the Heller case, where the Supreme Court held that the Second Amendment protected an individual right to keep and bear arms (as opposed to the right being limited to the need for a militia or the like) and in the process struck down a law passed by Washington D.C. However, as many of you know the Bill of Rights initially worked only to restrict the federal government. For instance, “Congress shall pass no law” really meant the U.S. Congress only. Following the War of Northern Aggression, the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments were ratified by the States. Jurisprudence interpreting the Fourteenth Amendment (which specifically limits the powers of the several States) gradually incorporated most of the Bill of Rights as being applicable to the States. So Texas can’t establish a religion, conduct unreasonable searches and seizures, or engage in cruel and unusual punishment. Only recently have the States been governed by mollycoddling nannies, so the courts have previously not had an opportunity to speak to the issue of whether the Second Amendment is applicable to the States. (ADDENDUM: In doing some additional research, it appears that the 9th Circuit has previously looked at the issue, and in typical nanny-state style deemed the Second Amendment to be a collective right, and not an individual right. The Heller case destroyed that line of thinking.)

Well, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, which covers California, Alaska, Hawaii, Washington, Montana, Oregon, Nevada, Idaho, and Arizona (this is from memory, so I may have missed a state or two) has spoken, and I am surprisingly pleased by its holding.

The case, styled Nordyke, et al. v. King, et al. pits gun show vendors against the County Board of Supervisors for Alameda County. the County passed an ordinance making it illegal to bring onto or to possess a firearm or ammunition on County property. Historically, a gun show was held annually at the public fairgrounds in Alameda, which was effectively made illegal by the statute. The ordinance was passed under the auspices of being responsive to a shooting that took place at the County Fair and various school shootings, such as Columbine. In fact, one member of the Board (King) had been seeking for a way to specifically ban gun shows for some time, and even sent a memorandum to the City Council to figure out how to do it. In refreshing honesty, King had stated she’d “been trying to get rid of gun shows on County property [for] about three years,” but had “gotten the run around from spineless people hiding behind the constitution.”

In 1996, the 9th Circuit held that the Second Amendment protected only a collective right, not an individual right, which precluded an individual from bringing a suit to challenge the constitutionality of a gun law. The 9th Circuit opened its opinion by affirming that Heller abrogated the court’s previous assertion that an individual couldn’t challenge a gun law.

In the 9th Circuit’s discussion of the law it would apply to the Ordinance at issue, the court cited Heller and other sources to state, “The Second Amendment protects a right that predates the Constitution; therefore, the Constitution did not grant it.”

In order to determine whether a right is protected by the Fourteenth Amendment (under a doctrine called Substantive Due Process) courts historically engaged, generally, in the following analysis: whether the right is implicit in the concept of ordered liberty; and whether the would-be right is one without which a fair and enlightened system of justice would be impossible. Obviously, that’s a bit esoteric and philosophical, so it has been replaced by a historical survey of whether the right asserted is part of the “actual systems bearing virtually every characteristic of the common-law system that has been developing contemporaneously in England and this country. Therefore, incorporation turns on whether given this kind of system a particular procedure is fundamental–whether, that is, a procedure is necessary to an Anglo-American regime of ordered liberty.” The 9th Circuit wrote that “this culturally specific inquiry compels us to determine whether the right is deeply rooted in this Nation’s history and tradition.” The court then engaged in a lengthy recitation of the history described in the Heller opinion, copiously tracking the history of gun rights in England and colonial America. Of course, this analysis inevitably leads to the conclusion that the right to keep and bear arms predates the Constitution.

The way in which the 9th Circuit quotes the Heller opinion is a testament to the Anglo tradition of jurists writing opinions rather than merely rendering decisions. The force of Scalia’s writing in Heller has lead the most liberal appellate court writing, “We therefore conclude that the right to keep and bear arms is deeply rooted in this Nation’s history and tradition.” Further, the right “has long been regarded as the true palladium of liberty.” The court concluded that the “crucial role this deeply rooted right has played in our birth and history compels us to recognize that it is indeed fundamental, that it is necessary to the Anglo-American conception of ordered liberty that we have inherited.” The Second Amendment was thus determined to be incorporated by the Fourteenth.

In the end, the Ordinance was held to be reasonable since it only applied to government property. This is probably the right decision. However, the big issue in the case was whether the Second Amendment protects an individual right, which it was held to do.

Equally encouraging was this passage from the concurring opinion, “the right to bear arms is a protection against the possibility that even our own government could degenerate into tyranny, and though this may seem unlikely, this possibility should be guarded against with individual diligence.” Well stated.

Salt Minds

2009-04-18T12:51:00.006-05:00

I thought of titling this post "Shaping (or being shapened by) Culture," but since (1) I am not a postmillennialist, (2) I disdain the cliched overuse of the term "culture" by quasi-intellectual Calvinists, and (3) the word "shapen" or its derivative "shapened" would confuse too many readers, I chose the catchier "Salt Minds."

