Finches and Sparrows

Happy Easter

2010-04-04T11:07:00.000-04:00

A hymn, by Samuel Crossman, 1664, England.

My song is love unknown,
My Saviour’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I, that for my sake
My Lord should take frail flesh and die?

He came from His blest throne
Salvation to bestow;
But men made strange, and none
The longed-for Christ would know:
But O! my Friend, my Friend indeed,
Who at my need His life did spend.

Sometimes they strew His way,
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day
Hosannas to their King:
Then “Crucify!” is all their breath,
And for His death they thirst and cry.

Why, what hath my Lord done?
What makes this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run,
He gave the blind their sight,
Sweet injuries! Yet they at these
Themselves displease, and ’gainst Him rise.

They rise and needs will have
My dear Lord made away;
A murderer they save,
The Prince of life they slay,
Yet cheerful He to suffering goes,
That He His foes from thence might free.

In life, no house, no home
My Lord on earth might have;
In death no friendly tomb
But what a stranger gave.
What may I say? Heav’n was His home;
But mine the tomb wherein He lay.

Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King!
Never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend, in Whose sweet praise
I all my days could gladly spend.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-25T18:31:00.007-05:00

Fig. 1. Turkey. From Vintage Printable

Here is a good Thanksgiving message from Patrick Deneen.

The contrast between our "feast" days and our regular days has faded nearly to the point of indistinction. In America today, we are more likely to contend with obesity than starvation, with binge shopping than asceticism, with adult diabetes than scurvy. I don't mean to minimize the genuine sufferings of the genuine poor, but many of our disadvantaged people today are far more wealthy and comfortable than even the wealthiest of the Pilgrims; poverty, "the middle class" and wealth are and have always been relative standards, points of comparison that reflect contemporary levels of material want or plenitude.

My friend and Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Virginia, Charles Mathewes, has suggested that the problem we may face in the future (if not the present) is not too much want, but too much plenty. How do we, as a civilization, deal with the existence of so much stuff when our operative definition of the world and the economy has been based on the idea that nature is one of scarcity and we need, in response, an ever-increasing generation of more?

Much of modern philosophy - from thinkers ranging from Francis Bacon to Thomas Hobbes, from John Locke to Adam Smith - has held that nature is chintzy and that human freedom consists in extending our mastery over, and control of, the natural
Rather than seeing the world as one of scarcity that required our conquest, they saw a world of plenitude and as gift
world. Freedom is the expansion of the human power to fulfill our wills and desires. Freedom today is so often defined as choice - but more, the power to fulfill choice. If we are so often dissatisfied, it is not that many of our desires go unfulfilled, but that new desires inevitably trail those that have been met, demanding new power and the further extension of mastery. As a result, our one official political policy - regardless of party or leader - is growth....

I find this fact noteworthy - for it is our older inheritance, once embodied in our humanities disciplines, that offered a different understanding of freedom. By this older definition - found in our classical and Biblical inheritance - freedom is the attainment of self-government over our appetites. Ancient and religious thinkers (ranging from Aristotle to Augustine and beyond) argued that human appetites were infinitely expandable, and that submission to the pursuit to fulfill appetite was an endless and impossible task. To pursue their fulfillment was to make oneself a slave to one's appetites. True freedom, such thinkers argued, consisted in the governance of appetite. By extension, rather than seeing the world as one of scarcity that required our conquest, such thinkers saw a world of plenitude and as gift, one that offered us many goods and even plenitude and required of us in turn good stewardship and moderate appetites. The first Thanksgiving - for all the hardship experienced by the Pilgrims - was celebrated in this spirit, not one that despised the earth for giving us too little, but celebrated creation for offering so much.

The view of the world as miserly is becoming dominant in our world today...

Changing behavior is difficult, more difficult than getting legislation passed or inventing a new form of indigestible fat. Yet, it is a capacity given to every one of us. This is our challenge and our task. In this, we have much to learn from our Puritan forbears. Let us give thanks.

He also remarks on the use of science and technology to wield power over our world, but the forsaking of the wisdom to understand, or even ask, why? and to what extent? He also touches on the failure of both political parties to ask these question as well. You should read the rest.

Link Round-up

2009-11-17T17:12:00.002-05:00

Hi everybody.

So here's the best ways to waste time on the internet.

Man on the Move - People find cool cars on the street, take pictures, and send them in. Pretty much the best thing ever.

Mark Bittman give us a bajillion recipes we can cook ahead of time for Thanksgiving. And they all look good. Hat tip to Dreher.

Charley Parker of Lines and Colors posts about the French painter James Tissot, who devoted much of his later life to watercolors depicting Christ in the Holy Land.

Brett McKay at Art of Manliness posts Fifty Best Books for Boys.

From A Continuous Lean, a drum battle between Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich on Sammy Davis Jr's show. Who's the winner?

Answer: Sammy Davis Jr, with his dance at 3:10.

Back!

2009-11-16T18:31:00.002-05:00

Sorry for the delay. And thank you Chris for getting back on the bloggin road again. I owe you a brew of your own choosing.

The Mockingbird has a good post up today on the "spiritual, but not religious" viewpoint, which he views as a misnomer: truly one who holds that viewpoint is religious, but not truly spiritual.

Roughly 2000 years ago, the Apostle Paul ran into a group of people who were similarly "spiritual," and had this to say to them: "Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription, 'To the unknown god." What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you."

He ends with a the much-needed understanding that spiritual life is necessarily experience and shared within a cultural context, but rebuts the postmodern canard that context is all. Despite being influenced by and influencing culture-at-large, the tenets of faith of must point to an objectively grounded reality that supersedes the culture--otherwise it truly has no meaning to impact it. Thus:

I mean, all of us are, in one sense or another, pupils of Socrates. John Stewart Mill said humanity cannot be reminded often enough that there was once a man named Socrates, and that's right. But there are no temples built to Socrates. Nobody ever wrote the "B Minor Mass" in honor of Socrates, because he calls upon people to learn and therefore to be honest with themselves, but he does not call upon them to take up their cross and follow. And both he and Jesus died for what they believed. But Jesus died in the conscious commitment to the salvation of the world. And so wherever the message is preached and brought in whatever language it comes from, the language it comes to and the culture into which it penetrates must, at some stage of its maturation, learn to answer yet again the question: "Who do you say that I am?" Because the "you say" in that question is the culture in which we live. He's not asking, "Who does the fourth century say that I am?" when it was writing in Greek. That's important, because without that we wouldn't be where we are. But, at some point, you have to be who and what you are in the only culture in which you're ever going to live, the only century in which you're going to live and die, and, in that century, you have to answer with whatever linguistic and philosophical equipment you have, you have to answer the question: "Who do you say that I am?"

PS. I always approve of bloggers with bird-themed names!

My Childhood

2009-08-28T18:18:00.001-04:00

I thought it ended a few years ago, but now I am certain.

This happened.

Music for Learning. Music for Communicating.

2009-08-15T14:51:00.002-04:00

One thing I have always found interesting, especially from a neurological and a psychosocial standpoint is music. For instance, I believe1 (without any evidence whatsoever--perhaps my more intrepid readers could do a PubMed search, but the only readers of this blog who would value that are myself, and Greg C) that music and lyrics engage different neurological pathways and processes for learning, as opposed to typical "book larnin." For instance, if I asked you something you read or learned several months ago, you'd probably be pretty foggy. Just ask me about all the antiepileptic drugs I crammed for my boards a couple months ago. Yet if a song came on the radio, even one you haven't heard for several months, you could sing along without much difficulty, and remember mots of lines. Probably part of this is due to repetition, but then again, I repetitively flipped through those pharmacology flash cards a lot too.

Now here's this, in a recent interview by Scott Horton with famed neurologist Oliver Sacks in Harper's:

Aphasia is a terribly frustrating and isolating condition. Some people experience temporary aphasia (say, following a stroke or brain injury), but others are left with it for months or years. Yet many people with expressive aphasia, unable to utter a sentence, may be able to sing. I often greet such patients by singing “Happy Birthday” to them, whether it is their birthday or not. Everyone knows the words and melody of this song, and often aphasic people can join in. In 1973, Martin Albert and his colleagues in Boston described a form of music therapy they called “melodic intonation therapy.” Patients were taught to sing or intone short phrases—for example, “How are you today?” Then the musical elements of this were removed slowly until (in some cases) the patient regained the power to speak a little without the aid of intonation. One sixty-seven-year-old man, aphasic for eighteen months—he could only produce meaningless grunts and had received three months of speech therapy without effect—started to produce words two days after beginning melodic intonation therapy; in two weeks, he had an effective vocabulary of a hundred words, and at six weeks, he could carry on “short, meaningful conversations.”

This is a very specific use of music therapy, but there are many others. People with Alzheimer’s or other dementias will often respond to music even when they are able to respond to little else. Music, especially familiar music from one’s early years, can help to orient and organize such people.

Music works because it engages so many parts of the brain. Rhythm, actual or imagined, activates areas of the motor cortex, crucial in synchronizing and energizing movement—whether for athletes or people with movement disorders like Parkinson’s disease or Tourette’s syndrome. In Musicophilia, I described a man who has incessant seizures, which only stop when he plays music, though this is a highly individual thing, for some people with epilepsy may find that music of a particular sort can actually trigger seizures. By and large, though, there are few, if any, bad side effects of music, and music can often work where no medications can.

Interesting!

The Man at Midnight

2009-08-15T14:39:00.002-04:00

Via Ray Ortlund, quoting Alexander Whyte's Lord, Teach Us to Pray:

"See the man at midnight. Imitate that man. Act it all alone at midnight. Hear his loud cry, and cry it after him. He needed three loaves. What is your need? Name it. Name it out loud. Let your own ears hear it. . . . The shameful things you have to ask for. The disgraceful, the incredible things you have to admit and confess. The life you have lived. The way you have spent your days and nights. And what all that has brought you to. It kills you to have to say such things even with your door shut. Yes, but better say all these things in closets than have them all proclaimed from the housetops of the day of judgment. Knock, man! Knock for the love of God! Knock as they knock to get into heaven after the door is shut! Knock, as they knock to get out of hell!"