From the previous paragraph one should easily deduce two things: first, everyone is influencing, being influenced by, or both influencing and being influenced by culture and, secondly, the viable and vibrant Christian will influence culture like salt influences that upon which it is sprinkled.

Into what category of cultural influence do we fit? Perhaps no one fits into the first category of influencing culture without being influenced by culture (even Jesus Christ emerged from a cultural milieu); that leaves two categories into which we can fall, influencers of, or influenced by culture. We are all in the Louvre, culturally speaking, painters or paintings, sculptors or sculpted, hanging or being hung. In every generation the vast majority of individuals are neither painters nor sculptors, but rather paintings and sculptures, fashioned like clay by superior hands and colored by hues and strokes from the cultural artist's palette and brush. Most of us are hung, not hanging, cynically described by Voltaire as "the savage herd." That leaves only a few cultural artists in every century, a Monet or Mozart here, a Marx or Maimonides there.

The brilliant postmillennialist Abraham Kuyper believed that Christianity, specifically Calvinist Christianity, was the chisel and the brush, not only capable of painting and sculpting culture on a grand scale but predestined to transform culture into a masterpiece fit for display in the very Holy of Holies. Kuyper envisions the Calvinistic transformation of culture in four areas: religion, politics, science, and art. Typical of postmillennialists, Kuyper theorizes that the triumph of Christ's cross necessitates the material and global transformation of culture prior to the Second Advent. Kuyper's cosmic optimism has waned among evangelicals and is embraced now only by those Calvinists who, like the Premillennialists they so ardently oppose, suffer from an errant hermeneutic that desires and expects the globalization of Christianity. Western socialism, Islam, China rising, rampant and rapid philosophical and moral deterioration, and the spectre of World War III seem to be mild setbacks to their optimism, not to mention a superior hermeneutic of which they are unaware.

We shall not deny that the kingdom has come, but we shall deny that it must come as the pathologically pessimistic dispensationalists and their unwitting cousins, the blindly optimistic postmillennialists, wrongly think it will come. "Wilt thou at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?" "NO!" is heaven’s perennial answer.

That stern negation still leaves everyone of us as sculptor or sculpted, painter or painted, hanging or hung.

But the better, in fact, the biblical metaphor is salt.

Salt does not transfigure its environment but rather seasons it by infiltration, permeation, preservation, and alteration. A little thing, a grain of salt, but large in its influence. Light, too, effects the same: infiltration, permeation, preservation, and alteration. An unsavory cut of meat and a dark night are respectively unpalatable and unnavigable, but with just a sprinkle of salt or one silver sliver of a hopeful moon, a rough-cut sirloin and a black midnight become savory and shimmering.

The world is what it is, and will be what it will be, but salt and light make it palatable and navigable, tasteful and beautiful, even when the world is tough and dark.

So what are you, painter or painted, sculptor or sculpted, hanging or hung, influencing or influenced?

Would you please pass the salt and, oh, yes, flip the switch before you leave, or at least light a candle?

Words Mean Things

2009-04-15T21:19:00.002-05:00

I normally try not to bore people with shop talk, but I thought I'd share a work story from today.

Today I tried a case where the Plaintiff sued my client for breach of contract. The Plaintiff was a temp company---companies come to this temp service looking for individuals to hire on a short-term basis. My client signed a contract (which was prepared by Plaintiff's attorney) with Plaintiff, agreeing to pay a certain amount per hour for the temp. The contract also contained this provision (I'm just using Plaintiff and Defendant to identify the parties): "If Defendant hires an employee of Plaintiff within 90 days of the employee's last day on assignment, then Defendant will pay Plaintiff a conversion fee, which is calculated by . . . ."

The temp that was assigned to my client worked for about six months, until one day my client was rather late on a bill it owed to the Plaintiff (no dispute about this). Plaintiff called the temp and told him, "walk off the job; these people aren't paying us. Come back to our office and we'll try to find you another assignment." The temp didn't like the idea of being told to walk off the job (though he did it) and really didn't care for the possibility that the Plaintiff wouldn't be able to find him work, so he told the lady working for Plaintiff who called him that he quit.

After he quit he called my client, told her the story, and asked what to do with the office keys he'd been given. Several hours later, my client (the Defendant) called the temp back and asked him if he wanted to simply come work for Defendant. He agreed, and Plaintiff sued.

This case turned on the meaning of the word "employee." What is an employee? Do you interpret the document to capture its spirit and intent---Plaintiff clearly didn't want Defendant to hire the temp---or do you go with the basic and plain meaning of the term employee, regardless of the consequences?

I argued that (1) the contract must be construed against Plaintiff and in favor of Defendant (meaning that presented with two reasonable interpretations of the document the tie goes to the person who didn't write it), and (2) that the temp was no longer an employee of Plaintiff when my client hired him.

That the contract must be construed against the Plaintiff is black-letter law, and was a near given. However, I almost felt Clintonian disputing about the word "employee."

So let me tell you how it went. I have the president of Plaintiff on the stand and we have the following exchange:

Me: "Mr. G, how long have you been in the employee-staffing business?"

G: "18 years"

Me: "During that time have you come to an understanding of the meaning of the word 'employee'?"

G: "Yes."

Me: "What is the definition of the word 'employee'?"

G: "It's someone who has a job."

Me: "Fair enough. If was working for you, and I told you, 'I quit,' would I still be your employee?"

G: "No, but I'm not aware of Joe [the temp] doing that."

Me: "Are you saying you're not certain whether Joe still works for you?"

G: "As far as I'm concerned he hasn't quit."

Me: "Well, when was the last time he received a paycheck?"

G: "May 31, 2007."

Me: "Do you have a lot of employees you haven't paid in two years?"

G: "Well, sometimes there can be a gap between assignments."

Me: "Do you have workers compensation insurance with your company?"

G: "Yes."

Me: "Is Joe listed on your comp policy as an employee?"

G: "No."

And so it went.

I then put Joe on the stand who testified that he did, indeed, quit Plaintiff before being hired by Defendant.

Now everybody agreed that the purpose of the above-quoted contractual provision was to prevent companies from stealing staff from the temp service. But the issue before the Court (at least the way I presented it) was whether Joe was an employee of Plaintiff at the time he was hired by Defendant.

Well, the judge bought what I was selling and held that the contract did not preclude hiring former employees of Plaintiff.

So how much money was involved? The conversion fee was about $5,000. But the attorney fees sued for amounted to $18,000. Zilch on those claims. (I must note that the did owe about $500 on an outstanding invoice which we have to pay, and minimal attorney fees were awarded on that claim, but we had already offered $2,500 to settle which was rejected). The judge was a little annoyed that such a low-value case was taking up his whole day, but I think justice was served.

Morals of the story: it pays to go into any business that exists solely due to depravity (funeral homes, lawyering, doctoring, etc.); and just as we spent hours and hours arguing over what the meaning of "employee" is because the outcome of the argument had pecuniary implications, so too should we be careful to properly interpret Scripture, not by making frivolous arguments about minutiae, but by diligent study of the Eternal Word of God. It's actually kind of convicting that I spent so much time memorizing ridiculous provisions in this contract, and have memorized no Scripture this week.

25F

2009-04-07T01:04:00.005-05:00

Ten minutes before the plane departed to California, we learned that our flight was overbooked and we were the last three to get tickets; translation - we were not going to make the flight.

After some scrambling and negotiating, we ended up with $900.00 in vouchers and a $200.00 discount on our rental car; not bad for a slight delay; we were $1100.00 up for the day. How could things get any better?

We finally boarded our new flight and my seat was 25F. A glance down the aisle told me I was n the window seat, and two ladies were already seated in seats 25E and 25D, 25D about 25 years old, and 25E about my age. I hated to trouble them, "Pardon me, ladies, I'm 25F. They stood up, I passed by them and sat down, and they returned to their seats.

Cover up and vividly colorful on the lady's lap next to me was a paperback novel by P. D. James. "My wife loved P. D. James," I said automatically. "Who else does she enjoy?" the lady asked.

The question hovered in my ethereal consciousness only for a moment before I replied, "She died February 11th." Immediately the lady responded, "I am widowed also. My husband died two years ago. I couldn't help but notice your Greek book. He was Greek, and English was his second language.

Amazing Providence - two books precisely relevant to two deceased spouses, two widowed people, two seats, 25E and 25F.

Providence had smiled on the delayed flight, and on the seat 25F. I hoped, and thoroughly believed, Providence was smiling on 25E as well.

The lady in 25E was a full professor of family medicine at the University of Connecticut, a northeastern intellectual culturally familiar with Jesus Christ. I told her about Matt, one more providential connection.

We had much to talk about for the next four hours. The connections were stupendous. The conversation danced around our mutual experiences of a spouse dying of cancer, her husband's being lung cancer and sudden death by a massive stroke that occurred with his first chemotherapy treatment; of course mine focused on Judy's long battle. 25E and I both loved and missed our spouses.

The conversation was heady; two academics exploring death and afterlife. Eventually, the conversation boiled down to the transcendent power of language as a medium to the absolute. 25E was definitely left brain, I right. "What does that mean?" 25E inquired. "It means that words can connect us to absolutes, for instance the word 'love'," I said. "Either an absolute thing called love does exist or it does not, and the word 'love' is our intellectual vehicle to that absolute."

"But don't you think that love is different for all people depending on who they are and their differing circumstances and relationships?" She asked.

"Let me put it another way," I said. "Consider the word 'evil.' Is there such a thing or not?"

"Well, I suppose," said 25E, "that evil is relative to every person's opinion."