Do I pray with such urgency? Such humilty? No.

Travelling Aboard the Sea Wolf

2009-08-15T14:18:00.004-04:00

Lately I've been reading some of Jack London's Sea Wolf, in which, through chance, the aristocratic and idealistic Humphrey Van Leyden finds himself aboard a seal-hunting ship bound for Japan at the turn of the twentieth century. The ship is captained by the towering Wolf Larsen, a man whose cruelty is a reflection not of the oppression of the capitalist economic regime--the socialist London uses other characters to make that point--but of the vacuousness of modern materialism.¹

An excerpt:

Before closing this incident, I must give a scrap of conversation I had with Wolf Larsen in the cabin, while I was washing the dishes.

"You were looking squeamish this afternoon," he began. "What was the matter?"

I could see that he knew what had made me possibly as sick as Harrison, that he was trying to draw me, and I answered, "It was because of the brutal treatment of that boy."

He gave a short laugh. "Like seasickness, I suppose. Some men are subject to it, and others are not."

"Not so," I objected.

"Just so," he went on. "The earth is as full of brutality as the sea is full of motion. And some men are made sick by the one, and some by the other. That's the only reason."

"But you, who make a mock of human life, don't you place any value upon it whatever?" I demanded.

"Value? What value?" He looked at me, and though his eyes were steady and motionless, there seemed a cynical smile in them. "What kind of value? How do you measure it? Who values it?"

"I do," I made answer.

"Then what is it worth to you? Another man's life, I mean. Come, now, what is it worth?"

The value of life? How could I put a tangible value upon it? Somehow, I, who have always had expression, lacked expression when with Wolf Larsen. I have since determined that a part of it was due to the man's personality, but that the greater part was due to his totally different outlook. Unlike other materialists I had met and with whom had something in common to start on, I had nothing in common with him. Perhaps, also, it was the elemental simplicity of his mind that baffled me. He drove so directly to the core of the matter, divesting a question always of all superfluous details, and with such an air of finality, that I seemed to find myself struggling in deep water with no footing under me. Value of life? How could I answer the question on the spur of the moment? The sacredness of life I had accepted as axiomatic. That it was intrinsically valuable was a truism I had never questioned. But when he challenged the truism I was speechless.

"We were talking about this yesterday," he said. "I held that life was a ferment, a yeasty something which devoured life that it might live, and that living was merely successful piggishness. Why, if there is anything in supply and demand, life is the cheapest thing in the world. There is only so much water, so much earth, so much air; but the life that is demanding to be born is limitless. Nature is a spendthrift. Look at the fish and their millions of eggs. For that matter, look at you and me. In our loins are the possibilities of millions of lives. Could we but find time and opportunity and utilize the last bit and every bit of the unborn life that is in us, we could become the fathers of nations and populate continents. Life? Bah! It has no value. Of cheap things it is the cheapest. Everywhere it goes begging. Nature spills it out with a lavish hand. Where there is room for one life, she sows a thousand lives, and it's life eats life till the strongest and most piggish life is left."

"You have read Darwin," I said. "But you read him misunderstandingly when you conclude that the struggle for existence sanctions your wanton destruction of life."

He shrugged his shoulders. "You know you only mean that in relation to human life, for of the flesh and the fowl and the fish you destroy as much as I or any other man. And human life is in no wise different, though you feel it is and think that you reason why it is. Why should I be parsimonious with this life which is cheap and without value? There are more sailors than there are ships on the sea for them, more workers than there are factories or machines for them. Why, you who live on the land know that you house your poor people in the slums of cities and loose famine and pestilence upon them, and that there still remain more poor people, dying for want of a crust of bread and a bit of meat, (which is life destroyed), than you know what to do with. Have you ever seen the London dockers fighting like wild beasts for a chance to work?"

He started for the companion stairs, but turned his head for a final word. "Do you know the only value life has is what life puts upon itself? And it is of course overestimated, since it is of necessity prejudiced in its own favor. Take that man I had aloft. He held on as if he were a precious thing, a treasure beyond diamonds or rubies. To you? No. To me? Not at all. To himself? Yes. But I do not accept his estimate. He sadly overrates himself. There is plenty more life demanding to be born. Had he fallen and dripped his brains upon the deck like honey from the comb, there would have been no loss to the world. He was worth nothing to the world. The supply is too large. To himself only was he of value, and to show how fictitious even this value was, being dead he is unconscious that he has lost himself. He alone rated himself beyond diamonds and rubies. Diamonds and rubies are gone, spread out on the deck to be washed away by a bucket of sea-water, and he does not even know that the diamonds and rubies are gone. He does not lose anything, for with the loss of himself he loses the knowledge of loss. Don't you see? And what have you to say?"

"That you are at least consistent," was all I could say, and went on washing the dishes.

And later on:

I do not forget one night, when I should have been asleep, of lying on the forecastle-head and gazing down at the spectral ripple of foam thrust aside by the Ghost's forefoot. It sounded like the gurgling of a brook over mossy stones in some quiet dell, and the crooning song of it lured me away and out of myself till I was no longer Hump the cabin-boy, nor Van Weyden, the man who had dreamed away thirty- five years among books. But a voice behind me, the unmistakable voice of Wolf Larsen, strong with the invincible certitude of the man and mellow with appreciation of the words he was quoting, aroused me.

"`O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady forefoot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame.

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.'"

"Eh, Hump? How's it strike you?" he asked, after the due pause which words and setting demanded.

I looked into his face. It was aglow with light, as the sea itself, and the eyes were flashing in the starshine.

"It strikes me as remarkable, to say the least, that you should show enthusiasm," I answered coldly.

"Why, man, it's living! it's life!" he cried.

"Which is a cheap thing and without value," I flung his words at him.

He laughed, and it was the first time I had heard honest mirth in his voice.

"Ah, I cannot get you to understand, cannot drive it into your head, what a thing this life is. Of course life is valueless, except to itself. And I can tell you that my life is pretty valuable just now -- to myself. It is beyond price, which you will acknowledge is a terrific overrating, but which I cannot help, for it is the life that is in me that makes the rating."

He appeared waiting for the words with which to express the thought that was in him, and finally went on.

"Do you know, I am filled with a strange uplift; I feel as if all time were echoing through me, as though all powers were mine. know truth, divine good from evil, right from wrong. My vision is clear and far. I could almost believe in God. But," -- and his voice changed and the light went out of his face, -- "what is this condition in which I find myself? this joy of living? this exultation of life? this inspiration, I may well call it? It is what comes when there is nothing wrong with one's digestion, when his stomach is in trim and his appetite has an edge, and all goes well. It is the bribe for living, the champagne of the blood, the effervescence of the ferment -- that makes some men think holy thoughts, and other men to see God or to create him when they cannot see him. That is all, the drunkenness of life, the stirring and crawling of the yeast, the babbling of the life that is insane with consciousness that it is alive. And -- bah! To- morrow I shall pay for it as the drunkard pays. And I shall know that must die, at sea most likely, cease crawling of myself to be all acrawl with the corruption of the sea; to be fed upon, to be carrion, to yield up all the strength and movement of my muscles that it may become strength and movement in fin and scale and the guts of fishes. Bah! And bah! again. The champagne is already flat. The sparkle and bubble has gone out and it is a tasteless drink."

1. Although I'm waiting for London to point out how the social Darwinism is used to justify economic exploitation. In a later chapter I suppose. I wonder what would happen if London and Nietszche had a conversation?

WOW! In reading Wikipedia on Nietszche's "Ubermensch" (or Super-Man), I just read this:

Jack London dedicated both his novels The Sea-Wolf and Martin Eden to criticizing Nietzsche's concept of the Übermensch and his radical individualism, which London, in his interpretation of Nietzsche's concept, considered to be selfish and egoistic.

Well, that answers that question.

Pseudofaith

2009-07-29T19:41:00.001-04:00

AW Tozer:

The man of pseudo faith will fight for his verbal creed but refuse flatly to allow himself to get into a predicament where his future must depend upon that creed being true. He always provides himself with secondary ways of escape so he will have a way out if the roof caves in. What we need very badly these days is a company of Christians who are prepared to trust God as completely now as they know they must do at the last day.

Via Justin Taylor

Return of the Blogroll; or Shout-Out Time!

2009-06-03T22:12:00.003-04:00

Some of you don't know what a blog roll is, and may think it is a tasty pastry to go with those lady finger sandwiches I wrote about in the last post. Actually, it's new-fangled code words for "links to other blogs that are lined up on the side of your blog---just move the pointy arrow on your screen over, click on them, and you go there like magic."

So here's a run-down of friends of mine who have blogs. If you have a blog, and are a friend of mine, lemme know and you can be up there to. Traffic to your site will increase by leaps and bounds: both of my readers (Hi Mom and Dad!) will visit you on your website.

So, without further adieu:

Embracing the Passion

My friend good friend Lieutenaint J writes about life as an officer in the United States Marine Corps in Iraq.

An American in ~~Paris~~ Phoenix

My friend writes (formerly) about the travails of cooking in Paris, and now about beating the heat in the desert. (It's a dry heat, they say. So's the surface of the sun).

Mark&Ali

I did a quick stint in New Orleans, and the wonderful lady who helped organize our trip, Ali, is now working with her husband in ministry in Brazil. His name is Mark, in case you were wondering :)

The Grande Adventure

My friend Chris, reaching out in the Eternal City. Plus he links to music all the time.

Crash

My friend Chad, working with Young Life at Central Crossing

Among the Lampstands

Wes writes as only Wes can.

Well that is it for now, folks. Bye everybody!

Blake's Story

2009-06-03T21:59:00.003-04:00

OK, my friend Chris posted a remarkable story from a kid who just graduated from my high school (yay, Golden Bears! Three straight state championships in hoity-toity sports like lawn bowling, horseback polo, and competitive formal dining--how many lady finger sandwiches can you eat in 15 minutes and still down a cup of Earl Grey? Out school record is 32--hollandaise sauce included¹--by Morton Mortington III--I jest because I love).

Anyway, my friend Chris reported on it first, so just go over to his place. I have a comment at the bottom, or at least I will as soon as Chris accepts it, which he better, or else I'll throw a ladyfinger sandwich at him.

¹I've long maintained that hollandaise sauce is just Dutch mayonnaise.

The Death of a Good Man

2009-06-03T19:03:00.006-04:00

Apropos of my last post, here is an obituary of Billy Raftery, a man I never knew, but a friend of Francis Beckwith, of What's Wrong with the World.

William Paul "Billy" Raftery, 57, of Las Vegas, a loving son, brother and uncle, passed away suddenly May 27, 2009. He was born May 22, 1952, in Norfolk, Va., and was a 45-year resident of Las Vegas. Billy was employed as a room service waiter at Bally's Las Vegas since 1973, and was on duty during the 1980 MGM Grand fire. Although he graduated from Valley High School in 1971, he was a true-blue Bishop Gorman Gael. Billy was honored for his loyal support to the
If hope fails, is nothing left but to make the final cut?
Bishop Gorman Athletic Department as the equipment manager for the football, basketball and baseball teams from 1979 through 2001. Billy's devotion to the Gaels did not end with the sports he managed, his passion for everything orange and blue emanated from him. His attendance at every Gorman sporting event possible never faltered. The two things that were most important to Billy were Gorman and his family....Billy, you've touched all of our lives and will be deeply missed. We love you "Soulman."

Beckwith writes:

I forgot to mention that Billy was born mentally challenged. But, you see, it really did not matter, since Billy was more than the sum total of his parts. He was, and is, a person made in the image of God. He lived a good life, and for that, we are all better off for having known him and having witnessed the example he set for his community.

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and may perpetual Light shine upon him; may his soul and all souls, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

I never knew Mr. Raftery. But I hope I will someday.

I wonder what suprises will we see when we have pierced the veil and walk on the other side of eternity. Whose voices of love will we hear for the first time, because we considered silence more humane than the sound sobbing, presuming that pain cannot strengthen hearts.

If we are so impoverished as to think that that tragedies are curses, inescapable and inevitable, and can never be transformed into blessings, to what purpose is endurance? To what purpose is hope?

Yes, the world, and its people, are broken. Some may think that we can remake the world anew. But we do not have that kind of transformative power. We can only remove or conceal our flaws, but this is not life, but death by a thousand small amputations. And when we are honest with our brokenness, where does the incision end? If hope fails, is nothing left but to make the final cut?

Can we live by suicide?

"Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better."

-Ecclesiastes 7:3

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any pain: for the former things are passed away.

And He that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new. And he said unto me, Write: for these words are true and faithful."

-Revelation 21:4-5.

A Bioethics of Love

2009-06-03T18:21:00.005-04:00

This is by far the most interesting thing you will read this week.

Helen Rittelmeyer has written a piece detailing caring for a sister who is mentally retarded, and considering the ramifications of contemporary bioethics: namely, clarifying the crucial differences between the elimination and alleviation of suffering, and whether our impulses to eliminate suffering, rather than endure it, make us poorer in the long run.

A more mature version might be: A healthy interest in happiness is good, but only when tempered by a suspicion that happiness is less an ultimate goal than a side effect. A man could live a good life by pursuing virtue, personal excellence, love, or salvation, but, if he does nothing but chase pleasure for its own sake, his life will be happy—and very, very small.

So far, so uncontroversial. The missing link between the above summary and a grand narrative of cultural decline is this: As idle pleasures become more and more alluring, they become harder and harder to resist. One need not be a paranoiac about the decline of civilization to admit that leisure is more appealing than virtue, which demands greater sacrifices and promises less straightforward rewards. As our entertainments offer greater thrills at cheaper rates, the choice between the good fight and good fun starts to look obvious.

It used to be that crotchety bellwethers of decadence would nudge our country towards self-discipline by holding up its manliest heroes and reciting Teddy Roosevelt’s paean to men who dare (which made those Americans who could not so much as go to the store without assistance begin to feel very nervous). But different ages need different heroes. Other generations had to contend with the temptations of consumerism, luxury, and ever-increasing opportunities for laziness; ours has to contend with science. The fantasy is the same: the eradication of pain, and the eventual obsolescence of all those habits that feel awful but build character. Science in our day, like leisure in others, has improved so rapidly that its champions have begun to suspect that the age of painlessness is finally at hand.

...

To frame the idea in a different way, we all hope for our friends’ continual self-improvement: that our favorite penny-pincher will become more charitable, that our directionless nephew will discover some driving passion, that the melancholic next door will find inner peace. But in none of these cases would we want our friend to become someone else. They should become better, but should stay recognizably themselves. When a man’s disability is fundamental to his character, then there is no difference between wishing for a cure and wishing he were someone else. As Jim Sinclair put it in 1993, “It is not possible to separate autism from the person. Therefore, when parents say, ‘I wish my child did not have autism,’ what they’re really saying is, ‘I wish the autistic child I have did not exist and I had a different (non-autistic) child instead.’”

...

Love—whether it’s love for a sport, love for one’s sister, or love for humanity in all its forms, however grotesque—is the thing that makes a man say, “Sacrifice. That’s all.” Its yoke is easy, its burden light. Life with a disability involves sacrifices, some of which are merely onerous and should be eliminated, some of which cannot be eliminated without implicitly disputing love’s power to turn sacrifice into a gift.

Science has asked us to endorse its vision of a perpetually comfortable and easy world, and so we cannot help but make a firm choice, now, whether to celebrate self-discipline or to resent its necessity. If we choose the latter, we may soon find ourselves living in the world of Wall*E—painless, and pointless. If we choose the former, we may find that the prophets of our new asceticism are the deaf parents who decline cochlear implants for their newborn, the wheelchair-bound employee who finds nothing undignified about asking a co-worker for help every morning, the mother who carries a Down Syndrome baby to term—those who have had hardship thrust upon them and, nevertheless, have found some nobility in it. Science and disability law will both continue to develop, but we must be careful in choosing the goal toward which their progress is directed.

You must read the piece in its entirety.

Pistons and Punches

2009-05-30T17:28:00.004-04:00

Well everybody, here's a couple great things you need to read.

First is a quick history of boxing from the Art of Manliness.

Second is an essay on the tragic downfall of the automobile, by PJ O'Rourke.

If all this has you hankerin' for past boxing glory, I would recommend this.

The photo is Rocky Marciano in a 1952 De Soto, as pictured in LIFE Magazine.

Link Roundup

2009-05-28T15:49:00.002-04:00

Howdy everybody. Been really busy lately, but decided to shoot these links out to y'all.

Paul Zahl, quoted in Ray Ortlund's blog:

"Realism has never been a mean achievement. It is a hard-won asset. And it differs from cynicism, with which it is sometimes confused, by only a slender thread -- the thread, I believe, of God's grace. . . . We are thinking of the person who can say, on the one hand, 'I am an incredible idiot,' and at the same time, 'Life is good and the future holds out hope.'"

Anne Jackson, asking if she is a Technology Addict?

John Piper, Breaking Free From an Entertainment Addiction:

I'm deeply concerned about that. I want to stand for seriousness about God, instead of making him palatable by making him "fun"! Turning him into another piece of entertainment

Lydia McGrew, on not teaching your kids about Santa

Carlos Whittaker, on learning about God from the bearded ma at the coffee shop.

Michael Bucchino, reporting on the World Beard Championships

Megan McArdle, on why elevated CAFE standards aren't ideal

Roland Martin, on being a real father

That's probably good for now.

Maybe it will be like unplugging from the Matrix...

2009-04-30T23:41:00.003-04:00

It's official: we're running out of internet.

When I shut the blog down, I'll notify you by email.

Weeping Ukeleles...

2009-04-30T23:21:00.003-04:00

Best uke song I've heard in quite sometime. Maybe that's cause I never listen to uke songs. Maybe I should start. Wait till he really gets goin'.

HT: Jonah Goldberg

"Systematic Training in Objectivity"

2009-04-30T23:17:00.001-04:00

Lydia McGrew comments on specious reasonng in favor of physician-assisted suicide.

Early Marriage

2009-04-29T12:47:00.002-04:00

Elsewhere on the internet, people are arguing about whether it is a good idea to marry early. This all stems from an op-ed in the Washington Post by sociologist Mark Regnerus, who writes:

In my research on young adults' romantic relationships, many women report feeling peer pressure to avoid giving serious thought to marriage until they're at least in their late 20s. If you're seeking a mate in college, you're considered a pariah, someone after her "MRS degree." Actively considering marriage when you're 20 or 21 seems so sappy, so unsexy, so anachronistic. Those who do fear to admit it -- it's that scandalous.

How did we get here? The fault lies less with indecisive young people than it does with us, their parents. Our own ideas about marriage changed as we climbed toward career success. Many of us got our MBAs, JDs, MDs and PhDs. Now we advise our children to complete their education before even contemplating marriage, to launch their careers and become financially independent. We caution that depending on another person is weak and fragile. We don't want them to rush into a relationship. We won't help you with college tuition anymore, we threaten. Don't repeat our mistakes, we warn.

Later:

Marriage actually works best as a formative institution, not an institution you enter once you think you're fully formed. We learn marriage, just as we learn language, and to the teachable, some lessons just come easier earlier in life. "Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth," added Tennyson to his lines about springtime and love.

Peter Suderman disagrees. Pascal Emmanuel-Gobry agrees, and wrote this gem:

There is a very strong “ideology” (for want of a better term) that tells us each and every one of us must enjoy ourselves, start our careers and — for the love of all that is holy! — go through many, many, preferably long steps, including but not limited to, dating, assessing “sexual compatibility” (whatever that means), going “exclusive,” meeting the parents, moving in together, having a pet, having a kid or two, et caetera ad nauseam ad infinitum before we even think about getting married.

I never stop being amazed at the paradox that the more marriage is cheapened, contractualized, made commitment-lite, covenant-lite (sorry, the financial and biblical pun is irresistible), the more we are told to be careful and risk-averse when it comes to entering into it. After all, do you really need seven years of shared rent, a golden retriever, a boy and a girl to know whether your mid-life crisis divorce will succeed? It’s Sex and the City as life ethic.