"Not at all," I said. "If evil is relative, evil is nothing, only an opinion defined by psychology, sociology, or cultural circumstances and mores. This is where we corner the atheist. To be consistent, s/he must admit the relativity of evil and, once s/he admits that relativity, then the atheist must admit that evil is no more than personal or cultural opinion and therefore not an absolute reality; Evil then becomes nothing, and everything goes. But if the atheist admits the absoluteness of evil, then s/he must admit the absoluteness of good, and thus, of God. I have never met an atheist who would deny the absoluteness of evil, though I suppose Hitler did; so I consider most atheists intellectually inconsistent thinkers."

25E seemed stunned.

"I never thought about it that way," 25E replied. "You've given me something to think about."

I could have cheapened the moment by the cliche, "Would you bow your head and receive Jesus Christ into your heart," but she knew who I was, knew what I believed, and so I just left her to God.

Providence had smiled on 25E and 25F.

25F was amazed.

Look What We've Done

2009-03-25T19:32:00.018-05:00

Some quotes for you to read.

"The need of a constantly expanding market for its products chases . . . over the whole surface of the globe. It must nestle everywhere, settle everywhere, establish connections everywhere . . . . . . . in the place of old local and national seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal interdependence of nations." There is "An epidemic of overproduction." The workers are "daily and hourly enslaved by the machine." Ladies and gentlemen, as Pink Floyd would say . . . . . . . . . . . . welcome to the machine.
This is obviously a description of the American/global economy that we now live in by some contemporary economist, right? It's right on, almost perfect. This guy must be pretty smart. Who is he, you ask?

Karl Marx . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ouch. The quotes are from, you guessed it,
The Communist Manifesto . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . double ouch.

Since I can't open up my yahoo email without seeing the daily headline about the recent AIG fiasco, I'd like to share another quote by good ol' Karl.
"Society is more and more splitting into two great hostile camps, into two great classes directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie and Proletariat. " As Marx has prophesied, there is an obvious and heated polarization between the bourgeoisie and the common man in America. More disturbing, is that this idea popped into my head while I was reviewing literary articles on Cardiovascular disease.

In western society, we practice "evidence-based medicine" . . . . meaning, we conduct large clinical trials to provide proof for a presumed hypothesis (ie if you give someone with this specific disease this specific drug it will reduce their chances of being symptomatic or dying, etc). A sad fact that most people don't know is that a large portion of these trials are produced or sponsored by pharmaceutical companies. I can say with serious conviction, that these companies don't care about patients . . . . . . they care about money. If you could see what I see on a daily basis, you would understand.

Sales reps for drug companies are always hanging around doctor's offices. These reps are always very attractive, very nicely dressed, and quickly proceed to kiss the posteroinferior anatomy of anyone in a white coat. It's disgusting. I'm a very nice guy. I always make it a point to look strangers in the eye, smile, and say hello, but not with these guys. They degrade themselves and everyone around them with the way they behave. At most offices they bring you lunch, then grovel around at your feet with false smiles and way too much eye contact, all for a chance to push some "new" overpriced drug, so that you will prescribe it for them and they can line their pockets. These drugs are almost always an offshoot of a drug that already exists, with some minor alteration. The new alteration presumably provides some benefit, although this benefit hasn't yet withstood the test of time. The drug companies think that these minor alterations entitle them to place astronomically high prices on the new drug. Historically, my reaction of disgust has not been shared by many, and doctors, despite having complete control over the drug market, succumb to bad science and flattery and prescribe this stuff!

So what's my point (sorry for the rant)? How do you tie AIG, western medicine, and Karl Marx all together? It's all embodied in a very simple quote from a man whose wisdom supercedes even the great Karl Marx . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "for the love of money is the root of all evil."
Marx understood this all too well. His point was that man is incapable of self-regulating open markets based on capitalistic principles. Why? Because of greed. The man with much has an insatiable appetite to press for more, even at the expense of those less fortunate. At the present moment, we are solidifying Marx's place in history as prophet. If we cannot stifle our "love of money," the anger of the citizenry and economic polarity we now see will only increase.

Enter Barack Obama. Make no mistake . . . . . he is a socialist (which is simply a soft form of communism). Everyone in the democratic party is a socialist. Communism, and yes, even socialism, flies in the face of the principles on which this great country was founded. I resent the democratic party, because it is their constant goal to strengthen the hand of federal government in all aspects of the life of the individual citizen. However, to quote every parent in the history of mankind, "if you're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like a child." Perhaps we have elected a socialist because of an unconscious realization of our failure to govern ourselves. More sobering . . . . . . . perhaps Karl Marx was right. We will prove him wrong only if we learn to love our neighbors as ourselves. Man's capacity for Charity, not government, is the means by which to annihilate the chasm between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. May God Bless us to summon "the better angels of our nature," so that we may again govern ourselves.

GO HOGS!