Please don’t look for someone whose life outlook and deepest sensibilities complete yours — how quaint! But make sure to find out on the first date whether he likes 80s pop non-ironically or grunts weirdly during sex, so you can quickly move on to the next guy. And for the love of God never stop bar-hopping, never stop reducing courtship to a mating dance and a checklist of the most shallow criteria, and please, please extend your adolescence for as long as damn possible.

What think ye, loyal readers?

Uplifting

2009-04-28T00:43:00.001-04:00

Stunning.

The Purpose of the Academy

2009-04-27T21:31:00.003-04:00

Hi everybody, I am tired of studying biochemistry right now, so I will have a few brief comments on the Barack Obama/Mary Ann Glendon affair.

For those of you who don't know, President Obama is slated to give the commencement address at Notre Dame, and Professor Glendon was scheduled to receive the Laetare Medal, a high honor given to Catholic scholars or stewards (in some capacity--I am no expert on the award). In any case, she decided to decline the award, saying that she was used as traditional token church traditionalist in counterpoint to the President's pro-abortion views. Google it at your leisure.

Elsewhere, Patrick Deneen wrote:

While Glendon does not emphasize one direction that these statements could be taken, the tactic is clear and widespread: it is enough for Catholic institutions to have some voice on campus that "represents" the Catholic view, and the very presence of such a voice is sufficient both to signal the soundness of the institution's Catholic identity as well as permitting the inclusion of any and all non- or even anti-Catholic voices. It's as if what's being said is: "Don't worry about all that stuff that indicates we are not Catholic - we have Program X over here, or Professor Q over there." What this thin and bankrupt argument seeks in fact to obfuscate is the absence of an actual dominant and defining Catholic culture and governing philosophy on campus. What it seeks to veil is that a large number of "Catholic" institutions seek to be indistinguishable from their secular and disaffiliated counterparts with a light sprinkling of some Catholic program or symbols that purport to show their distinctiveness. Meanwhile - as the student guides of the campus tours at Georgetown always seek to point out to prospective students and their families - we all know that this school is not REALLY Catholic - ::wink-wink:: - so don't worry. It's all just for show.

This raises a good point about the greater question of the purpose of academia and intellectual pursuit. Some will allege that providing a panoply of views within a particular institution is beneficial, in that we need to have free inquiry into a wide variety of ideas: ideas imposed by an institutional monoculture are not ideas at all, but propaganda. Agreed. But intellectual humility can be taken too far, and is taken too far in many circumstances. When official promulgation of doctrine or ideas is silenced for the prevention of "divisiveness," we must ask what, in the end, is the pursuit of truth for? Because if we hold that adhering to an idea, or thought, or belief is necessarily oppressive or hurtful, then academia itself becomes a contradiction.

We must have the humility to admit we can be wrong, but we must also have the honesty to stand for something. At some point, rationality cannot be the riddle of the Zen koan--a delicate balance of yin and yang, ever opposed, ever different, but always equal.

To clarify, in the setting of Catholic universities: some will say that official doctrine is ipso facto oppressive and antithetical to thought. Yes, I admit, it can be; truth imposed by fear or sheer rigidity does not cause agreement, but rather, acquiescence--later to be replaced by rebellion, when out of the shadow of the nun's icy glare, so to speak. Persuasion is necessary. However, the entire concept of education is that the young pupils must be built up by those who are older, wiser, etc. The power differential between teacher and student must not be abused, but we must recognize that a power differential exists, but that this is not a problem in itself. Too often, the concept that the young should rebel against their elders is upheld, citing abuses of traditionalism and authority, but this is to say their misuese implies they are by their very nature bad, when this is not so. Yes, all societies and cultures have problems that require change and reform, but they also have things that should endure and be preserved, and reflexive spewing about the "damn kids on your lawn," or "crotchety, old codgers who know nothing" only spares us the hard work of asking us the hard questions of what must be kept and what must be thrown out.

To the point of intellectual pursuit in a Catholic university (or any with an official doctrine): again, free inquiry is desirable in its own right, but only to its proper extent¹. At some point, if a university or organization is established under the premise that "This is true," then eventually, it must uphold that tenet. Why? Because again, if academia and inquiry actually matter because the truth is actually true, then when someone concludes tenet X or point Y, they have an obligation to fight for it. You may say that this stifles debate, asking questions, etc, but remember, universities do not exist in a vacuum, but in the greater milieu of the culture at large, where there a plenty of other universities, groups, scholars, et al who will gladly disagree. In other words, a university that vigorously defends its tenets is not squelching dissent, but engaging it. If we cared deeply about debate and inquiry, we would see that anything less is not accomodation---it is abdication.

1. Yes I know I am not asking the "hard questions" of what that extent is. It's late, I'm tired, and I have to go review aminolevulinic acid. If you have any ideas, that's what the comment box is for.

Hopelessness

2009-04-19T14:29:00.002-04:00

Only the man who has had to face despair is really convinced that he needs mercy. Those who do not want mercy never seek it. It is better to find God on the threshold of despair than to risk our lives in a complacency that has never felt the need of forgiveness. A life that is without problems may literally be more hopeless than one that always verges on despair.

Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island, 1955, pp 21-22.

Greg Oden is still awesome

2009-04-03T18:03:00.001-04:00

Yeah, you thought he was gonna fade away, but constant injuries can't prevent Greg Oden from being cooler than you are.

From Eleven Warriors

Good doggie

2009-04-02T15:52:00.000-04:00

Here, I am going on vacation and don't want to leave you on a downer.

So here's a picture of a bulldog from the Daily Puppy.

Chas: "Ello, there! Me given name is Charles, but you can call me Chaz. Headed down to the pub for a pint or two. Care to join?"

Ok, have a good one, y'all.

Nietzsche's Abyss

2009-04-02T15:24:00.002-04:00

Dinesh D'Souza writes in a recent Christianity Today on another well-known atheist, ethicist Peter Singer. D'Souza writes:

Nietzsche's argument is illustrated in considering two of the central principles of Western civilization: "All men are created equal" and "Human life is precious." Nietzsche attributes both ideas to Christianity. It is because we are created equal and in the image of God that our lives have moral worth and that we share the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Nietzsche's warning was that none of these values make sense without the background moral framework against which they were formulated. A post-Christian West, he argued, must go back to the ethical drawing board and reconsider its most cherished values, which include its traditional belief in the equal dignity of every human life.

Singer resolutely takes up a Nietzschean call for a "transvaluation of values," with a full awareness of the radical implications.

Read the rest to see what those implications are.

Not to be Here, Not to be Anywhere

2009-04-02T14:35:00.004-04:00

Over at the American Scene, Alan Jacobs posts a couple of posts on facing death as an atheist.

Within, he notes a curious non-chalance or even celebratory attitude of some atheists towards death. He noted that biologist Richard Dawkins called the fear of death "illogical," and that fantasy author Philip Pullman wrote that some characters' deaths were like "vivid little burst of happiness [like] the bubbles in a glass of champagne." But this is a confused metaphor: any pleasure from the champagne bubbles bursting is within the tongue of the drinker. The bubbles are the object of the pleasure, not the subject, and this sloppy metaphor provides a way to gloss over their annihiliation with the foggy memories of past soirees. Alternatively, such language could be used to imply the bubbles are subsumed into the greater whole of the champagne itself---the raindrops becoming part of the ocean idea--but this is pantheist, and not atheist, thought, and Pullman should be clear and honest enough to say so.

Jacobs posted a portion of a poem by a more circumspect atheist, Philip Larkin, entitled "Aubade." An excerpt:

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not used, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never:
But at the total emptiness forever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says no rational being
Can fear a thing it cannot feel, not seeing
that this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

So, if you want to pursue atheism, you are free to do so. Just be prepared to shudder; the reaper does not take kindly to glib snickering.

Sex positive?

2009-03-28T23:13:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago, I linked to a post at Rod Dreher's blog describing a recent "Sex Positive" week at Georgetown.

I was struck by the verbal positioning of the entire affair--sex positivity? Implying that more traditional ideas are sex negative?

If the Christian community has its theology right, shouldn't we be the ones who are the most "sex positive"? If our words don't match this, where have we erred? How can we celebrate this blessing?

And, more pointedly, why do we usually not? Much of this stems from regarding the entire topic as taboo, which means we are not effectively delineating sermonologically or culturally between good and bad. Treating the whole topic in the hushed whispers of opprobrium does us no favors, either in terms of educating believers or reaching out to those who are not. We need to recognize our own failings, and develop means of approaching this topic with much more openness, with the ability to argue what we are for, and nor merely what we are against. Otherwise we confirm the caricatures others make of us.

On the other hand, this isn't to excuse those who make such caricatures. It is difficult to have real discussions when the terms of the debate are arrayed against you, and your first step is almost to apologize for being so "sex negative."

These silly ad hominem arguments don't help anybody, and they're certainly easy to fall into. And the Christian community falls for it, too, which only breeds insularity and self-righteousness.

By the way, one thing I need to counter here is the whole "sexual repression" concept that's been floating around for the past 50 years at least. If you're not clear what this is, then listen to one of its proponents, Hugh Hefner:

What causes all the sickness, the perversion, the rape, is a repressive society--a society that can't be open in a loving and positive way.

OK, I am hereby proposing ground rules for ad hominem lines of thought like this one. One of three options. If you're going to say your opponent has some sort of psychological malady, then, please, lets have some diagnostic criteria. I want to see the page on the DSM you're reading from. Otherwise, please, let's not go calling everybody who disagrees with you a nutjob. It's not helpful.

Heavy Stumbling Feet

2009-03-23T09:41:00.001-04:00

OK, so I've been slacking again. Sorry.

This week is test week, so I will be posting, but it will be other folks' writing. But it's good.

This from Tony Woodlief:

I spent a good portion of my time in a small chapel, learning prayers that preceded the Roman Catholic Church. I came with a great weight on my bones, a weight that overwhelmed me in that tiny chapel. I fell to my knees there, and prayed with quivering shoulders and trembling hands, done in by grief over the past, fear of the future, the knowing that this present ground is sand, that my feet must soon move forward or backward. Each way bears a cost; one of the great lies of men is that the path can be traveled without suffering. Another great lie is that we can stand still and read books and let our paltry knowledge carry us into the arms of God. We have to walk, with heavy, stumbling feet.

Read the rest.

Courage in the face of death

2009-03-08T13:28:00.005-04:00

About every week, I read to an older man in who has diabetic retinopathy (diabetes is hurting his eyes) so he can't read that well himself. Lately we've been reading a history of Great Britain by Thomas Babington Macaulay, a 19th century Member of Parliament who, in his spare time, wrote prolifically.¹ In any case, his histories are far more in depth

Within an hour of eternity, sleeping as sweetly as a man ever did

than anything I read in high school, bringing up all the backstories and personal elements of history that most texts gloss over or omit entirely. Also, I think that Macaulay can often writes with more wit and style than today's texts, which are often written by committee and are editted to the point of not alleging anything forcefully or controversially.²

In any case, I was struck by this passage on the death of Argyle, a Scottish Presbyterian and nobleman captured during an insurrection against the Catholic King James II in 1685. I don't know what to say regarding the interdenomiational warfare and political intrigue, but it is a tremendous account of courage, peace, and humility--things we don't hear often anymore, but certainly should.

And now commenced the brightest part of Argyle's career. His enterprise had hitherto brought on him nothing but reproach and derision. His great error was that he did not resolutely refuse to accept the name without the power of a general. Had he remained quietly at his retreat in Friesland, he would in a few years have been recalled with honour to his country, and would have been conspicuous among the ornaments and the props of constitutional monarchy. Had he conducted his expedition according to his own views, and carried with him no followers but such as were prepared implicitly to obey all his orders, he might possibly have effected something great. For what he wanted as a captain seems to have been, not courage, nor activity, nor skill, but simply authority. He should have known that of all wants this is the most fatal. Armies have triumphed under leaders who possessed no very eminent qualifications. But what army commanded by a debating club ever escaped discomfiture and disgrace?

The great calamity which had fallen on Argyle had this advantage, that it enabled him to show, by proofs not to be mistaken, what manner of man he was. From the day when he quitted. Friesland to the day when his followers separated at Kilpatrick, he had never been a free agent. He had borne the responsibility of a long series of measures which his judgment disapproved. Now at length he stood alone. Captivity had restored to him the noblest kind of liberty, the liberty of governing himself in all his words and actions according to his own sense of the right and of the becoming. From that moment he became as one inspired with new wisdom and virtue. His intellect seemed to be strengthened and concentrated, his moral character to be at once elevated and softened. The insolence of the conquerors spared nothing that could try the temper of a man proud of ancient nobility and of patriarchal dominion. The prisoner was dragged through Edinburgh in triumph. He walked on foot, bareheaded, up the whole length of that stately street which, overshadowed by dark and gigantic piles of stone, leads from Holyrood House to the Castle. Before him marched the hangman, bearing the ghastly instrument which was to be used at the quartering block. The victorious party had not forgotten that, thirty-five years before this time, the father of Argyle had been at the head of the faction which put Montrose to death. Before that event the houses of Graham and Campbell had borne no love to each other; and they had ever since been at deadly feud. Care was taken that the prisoner should pass through the same gate and the same streets through which Montrose had been led to the same doom. 349 When the Earl reached the Castle his legs were put in irons, and he was informed that he had but a few days to live. It had been determined not to bring him to trial for his recent offence, but to put him to death under the sentence pronounced against him several years before, a sentence so flagitiously unjust that the most servile and obdurate lawyers of that bad age could not speak of it without shame.

But neither the ignominious procession up the High Street, nor the near view of death, had power to disturb the gentle and majestic patience of Argyle. His fortitude was tried by a still more severe test. A paper of interrogatories was laid before him by order of the Privy Council. He replied to those questions to which he could reply without danger to any of his friends, and refused to say more. He was told that unless he returned fuller answers he should be put to the torture. James, who was doubtless sorry that he could not feast his own eyes with the sight of Argyle in the boots, sent down to Edinburgh positive orders that nothing should be omitted which could wring out of the traitor information against all who had been concerned in the treason. But menaces were vain. With torments and death in immediate prospect Mac Callum More thought far less of himself than of his poor clansmen. "I was busy this day," he wrote from his cell, "treating for them, and in some hopes. But this evening orders came that I must die upon Monday or Tuesday; and I am to be put to the torture if I answer not all questions upon oath. Yet I hope God shall support me."

The torture was not inflicted. Perhaps the magnanimity of the victim had moved the conquerors to unwonted compassion. He himself remarked that at first they had been very harsh to him, but that they soon began to treat him with respect and kindness. God, he said, had melted their hearts. It is certain that he did not, to save himself from the utmost cruelty of his enemies, betray any of his friends. On the last morning of his life he wrote these words: "I have named none to their disadvantage. I thank God he hath supported me wonderfully!"

He composed his own epitaph, a short poem, full of meaning and spirit, simple and forcible in style, and not contemptible in versification. In this little piece he complained that, though his enemies had repeatedly decreed his death, his friends had been still more cruel. A comment on these expressions is to be found in a letter which he addressed to a lady residing in Holland. She had furnished him with a large sum of money for his expedition, and he thought her entitled to a full explanation of the causes which had led to his failure. He acquitted his coadjutors of treachery, but described their folly, their ignorance, and their factious perverseness, in terms which their own testimony has since proved to have been richly deserved. He afterwards doubted whether he had not used language too severe to become a dying Christian, and, in a separate paper, begged his friend to suppress what he had said of these men "Only this I must acknowledge," he mildly added; "they were not governable."

Most of his few remaining hours were passed in devotion, and in affectionate intercourse with some members of his family. He professed no repentance on account of his last enterprise, but bewailed, with great emotion, his former compliance in spiritual things with the pleasure of the government He had, he said, been justly punished. One who had so long been guilty of cowardice and dissimulation was not worthy to be the instrument of salvation to the State and Church. Yet the cause, he frequently repeated, was the cause of God, and would assuredly triumph. "I do not," he said, "take on myself to be a prophet. But I have a strong impression on my spirit, that deliverance will come very suddenly." It is not strange that some zealous Presbyterians should have laid up his saying in their hearts, and should, at a later period, have attributed it to divine inspiration.

So effectually had religious faith and hope, co-operating with natural courage and equanimity, composed his spirits, that, on the very day on which he was to die, he dined with appetite, conversed with gaiety at table, and, after his last meal, lay down, as he was wont, to take a short slumber, in order that his body and mind might be in full vigour when he should mount the scaffold. At this time one of the Lords of the Council, who had probably been bred a Presbyterian, and had been seduced by interest to join in oppressing the Church of which he had once been a member, came to the Castle with a message from his brethren, and demanded admittance to the Earl. It was answered that the Earl was asleep. The Privy Councillor thought that this was a subterfuge, and insisted on entering. The door of the cell was softly opened; and there lay Argyle, on the bed, sleeping, in his irons, the placid sleep of infancy. The conscience of the renegade smote him. He turned away sick at heart, ran out of the Castle, and took refuge in the dwelling of a lady of his family who lived hard by. There he flung himself on a couch, and gave himself up to an agony of remorse and shame. His kinswoman, alarmed by his looks and groans, thought that he had been taken with sudden illness, and begged him to drink a cup of sack. "No, no," he said; "that will do me no good." She prayed him to tell her what had disturbed him. "I have been," he said, "in Argyle's prison. I have seen him within an hour of eternity, sleeping as sweetly as ever man did. But as for me ———"

And now the Earl had risen from his bed, and had prepared himself for what was yet to be endured. He was first brought down the High Street to the Council House, where he was to remain during the short interval which was still to elapse before the execution. During that interval he asked for pen and ink, and wrote to his wife: "Dear heart, God is unchangeable: He hath always been good and gracious to me: and no place alters it. Forgive me all my faults; and now comfort thyself in Him, in whom only true comfort is to be found. The Lord be with thee, bless and comfort thee, my dearest. Adieu."

It was now time to leave the Council House. The divines who attended the prisoner were not of his own persuasion; but he listened to them with civility, and exhorted them to caution their flocks against those doctrines which all Protestant churches unite in condemning. He mounted the scaffold, where the rude old guillotine of Scotland, called the Maiden, awaited him, and addressed the people in a speech, tinctured with the peculiar phraseology of his sect, but breathing the spirit of serene piety. His enemies, he said, he forgave, as he hoped to be forgiven. Only a single acrimonious expression escaped him. One of the episcopal clergymen who attended him went to the edge of the scaffold, and called out in a loud voice, "My Lord dies a Protestant." "Yes," said the Earl, stepping forward, "and not only a Protestant, but with a heart hatred of Popery, of Prelacy, and of all superstition." He then embraced his friends, put into their hands some tokens of remembrance for his wife and children, kneeled down, laid his head on the block, prayed during a few minutes, and gave the signal to the executioner. His head was fixed on the top of the Tolbooth, where the head of Montrose had formerly decayed.350

1. Macaulay was something of a inquisitive and desciptive genius, and his parents realized this when, as a toddler and looking at the smokestacks of nearby factories, and asked, "Does the smoke from those chimneys come from the fires of hell?"

2. Macaulay has been criticized for being too pro-Whig in his historical outlook, as he claims that the Glorious Revolution of 1688 ushered in a Golden Age in English politics. Maybe he's mistaken, but at least he's arguing for something.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Seconds...

2009-03-03T16:09:00.004-05:00

As exhibit A of what happens when we give up on ideals, I'd like to share a recent, and somewhat saddening, article from CNN. (My snarky readers may say this is me giving up on my ideals of posting more encouraging things here. I hear you...but this one connects to what I just wrote!!)

Anyway, the title says it all: "Don't Fall in Love."