2009-03-25T12:52:00.004-05:00

Yesterday as I ate a turkey burger in a little East Texas joint, seated beside me were two men, one in his forties and the other in his twenties. The older man was a pastor, and the younger his youth director. The third person in the conversation was not present, though he was the main topic of the conversation. He was the music director in the same church as the pastor and youth director. Theconversation focused upon a conflict between the pastor and the youth director on the one side, versus the music director on the other. To their credit, the pastor and youth director did not villify the music director but rather discussed the problem they were having with him and how to approach him about it. The music director was a traditionalist in worship, and the pastor and youth director wanted to move to a more contemporary stlye of worship.

The pastor was an articulate man and apparently failry well read, evidenced by his vocabulary and one or two references to C. S. Lewis. The youth director seemed fairly intelligent as well but a veritable slob. He had "hat hair," was overweight, and wore a T-shirt and sagging jeans that, when he sat down, revealed a certain crevice in his anatomy most often associated with crouching plumbers (I’m not caricaturing here; that was the fact). I deduced from the conversation that they were Southern Baptists, and I eventualy identified the church they represented, a rather large one.

Anyway, the pastor set the tone for the conversation and stated his philosophy of worship like this:

"I want our worship service to be like a football game."

"You know," he said, "at a football game people are really themselves. They just let down their hair and really show who they are. For some reason we have led people to think that, when they come to church, they are supposed to be different."

The irony continued the entire time I sat there.

Of course my mental wheels didn’t just turn but nearly derailed at the thought of disfiguring worship into a football-game environment. I wondered, "Do you want the attire of a football game in your worship? Do you really want unbridled brutishinness and vulgarity in your worship? Do you want cheerleaders? Do you want to negate inhibitions? Do you want shreiking and hollering, jumping and back slapping and high-fives? Do you want ‘yeas’ and ‘boos’? Do you want steroidal thugs to be the center of attention? Do you want hips gyrating to loud music? Do you want to prepare messages that will stir base emotions and minimize rationality and reverence? Do you want, not a buzz, but a roar? You'll probably need referees as well. I'd like to see you quote C. S. Lewis to that bunch."

I gave some consideration to rebuking both of them, the young man for his sagging trousers and the pastor for his sagging ideas that exposed a larger crevice in his thinking; but that would have necessitated casting my pearls before swine, so I just said to myself, "Go Hogs! Whoo, pig, sooey!""

My apologies to Arkansas fans for soiling your battle cry in the pig sty of contemporary worship "philosophy."

Walled-in Pawn

2009-03-21T06:14:00.001-05:00

Henry David Thoreau is an overrated poet, though not an overrated American poet, but Thoreau still warrants our intellectual, aesthetic, and philosophical attention. A second-rate poet, yes; a middlin' philosopher, yes; a better narrator, yes; but Thoreau is a proverbialist par excellence.

By a proverbialist I mean one who is able to craft pithy witticisims (The Bard is the master here). Burned upon my memory and oft upon my tongue are such Thoreauisms as,

"Hospitality is the art of keeping one's friends at a distance";

"Time is the stream I go a'fishing in";

"The morning is the epitome of the day; with morning all things are reborn";

And my favorite, "A man who is right constitutes a majority of one."

We generally think of Thoreau as an untouchable and unapproachable recluse, daily intimate with everything natural except other human beings; that's an incorrect perspective. Yes, for two years and two months Thoreau left civil society for the woods, but other folks haunted those woods too, and if you read Walden Pond you might be surprised to see that, not only did Thoreau have about twenty-five or thirty visitors during his twenty-six month stay at Walden, he also made the short trek to Concord every few days to see firsthand a local sample of "the mass of men leading lives of quiet desperation."

We romanticize about being our own Thoreaus, but too many of us fall into his category of "the mass of men who lead lives of quiet desperation," the operative phrase being "quiet desperation." Desperation usually conjures an image of someone in a panic, terrified by adversity or adversary, but Thoreau warps that image with the adjective "quiet." "Quiet desperation" - not desperation that results in resolution, but desperation that acquiesces in resignation to trappedness, mediocrity, melancholy, and disappointment. What a genuinely pathetic state of being - quiet desperation! What an horrific homophone for Walden Pond - "walled-in pawn."

I'm sure that's how Thoreau must have felt when he "went to the woods to live deliberately," as if he were a "walled-in pawn." No doubt the complexities and intricacies of his modern life were just too much for the sensitive young Henry David, what with all the wagons and buggies, snorting horses, ploughs, blacksmith hammers and the bristling whir and grinding pace of a metropolis like 19th-century Boston. No wonder he retreated to the woods. If Thoreau needed respite from modernity, how much more do we?

If you've played chess, you know that the pawn is the least important piece on the board, like the infantry in an army, on the front lines, the first to die, the last to matter, expendable. How easy it is for the pawn to perish, his movements limited by his own inadequacies, his capacity to defend himself impeded by his own weakness and imperiled by the formidable strength of kings, queens, knights, bishops, and castles.

Do you feel that way sometimes, like a pawn, surrounded by powers too great for you to overcome, and circumstances that seem to have you "walled-in"? If so, perhaps Thoreau's Walden Pond has a few remedies for you.