I knew something was amiss when I read this:

But sometimes the bad outweighs the good, and every once in a while a lady needs to take a break and keep her heart safe from scoundrels looking to shatter it.

However, that doesn't mean you should hole up alone in beat-up pajamas with only your old pals Netflix and Jim Beam for company. Even when you're not in the market for love, it's good to keep one toe in the dating pool. You just need to date effectively. Here are some ways to keep your heart safe while the rest of you has fun.

Hmm. I think someone just bought the one-way ticket to Splitsville, and is heading to the train station. Here's some, uh, helpful pointers from our esteemed author.

1. Date only the wildly inappropriate.

As someone who has befriended with the wildly inappropriate...

2. Take up recreational complaining.

Because misery loves company?

3. Pair the b****ing with moaning and bragging.

Sure-fire winner there.

4. Develop an annoying catchphrase and use it constantly.

5. If, God forbid, you really start to fall for a guy, pick out his negative traits.

I know this article is a bit out of the mainstream, but it's so bizarre I just have to laugh. Is this person serious? Is this supposed to be helpful advice? Are we this desperate? This sounds like a great premise for a reality show that I won't watch.

Guidelines

2009-03-01T16:06:00.002-05:00

Folks, just want to clarify something here.

It's easy for folks of my persuasion to dwell on problems or get all mopey or complainy things. So for every post about problems regarding our screwed-up culture and society, I will try to post something uplifting or encouraging. Because I am called to a life of joy, and I know what a drag bitteness can be.

If you think I am not living up to this, you can call me on it. Or come over to my house and punch me. Just let me take my glasses off first--they are expensive. (Noses are a dime a dozen).

OK, peace out, y'all.

Facts of Life

2009-02-28T10:02:00.004-05:00

Evidently a British children's show has come under fire for having a disabled host.

Cerrie Burnett was born with only one hand, which has caused trouble among some viewers:

In one chat room, a father lamented that Burnell being on the show forced him to have conversations with his child about disabilities.

To put this bluntly: it is your responsibility as a father to have that conversation! Perhaps it is an annoyance to be "forced" to have the conversation at a certain point, but you need to have it. And keep in mind, some people suffer from more troublesome annoyances, such as having only one hand.

Another commenter, DoYouHaveKids?, said:

Do any of you who think this is so "unbelievable" actually have kids? It's very hard, as a parent, to have every social issue jammed down the throat of your kids before they even hit first grade.

I am aware that kids these days do get every social issue thrown at them early on, especially when those issues often have a moral element that parents may disagree with, and have a right to do so. And those supporting throwing moral issues at them may justify it terms of my title for this post; that is, such behaviors are parts of the facts of life, and any disagreement is willful ignorance. Perhaps viewing moral discussions with such blithe resignation is easier if one waters down his ideals (see my previous post)¹. But: is this some sticky social issue? I don't think so.

Alternatively, commenter Rich said:

As a person with a disability, I am absolutely disgusted reading about the parent who complains about having to talk to his child about disabilities. As a child, I was subjected to humiliation and cruelty by my peers who obviously had learned such behaviors from their parents. A little enlightenment and sensitivity training would not have been amiss for those little brats.

While the "sensitivity training" always raises this blogger's hackles, Rich is on the right track here. We live in a fallen, broken world, and facing it with both courage and love requires having difficult conversations and not shirking or blaming. There's no reason to avoid the reality of disability with our children, especially if we are to teach them to treat those with disabilities with love rather than disgust or fear.

Loe and courage are even more in order when issues with an explicit moral element do arise; chances are, they will arise before you are ready, and you must be willing to face them. Perhaps not on your terms, but face them you must.

1. Question: for some, is it really resignation? Or active pursuit?

Insipid Ideals

2009-02-27T16:27:00.004-05:00

A few days ago at Rod Dreher's blog, there was a discussion over some symposium or some such as Georgetown promoting "Relationships Beyond Monogamy," offering "thoughts on polyamory, radical honesty, the pitfalls & joys of open relationships and much more."

Rod said that "the people pushing this garbage are the enemy, pure and simple."

Commenter Jimmy Shi responded:

No, they're not. They simply have a different view of the nature of what you, and presumably, they, believe is the gift of human sexuality. That doesn't make them particularly villainous. And if you're indicting them as villains, chances are they're doing the same.

You may not like the concept of an open marriage. But frankly, it beats the hell out of a broken family that comes apart because one partner can't keep it in their pants and simply tries to hide that fact.

I responded:

1. Who is "the enemy"? Yes, I'll concede calling people the enemy isn't the best way to persuade them and more often than not will cause strife and contention. But, for whatever reason, even if they may not themselves be "villainous," they have arrived at a terrible conclusion and ended up in support of a "villainous" position on sexuality. In the interests of maintaining dialog, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, and presume they reached their conclusion out of a simple mistake, and hold off on the vitriol. Really, I mean that--I am not trying to be patronizing, and I don't think we should try to be. But at some point, disagreements will inevitably arise, and it's not "bad faith" argumentation or disingenuous to say so.

2. In regards to the open marriage point, a broken family because one partner can't keep it in their pants and proclaims that behavior loud and proud ain't much of an improvement. Or, to put it more plainly, I am not impressed with arguments for freedom based on lowest-common-denominator morality. Why must our ideals conform to our weaknesses? Isn't the entire point of ideals that we would conform our weaknesses to them? Or has thinking of sex using concepts such as ideals and weaknesses become utterly outmoded, leaving us only with "what is," and not "what should be?" What happens to people, societies, families, when we forget to ask such questions--or deliberately avoid them?

That's when I threw down and started wailin' till the ref had to throw me in the box. Five for fightin'. But seriously, what are your thoughts? I'm all ears.

Days of Ashes and Squalls

2009-02-25T08:00:00.006-05:00

Here's the liturgy from the 6:30 service at my church this morning. I've copied it verbatim.

Ash Wednesday is the beginning of the season of Lent -- a time of renewal and coming back to God. It comes as an intrusion as we face the reality that we are going to die. "Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shalll return." These words echo the

Perhaps I am an adequate shiphand, but I know I am a terrible captain

service at the grave -- "dust to dust." This forceful reminder of our frail, short lives can seem offensive and rightly so. In them we publicly state our sinfulness and human frailty. It is a time of dying to ourselves and being crucified with Christ. And as surely as we have died with Him, so we will be raised with Him to the glory of God.

Psalm 51 vv. 1-12.

For the director of music. A psalm of David. When the prophet Nathan came to him after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba.

¹ Have mercy on me, O God,

       according to your unfailing love;
       according to your great compassion
       blot out my transgressions.

² Wash away all my iniquity
and cleanse me from my sin.

³ For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.

⁴ Against you, you only, have I sinned
       and done what is evil in your sight,
       so that you are proved right when you speak
       and justified when you judge.

⁵ Surely I was sinful at birth,
sinful from the time my mother conceived me.

⁶ Surely you desire truth in the inner parts;
you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.

⁷ Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.

⁸ Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones you have crushed rejoice.

⁹ Hide your face from my sins
and blot out all my iniquity.

¹⁰ Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

¹¹ Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.

¹² Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Confession and Forgiveness

Leader: In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

ALL: Amen

L: Most merciful and holy Father:

A: We confess to You and to one another, and to the w hole communion of saints in heaven and on earth, that we have sinned by out own fault, in thought, word, and deed; by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.

L: We have not loved you with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. We have not lovedo ur neighbors as ourselves. We have not forvien others, as we have been forgiven.

A: Have mercy on us, Lord.

L: We have been deaf to Your call to serve as Christ served us. We have not been true to the mind of Christ. We have grieved Your Holy Spirit.

A: Have mercy on us, Lord.

L: We confess to You, Lord, all our past unfaithfulness. The pride, the hypocrisy, and the impatience in our lives.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our self-indulgent appetites and ways and exploitation of other people.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our anger at our own frustration, and our envy of those more fortunate than ourselves.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our intemperate love of worldy goods and conforts, and our dishonesty in daily life and work.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Our negligence in prayer and worship, and our failure to commend the faith that is in us.

A: We confess to You, Lord.

L: Accept our repentance, Lord, for the wrongs we have done. For our blindness to human need and suffering, and our indifference to injustice and cruelty.

A: Accept our repentance, Lord.

L: For our waste and pollution of Your creation, and our lack of concern for those who come after us.

A: Accept our repentance, Lord.

L: Restore us, good Lord, and let Your anger depart from us.

A: Hear us, Lord, for your mercy is great. Amen.

In his brief remarks to us, Pastor John related today how we are in age of victimhood. Everyone is a victim, he said, and people often justify their actions via the faults of others. He sees it all the time in his frequent work with people suffering from various forms of addiction. For any change to happen, for any progress to be made, they must first break their denial, and realize that there is a problem, and they are at fault. It's a message we don't hear enough, and the consequences are just as grave for us, but we can easily excuse them. (In fact, I was just thinking, thank goodness I'm no addict. There's no serious problem with me.) How many of our difficulties and travails the bitter fruit of our own mistakes of commission and omission? The things we do out of greed or malice, or lust, or pride? Or the things we neglect, or avoid, or weasel out of? The things we deny?

This morning before church I read a bit of a photography blog by Pablo Gazpachot. Here's is what he had to say, and I think it's quite germane:

One of my primary interests in life is lost souls who become found. Not so much in the Amazing Grace, spiritual sense (though that can be a beautiful thing too), but more in the self creation sense. We all pass through valleys of doubt, bewildered by the world, and blown by the wind. I am drawn to people who willfully get lost and experience the brink with no safety net and then slingshot themselves back into a reality that is no longer threatening or uninteresting. These people often find a gusto and a joy that escapes so many of us who cling to the workaday world. They know that reality is both created¹ and experienced and that a command of the former brings rewards in the latter.

No.

I have tried "self-creation." I'm sure many of you have, as well. It's a common pursuit. The problem is that my heart, my will, my desires, are perverted. Oh, there may be good intentions, noble desires, and the like, but within moments they are imbued with a self-righteousness and pride that soon degrades into envy and jealousy. And those are the moments I pursue selfless ends with selfish motives. At other times I am purely carnal.