The central theme of Thoreau's book is "simplify, simplify, simplify," which seems like a pipe dream in twenty-first century Dallas. Truthfully, however, simplification of one's life is quite possible by mimicking a few of Thoreau's behaviors that I have extrapolated from my memory of his book On Walden Pond:

1. economize
2. read often
3. talk less
4. write more
5. stay home
6. explore nature
7. think philosophically
8. think poetically
9. think transcendentally
10. fortify your conscience; it's an impregnable tower to any and every foe
11. explore nature
12. don't compromise
13. circumscribe your dependence upon technology
14. endeavor to be a wise and witty conversationalist
15. wake up early and meditate
16. manage your time well
17. think
18. get out of the city
19. explore nature
20. simplify, simplify, simplify

No Christian should be a walled-in pawn, but rather a king or a queen, inhabiting a psychological landscape beyond Thoreau's Walden, what another poet described as "green pastures" and "still waters."

O, Sister, O Brother, what art thou? Where art thou?

Judy Brunson's Last Journal Entry

2009-03-19T18:35:00.002-05:00

Judy journaled prayers throughout her life, and wrote autobiographical journals as well, though not proliferately. As I have been de-cluttering, I have carefully looked for her prayer journals and other writing to save it for posterity. One funny sideline of this is a plethora handwritten recipes that Judy faithfully wrote while watching HGTV. I say "funny" because, anyone who knew her knows that, although she could cook, very well, I might add, she did not like to cook, so I've gotten quite a few tearful chuckles reading her handwritten recipes.

I thought I would share with you the last journal entry of her life, written Sunday, January 25th, seventeen days before her death. It blesses me, and I hope you as well. The italics are hers.

Today is Sunday. I so miss being in church. I got to hear part of the music over the Internet. What a blessing! It absolutely lifts my heart up to hear our church sing and to hear Frank D play. It is as if my heart takes wings.

It is a beautiful day. The sun is shining through the sliding glass doors in my bedroom. I keep the curtains pulled back so I can know when the sun comes up. It is still a marvel to me, and I still have excitement and anticipation, when I know a new day is about to begin. It is one of God's greatest blessings to me that I always think of that verse, "This is the day that the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it."

I hope that whoever may read this can always find joy in each new day. Remember that joy does not depend on the circumstances of your life. Joy is a gift from the Holy Spirit. Especially to Trey and Matt, my precious sons, and Hal, my much loved husband, I pray that God allows you to see that each day is a gift and that, as each day dawns, God will give you an abundance of His joy and peace.

Cherishing the Perishing

2009-03-17T15:27:00.008-05:00

Since my wife died on February 11, almost every morning I have awakened with a hymn in my heart. I know that is because people are praying for me, and to all of you who read this, I say, "'Thank you' for your prayers. They work."

This morning's hymn was this, penned by the blind hymnist Fannie Crosby in 1869:

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave;
Weep o’er the erring one, lift up the fallen,
Tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.

Though they are slighting Him, still He is waiting,
Waiting the penitent child to receive;
Plead with them earnestly, plead with them gently;
He will forgive if they only believe.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.

Down in the human heart, crushed by the tempter,
Feelings lie buried that grace can restore;
Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness,
Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.

Rescue the perishing, duty demands it;
Strength for thy labor the Lord will provide;
Back to the narrow way patiently win them;
Tell the poor wand’rer a Savior has died.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.

Although this is not a commentary on contemporary Christian music, modern mega-churches never sing this song because it is too lyrically complicated, and because swaying religious sentiment can be more cheaply attained.

The song triggered my recollection of three principles or maximums set forth by Immanuel Kant in his Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals:

First Maxim: "Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law."

Second Maxim: "Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end and never merely as a means to an end."

Third Maxim: "Therefore, every rational being must so act as if he were through his maxim always a legislating member in the universal kingdom of ends."

Boiled down to their simplest expression, the maxims assert that mortality mandates morality. We should do good to other human beings because they, all of them, are destined for death. In view of the compulsion and compunction of an inner law of rightness and goodness, and in view of universal mortality, we should never treat others as means to our own selfish ends, but as ends in themselves, "ends" because of their destiny with death; in other words, we should cherish those who will perish.

In Christian terms, this means the Golden Rule applied to all humanity. How difficult it is for us to apply that rule even to those we love the most, and inestimably difficult to apply the rule to those we do not love at all.

Dear Reader, as moral human beings, let us be about not just cherishing the perishing but, as Fannie Crosby reminds us, let us

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave;
Weep o’er the erring one, lift up the fallen,
Tell them of Jesus, the mighty to save.

Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
Jesus is merciful, Jesus will save.

The surprisingly systematic televangelist---updated

2009-03-09T09:21:00.005-05:00

Does heresy bother you? Do heretical preachers irk you? Are you doubly perturbed by heretics who make a lot of money and who have large television audiences? Do the embers of anger burn within when a heretic becomes the face of American Christianity?