Mr. Gazpachot says I can slingshot myself into the destination of my choosing, and escape the brokeness around me. But he misses the crucial detail that the brokeness is within me as well. As I sail the seas of life, he asks that I chart my own course, but what destination should I choose? My fancies shift with the wind. Perhaps I am an adequate shiphand, but I know I am a terrible captain, not escaping storms, but travelling right into the tempest.

Perhaps this heavy-handed emphasis on brokenness and failure seems bleak--some may even say hopeless---but such is to corrupt confession and ignore both its essence and its end. First, we must realize that it is not about us. This is the essential center of confession--not only that we are wrong, that we are flawed, that we are broken, but that our brokenness is utter, that it is not in our control, that we cannot fix it. We must diminish. "I'm sorry and I'll try harder next time," is not repentance: correction cannot be of our own doing. We must be humiliated, desperate.²

And yet!

Desperation is not despair, and humiliation is never shame! Although the essence of confession is our utter brokeness, its end is the complete and utter grace of God--that His love is absolutely true, and absolutely free. Confession, ultimately, is not about us, but about Him and Christ's love for us that crosses every barrier, including those we have built within ourselves. In His love and mercy, there is hope. There is joy. That where we have failed, He can prevail. A confession that does not culminate in hope is no confession at all, but a penitent man in the grip of God's grace is a saint.

I'll leave you with a hymn, continuing in the sea-faring theme, written by Charles Gabriel in the earl 1900's, titled "Sail On!":

Upon a wide and stormy sea,

Thou’rt sailing to eternity,

And thy great Admiral orders thee:

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

Refrain

Sail on! Sail on!

The storms will soon be past,

The darkness will not always last;

Sail on! Sail on!

God lives and He commands:

“Sail on! Sail on!”

Art far from shore, and weary worn,

The sky o’ercast, thy canvas torn?

Hark ye! a voice to thee is borne:

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

Refrain

Do comrades tremble and refuse

To further dare the taunting hues?

No other course is thine to choose,

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

Refrain

Do snarling waves thy craft assail?

Art pow’rless, drifting with the gale?

Take heart! God’s Word shall never fail.

“Sail on! Sail on! Sail on!”

Refrain

1. I have a hard enough time with individualized ethics. I shudder to think what I would do with all of reality at my beck and call.

2. I cannot stress this enough: humiliation and shame are completely and utterly different! Humiliation carries with it the denotation of ostracism and rejection, but I use it the strictest sense of imparting one with humility. Ostracism and rejection belong to the cruel domain of shame. They are Satan's cruel pleasures, but not God's. God may convict us of sin, that is, he may show us our errors, but it is only that we might return to living in a way that does not harm us or others. He convicts that we might return to Him. It is one of the most bitter of lies to confuse the two, and I know what it is like to walk with condemnation. If this is the case with you, I must must must exclaim, no, no, a thousand times, No! God does not condemn you. Read Romans 8:36-39. Take heart. Draw courage.

A Total Harvest

2009-02-23T17:55:00.006-05:00

At the behest of my true friend, and last remaining loyal reader, Chris, I will put up some new content. Indeed, in honor of Lent, I will try to put something up daily, even if at sometimes I must resort to the trite or mundane, but hopefully I will be able to churn out something worthwhile, at least occasionally.

My ultimate goal for this blog is to serve as a source of commentary on the prospects of professing Christ in a world that is often disinterested, but is often

...as we eat the flour of our pursuits, so, too, shall we live.

disintegrating, as well. I understand that seems like both a vague and broad undertaking, and a daunting challenge, especially for one business medical student in a middling corner of the flat Midwest. At this point, and as a means of introduction of my ideas, I can do no better than quote at length TS Eliot, noted poet, Nobel laureate, and erstwhile cultural thinker:

The fact that a problem will certainly take a long time to solve, and that it will demand the attention of many minds for several generations, is no justification for postponing the study. And, in times of emergency, it may prove in the long run that the problems we have postponed or ignored, rather than those we have failed to attack successfully, will return to plague us. Our difficulties of the present moment must always be dealt with somehow: but our permanent difficulties are difficulties of every moment. The subject with which I am concerned in the following pages is one to which I an cconvinced we ought to turn our attention now, if we hope to ever to be relieved of the immediate perplexities that fill our minds. It is urgent because it is fundamental; and its urgency is the reason for a person like myself attemptiong to address, on a subject beyond his usual scope, that public which is likely to read what he writes on other subjects. [More than I can say personally.--TE] THis is a subject which I could handle better, no doubt, were I profound scholar in any of several fields. But I am not writing for scholars, but for people like myself; some defects may be compensated by some advantages; and what one must be judged by, scholar or no, is not particularised knowledge but one's total harvest of thinking, feeling, living, and observing human beings.

From, TS Eliot, Christianity and Culture, Harcourt Brace, 1939, p. 5.

Such is my endeavor, that "the total harvest of thinking, feeling, and living" as a believer in an age of uncertainty will be recorded here. This apt phrase "total harvest" crystallizes many of my grave concerns facing society today: the compartmentalization of concepts and pursuits into specialized and distinct realms. And as we sow our thinking, we reap our feelings and ideals, and as we eat the flour of our pursuits, so, too, shall we live.

When our basic understanding of mankind at a fundamental level is fragmented within the increasingly inward-looking academy, the public eventually responds with indifference and moves to more hedonic pursuits. And as hedonism is, at its core, selfish, what happens to society as people themselves become more inward-looking?

My goal is to restore and proclaim Truth that builds up such inward personal fulfillment that we can resume humanity's charge to live socially. That the despair of consumption and its concomitant atomization of our society into the whims of the individual could subside into contentment and forgiveness. Of course, I don't want to approach this naively, and want to convey emphatically that there are no easy answers, the usual suspects may not be guilty of the sins we charge, and supposed heroes may be flawed at best. That arguing from conventional labels prevents serious thinking, but also that seeking common ground for fear of contention can be just as much an abdication. That understanding first demands scrutiny of one's one positions, but not the assumption that apologies and doubt means you're being honest. Perhaps you're just a wimp. Strife is never valuable for its own sake, but contention sometimes is necessary. It's been said before, but there is a difference between the use of a dagger and scalpel.

I understand there's not much flesh on this skeleton of an argument right now, and you may have doubts or questions. That's fine, and they're welcome. I hope over the coming months I can, like in Ezekiel's vision of the valley of dry bones¹, put sinew and muscle on them, and in the process, begin the resuscitation of a dying and dessicated culture.

¹Ezek. 37.

Snow Day

2009-01-28T11:08:00.012-05:00

Well, it's a snow day here in Our Fair City--socked with an ice storm overnight, with a half foot more to come today. All the schools are closed, and even our fine university shut down. So I don't have to take my thyroid test (as in, do I understand thyroid diseases?, and not, is my thyroid working?).

I put on my hikin' shoes and headed outside for some photos.

My street, snowed in.

Fifth Avenue.

The Twisted Vine on Fifth Avenue.

Nice houses on the street--
they don't make 'em like
that anymore.

Frozen things.

Well, that's all for today. Hope you liked the pictures.

Inauguration

2009-01-20T20:56:00.003-05:00

I watched the inauguration today, and it made me glad to be an American.

It's easy to neglect the tremendous blessing of a government--and the cultural milieu that produces that government--with relatively robust accountability, competency, and integrity. We're not without our problems, but a bit of perspective is in order...

My father has travelled all around the world for his business endeavors, and I've heard stories of the way things are run elsewhere. He was in Bogota, Columbia in late 1993, when the country essentially had martial law declared, complete with tanks patroling the streets, stemming from the unrest over the fugitive drug lord Pablo Escobar, estimated at one point to be the world's seventh-richest man, whose cartel contolled 80% of the cocaine market. Escobar had bribed and shot he way to the top, paying off officials and probably influencing changes in the Colombian constitution to prevent extradition while running his cartel from prison. He is estimated to be responsible for four thousand murders, but the poor of Colombia loved him for his lavish donations and construction projects in destitute communities. After his escape from prison, several groups including elite Columbia police squads, trained by American Special Forces, and vigilante groups, funded by rival drug cartels and rebel para-government factions, sought Escobar's death. A semblance of order resumed after he was gunned down on the rooftops of Medellin, Cololmbia, but this only allowed the rival Cali cartel to wrest control of the cocaine market, until it, too, was broken by the Colombian government in the mid-1990's.

Elsewhere:

In the past few days, a government task force paper warned the Mexico may suffer a collapse of its government in the wake of narco-corruption.
Last month, massive riots erupted in Greece; prompted by the police shooting of a teen, the uproar was fuelled by widespread dissatisfaction in economic conditions and governance among the youth.
Zimbabwe continues its tragic decline under dictator Mugabe, and now boasts of the shortest life expectancy of any nation under earth.

Sorry to end on a downer. More thoughts tomorrow, but right now I am going to sleep.

Don't know much about economy...

2008-12-28T14:16:00.002-05:00

Hey everybody. If you're like me, you probably get that glossy look in your eyes when people start talking about the current financial situation. And I was an econ minor (although my education seemed to be largely relearning the same facts I learned in intro courses, except doing some calculus. Sweet.)

Anyway, here are some resources for you!

Paddy Hirsch's Marketplace Whiteboard series explains it all. But their listed with the most recent ones at the top, so you'll want to start at the bottom, since the concepts often build on each other.

Also, Timothy Carney at Culture 11 posts a regular column, Heckonomics, (as in, what-the-heck-o-nomics) which will have you understanding things in no time.

Michael Lewis, in "The End of Wall Street's Boom," gives you a behind-the-scenes account of the housing bubble.

Happy reading.

At least the bank can't take your sense of humor

2008-12-26T22:30:00.002-05:00

Time to laugh at the economy. Or Adolf Hitler:

From Clusterstock.

Meanwhile, across the English Channel:

The Hiding Place, pt. 6

2008-12-26T22:23:00.000-05:00

Others came to Bloemendaal, scarred body and soul by bombing raids or loss of family or any of the endless dislocations of war. In 1947 we began to receive Dutch people who had been prisoners of the Japanese in indonesia.