I reckon some people don't care. In fact, I imagine that most Christians assume that "everyone" knows faith healers and prosperity preachers are nuts and don't worry about the deleterious effect they have on people's lives.

I just can't do that; I can't avoid being genuinely angry at prosperity preachers because I've seen firsthand how they prey on the weak, poor, and desperate. I've also seen at least one great man of God drink the snake oil of a particularly evil prosperity preacher.

Currently, I'm reading a book on the Word of Faith Movement, by Hank Hannegraaff, the famed "Bible Answer Man." (I like Hank---he's not a Calvinist, but he does good work, and he seeks a biblical answer to things, which I greatly appreciate; he's amillennial, and he encourages people to read their Bibles.) I've been surprised to learn how worked out and consistent Word of Faith theology is. In the past, I considered all the prosperity preachers to be semi-bible literate fools, who knew just enough Scripture to bilk people out of money. Not so. Prosperity preachers have a worked out theology, one bent on minimizing Christ and overestimating the value and ability of mankind.

Joyce Meyer, Joel Osteen, Benny Hinn, Rod Parsely, Kenneth Copeland, John Hagee, and the new rising star Todd Bentley (famous for attempting to literally kick the cancer out of people) are the main players in this movement, and they are all branches from the same cultic tree of Kenneth Hagin.

The foundational belief of the Word of Faith Movement is that faith is a force and words are the containers of the force. Each of the above-listed "preachers" peddle this doctrine. The force of faith is a godlike force, by which men can alter reality through their words. For instance, a prosperity preacher might tell his listeners to speak to their checkbooks, or avoid speaking words of fear, etc. They do this, not in order to that their listeners maintain a positive attitude about life, but in order to cause God to do things. Words can force God's hand, positively or negatively, with the right kind of faith. From a positive perspective, Osteen talks about how his wife kept speaking positive words about the house they would live in. From a negative perspective, Joyce Meyer essentially accuses Job of killing his 10 kids due to speaking words of fear.

Perhaps the belief in people's ability to alter reality is derived in part from the teaching that men are gods. Faith teachers love difficult passages of Scripture. In fact, if there's a passage that you have a difficult time understanding, chances are the faith teachers focus a good deal of their time on it. Case in point is Psalm 82, quoted by Jesus in John 10. The psalmist states in Psalm 82 that men are called "gods" (elohim), and Jesus said in response to claims that He committed blasphemy by equating Himself with God that "Is it not written in your Law, I said, 'ye are gods"'" (Hal can explain this better than I, but it appears that "elohim" is used at times to describe the judges and to describe even priests in Exodus. But it's obvious in Psalm 82 that the "gods" lack attributes of deity, since they end up dying.)

The belief that men are gods is bolstered, in their teaching, by the fact we are created in God's image, which to a faith teacher means exact replica inclusive of nature. Essentially, they teach we have the same nature as Christ. They teach that Jesus was a born-again man (born-again in hell), and that Jesus being the "firstborn among many brethren" means that Jesus is the first born-again man, and we are just like him. Copeland goes so far as to claim that just as Christ went down to hell to defeat Satan (see below) so Copeland could have done the same. This idea was, of course, revealed to Copeland through a conversation he had with the Almighty.

Perhaps the most blasphemous idea promulgated by the faith teachers is that Christ is not God. Creflo Dollar has gone to great lengths to inform his listeners that Jesus was just a man, not the God-man. His reasoning? Well, God neither sleeps nor slumbers and Jesus was asleep in the boat. Duh. The effect of faith teaching is to deify man and de-deify Christ.

In a similar vein, faith teachers aver that Jesus didn't merely pay for sin on the cross---atonement did not occur on Calvary. Instead, Jesus had to go to Hell for three days to do battle with Satan. Osteen describes in detail a battle Jesus had with Satan. Copeland states that God essentially tricked Satan because the Devil was holding Christ illegally in Hell. One particularly odd teaching of Osteen was that Jesus refused to let Mary touch Him because He still had His blood on Him, which needed to be poured out on the mercy seat in heaven. The apostle Thomas couldn't be reached for comment on this teaching.

Yes, according to faith teachers atonement took place in Hell. Why? Because the ransom had to be paid to Satan, who owns humanity. (I realize that is inconsistent with literally sprinkling the blood of Jesus on the mercy seat in heaven, but there you go.)

As you know, faith teachers also encourage people to become wealthy, as Jesus was wealthy. They go to great lengths to discredit any notion that Jesus was poor. Hagee says Jesus "wore designer clothes." Others say that because the apostles had to have a treasurer, Jesus was rich. Oh, one more from Hagee---In light of John 1:38-40, Hagee contends that Jesus had a big house because He invited all of His followers to come back to His place (a quick reading shows that Jesus invited exactly two people over).

Faith teachers share a lot of the same tools of the trade; one of my personal favorites is the "point of contact." They often send out a prayer clothe, holy water, or holy oil as a point of contact to their devotees. The recipient is to send in a "seed of faith" and then pray over the point of contact in order to reap a whirlwind of blessing.

Well, I've waxed a bit long. I just wanted to share some of the theology of the Word of Faith Movement. Their books sell for a reason, and no doubt all of us know people who've read them. If you have the time, I encourage you to pick up a copy of "Christianity in Crisis 21st Century," if for no other reason than to use as a reference book for the heretics discussed therein.

UPDATE:

I wanted to take a few minutes and relay my first hand account of the Word of Faith Movement. As you know, I'm in Texas, where the mixture of pollen, pine trees, and bluebonnets somehow mixes together to form internationally-known, wacky preachers. Deep in the piney woods of East Texas the big WOF player for sometime has been R.W. Schambach.

Around seven or eight years ago Schambach was hosting a Miracle Night at his compound one night a month. He had big, flashy billboard advertising it, inviting one and all to come "receive your miracle." Well, one night my roommate (Chris) and I got a wild hair and decided to go check out Miracle Night.

We arrived at the service around 7:00 p.m. In the lobby we were greeted by a couple effete college-aged kids with official-looking nametags and wide smiles. Immediately facing us as we walked in was a table where one could purchase all manner of books, tapes, CDs, and other memorabilia pertaining to Schambach ministries.

As we thumbed through the wares, the man himself entered the lobby from the auditorium. Our ears were ravaged by the thump-thumpety-thump of the bass from the "music" playing in the "sanctuary." Schambach had a presence about himself, moseying in with aplomb and a toothy smile, as much game-show host as preacher.

Chris and I were among the few WASPs in attendance, so we avoided shaking Schambach's hand for fear of being found-out. After he glad-handed people for a few minutes, he went back to the auditorium, and we followed suit. Amidst the realization that we should have brought some aspirin (or adult beverage) to dull our senses to the noise, we grabbed a couple seats in what we called a semi-normal section.

45 minutes later the music was still blaring with no end in sight. 99% of the people had their hands up (hand raising itself doesn't offend me religiously, but it's usually done irreverently), about 75% were dancing in some fashion or another, and about a third must have had "the anointing" because they were speaking in unknown tongues (unknown to them, me, and most assuredly the Lord because they lacked any sort of syntax or structure). This goes on until probably 8:30 or so.

Schambach gets up. He didn't really preach so much as pitch his books and brag on his ministry. All manner of healings, both physically and financially were touted. This lasted approximately 45 minutes.

Then came the announcement: "Are you ready for your miracle?" Cheering; applause; hollering. They were ready. Chris and I were immediately reminded of the movie Fletch Lives where the televangelist ostensibly heals people with the aid of someone telling him who to single out and what the ailment is. Dozens of people went to the front and were proclaimed healed.

From the moment I first heard the music something was just off-kilter with me. What was it? Then, when the healing began it hit me. I leaned over and told Chris, "I can literally feel the presence of evil in here." And I did. It's indescribable, and I lack the intellectual capacity to put it in words, but you could simply feel the presence of evil in that room, and that "feeling" of the presence of evil grew within me even as the feeling of jubilation grew among the listeners of Schambach (who, by the way, told people not to even go back to the doctor because they were healed).

The people were pretty impressed by the physical healing, but they didn't get raucous until Schambach resumed his position at the plexi-glass pulpit and said, "The average American citizen has 16,000 dollars in unsecured credit card debt." Cheering; amens; you-know-that's-rights. "We're gonna burn some debt tonight!!!!" Whooping; clapping; dancing. (I leaned over to Chris and said, "We preach both kinds of gospel here: health and wealth." That's a Blues Brothers allusion, if you didn't catch that.) People loved burning debt; they'd go down to the front with their credit card statements and just burn it. They could "expect a financial miracle," if, that is, they kept the faith.

I should note at this point that when we took our seats at Miracle Night, there were three items in our chairs: a brochure about the ministry; a prayer card; and an offering envelope which made clear that Schambach ministries accepts Mastercard and Visa. Of course, if you're burning all of your debt, why not give a ton of money to Schambach? Especially since he's telling you about the "hundred fold increase" you stand to get if you sow seeds in his ministry.

The demographic of the gathering was depressing: poor, mostly minorities, marked by desperation. And Schambach is there preying on them. Sickening. Once we saw the flames go up on the first few credit card statements, no doubt sending up "strange fire" to the Lord, we left. We'd seen enough. It was pretty late at that point, but we decompressed at a Chili's and called up some friends to hang out with us as we debriefed them on our encounter with Miracle Night.

Perhaps somebody here can make a convincing argument that my attendance there was sinful; I hope it wasn't. It served as an eye-opener for me on the evils of the Word of Faith Movement and the images, sounds, and feelings I was confronted with that evening have stuck with me ever since.

As an aside, may I ask a bleg? (That's a beg in a blog.) Is preterism (in all its forms) mutually exclusive of amillennialism? What do preterists believe about the millennium if so? Anybody have a good book they can recommend making an honest distinction, and elucidation of those views?