Though none of this was by design, it proved to be the best possible setting for those who had been imprisoned in Germany. Among themselves they tended to live and relive their special woes; in Bloemendaal they were reminded that they were not the only ones who had suffered. And for all these people alike, the key to healing turned out to be the same. Each had a hurt he had to forgive: the neighbor who had reported him, the brutal guard, the sadistic soldier.

Strangely enough, it was not the Germans or the Japanese that people had most trouble forgiving; it was their fellow Dutchmen who had sided with the enemy. I saw them frequently in the streets, NsBers with their shaved heads and furtive eyes. These former collaborators were now in pitiful condition, turned out of homes and apartments, unable to find jobs, hooted at in the streets.

At first it seemed to me that we should invite them, too, to Bloemendaal, to live side by side with those they had injured, to seek a new compassion on both sides. But it turned out to be too soon for people working their way back from such hurt: the two times I tried it, it ended in open fights. And so as soon as homes and schools for the feeble-minded opened again around the country, I turned the Beje over to these former NsBers.

This was how it went, those years after the war, experimenting, making mistakes, learning. The doctors, psychiatrists, and nutritionists who came free of charge to any place that cared for war victims, sometimes expressed surprise at our loose-run ways. At morning and evening worship, people drifted in and out, table manners were atrocious, one man took a walk into Haarlem every morning at 3:00 A.M. I could not bring myself to sound a whistle or to scold, or to consider gates or curfews.

And, sure enough, in their own time and their own way, people worked out the deep pain within them. It most often started, as Betsie had known it would, in the garden. As flowers bloomed or vegetables ripened, talk was less of the bitter past, more of tomorrow's weather. As their horizons broadened, I would tell them about the people living in the Beje, people who never had a visitor, never a piece of mail. When mention of the NsBers no longer brought a volley of self-righteous wrath, I knew the person's healing was not far away. And the day he said, “Those people you spoke of---I wonder if they'd care for some homegrown carrots,” then I knew the miracle had taken place.

Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, pp. 246-247.

Believers such as myself can easily fall into a saccharine view of forgiveness, seeing the joy of reconciliation but neglecting the hardship required to reach that point. Forgiveness may hurt. Even if our hearts are filled with compassion for others, society-at-large may only harbor contempt. Reaching out to the condemned may bring ostracism for ourselves, too.

Another point: it is easy to imagine loving the "deserving," those who suffer via some seemingly cruel twist of fate--a calamity that could befall anyone, including us. Yet who imagines love for the unworthy, those who have brought calamity upon themselves, those who have committed or condoned atrocity? And yet Christ commanded us not only to attend to the hungry, and the parched, and the naked, but the imprisoned, as well. And he made no qualifications: he did not hedge with qualifiers such as the wrongfully incarcerated, or the minor offenders, or the well-behaved. He calls us to love the damned--the rightfully damned.

Caring for them, more likely than not, will be bittersweet. We cannot approach them with naivete; tough love may be needed. They are not monsters, though the temptation to call them that is strong. Many have done monstrous things, and their bodies are scarred, their souls are disfigured. This ugliness has been wrought by their own hands, sullied by blood. But we know of the Fount of blood that washes, heals, renews. When the ugliness is cleared away, we may find they were not monsters, but sons and brothers.

The Hiding Place, pt. 5

2008-12-26T21:52:00.001-05:00

We lay back, struggling against the nausea that swept over us from the reeking straw. We could hear the women who had arrived with us finding their places. Suddenly I sat up, striking my head on the cross-slats above.

Something had pinched my leg.

“Fleas!” I cried. “Betsie, the place is swarming with them!” We scrambled across the intervening platforms, heads low to avoid another bump, dropped down to the aisle, and edged our way to a patch of light.

“Here! And here’s another one!” I wailed. “Betsie, how can we live in such a place?”

“Show us. Show us how.” It was said so matter of factly it took me a second to realize she was praying. More and more the distinction between prayer and the rest of life seemed to be vanishing for Betsie.

“Corrie!” she said excitedly. “He's given us the answer! Before we asked, as He always does! In the Bible this morning. Where was it? Read that part again!” I glanced down the long dim aisle to make sure no guard was in sight, then drew the Bible from its pouch.

“It was in First Thessalonians,” I said. We were on our third complete reading of the New Testament since leaving Scheveningen. In the feeble light I turned the pages. “Here it is: 'Comfort the frightened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all.'” It seemed written expressly to Ravensbruck.

“Go on,” said Betsie. “That wasn't all.”

“Oh yes: '. . . to one another and to all. Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus-”'

“That's it, Corrie! That's His answer. 'Give thanks in all circumstances!' That's what we can do. We can start right now to thank God for every single thing about this new barracks!” I stared at her, then around me at the dark, foul-aired room.

“Such as?” I said.

“Such as being assigned here together.”

l bit my lip. “Oh yes, Lord Jesus!”

“Such as what you're holding in your hands.”

l looked down at the Bible. “Yes! Thank You, dear Lord, that there was no inspection when we entered here! Thank You for all the women, here in this room, who will meet You in these pages.”

“Yes,” said Betsie.

“Thank You for the very crowding here. Since we're packed so close, that many more will hear!” She looked at me expectantly. “Corrie!” she prodded.

“Oh, all right. Thank You for the jammed, crammed, stuffed, packed, suffocating crowds.”

“Thank you,” Betsie went on serenely, “for the fleas and for---“ The fleas! This was too much.

“Betsie, there's no way even God can make me grateful for a flea.”

“'Give thanks in all circumstances,”' she quoted. “It doesn't say, 'in pleasant circumstances Fleas are part of this place where God has put us.”

And so we stood between piers of bunks and gave thanks for fleas. But this time I was sure Betsie was wrong.

Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, pp. 209-210.

You must read the book--the fleas, in the end, are a blessing. But I can't give anymore away.

Housekeeping

2008-12-26T21:48:00.001-05:00

Well, I'm gonna post a glut of new content. Some Hiding Place (remember that from July) that got lost inside my post manager and forgotten about. Some gallows humor for the economy. Other goodies.

Christmas and Fulfillment

2008-12-01T14:17:00.012-05:00

Santa wants You to do your Duty. From Blake Huggins

Happy Christmastime, everybody! Now that Thanksgiving's over, you can put up your lights and listen to obnoxious music without drawing the ire of Holiday Celebration Time Period Purists like myself.

Good post by Rod Dreher this morning, "Media, Black Friday and the Last Shopper," in which he, besides detailing the media's complicity in creating a consumption free-for-all after Thanksgiving, relates this sad comment on the state of the American Shopper Psyche:

Carr's ending is a jolt, suggesting a consumerist version of Nietzsche's Last Man:
Even consumption may have limits. Mr. Cohen said that in his 32 years interviewing consumers in malls during the holiday season, he had never heard what he did this year. "People really have no idea what they want," he said.

They don't even want anything. They want to want. Our popular culture, driven by news and entertainment media, and advertising, has stimulated their appetites, such that all they know now is appetite. I don't know whether it's more pathetic or frightening. Maybe it's frightening because it's pathetic: the Last Shopper.

Is this what the Consumerist Experience has come down to? Originally, man could view his possessions as a blessing, a means towards seeing Someone greater, but then we elevated material goods as an end themselves.

The act of consumption has become an end itself.

Now, apparently, our alienation has increased by another order: the goods themselves are meaningless¹, and the act of consumption has become an end itself. The Urge to Appropriate has become so generalized and ingrained that it has become our prime motivation. All we know how to do is abate the need, at least temporarily. This bears striking similarity to my current course material in medical school.

Addiction.

Consider for contrast this video my church just played yesterday from the Advent Conspiracy:

Interesting opportunity and needed wake-up call. We would be wise to remember Paul's words in Phillippians:

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

How often does our culture do the opposite? Whether in want or wealth, we are consumed with bitterness and envy. and as the fading economy forces us to live with less materially, what will we do relationally?

A friend of mine had a blurb on her GChat away message asking if it was ok to start up a Christmas Countdown. I say yes. We have 25 days. A brief amount of time. What will we do to commemorate the season? What will we do to heal the wounds of the mad pursuit? Will we:

call up friends we have neglected, whether due to indifference in the face of a crowded schedule, or avoidance in the wake of old conflict?
show concern to those we'd otherwise ignore, as if one could merit our love (how often others have cared for us, when we were insolent or ignorant)?²
give money, when we'd rather keep money?
cleanse our hearts so we could love guests amidst their messy lives, rather than cleansing our homes for fear guests wouldn't love us amidst our messy lives?³
look for ways to bear another's suffering?⁴

Ostentatious verbiage to "put Christ back in Christmas" does little.⁵ We, and those around us, are best served by putting Christ back in our hearts.

Footnotes:

1. You want meaningless? Check this out. Wrong on so many levels. Kids do not need to make numerous copies of their artwork--even if it looks like a Jackson Pollock, it doesn't mean you can sell the prints for decor. Plus, why are we giving kids "adult"-like toys? Why are we accelerating childhood into miniature adulthood, replete with office supplies to match? Next they'll be wanting cell phones. Oh, wait... I had to use cups and string.

2. Matt 18:21-35

3. Luke 10:38-42

4. Mother Teresa said:

Once they came to a door and no one answered. The woman had been dead for 5 days and no one knew - except the odor in the hallway. So many people are known for the number on their door. The worst disease today is not leprosy; it is being unwanted, being left out, being forgotten. The greatest scourge is to forget the next person, to be so sufficated with the that we have no time for the lonely Jesus - even a person in our own family that needs us. Maybe if I had not picked up that one dying person on the street, I would not have picked up the thousands. We must think ONE, ONE. That is the way to begin.

5. I appreciate their sentiment, but no one else does, and that is precisely the reason institutionalized drives like this fail. In other words, there is a diseconomy of scale to cultural change: the bigger an entity, the less effective it is, primarily because "sentiment" is the first thing expunged from a petition. Emotion, care, and concern cannot be communicated via an organization, and an intimate and living interpersonal connection is absolutely necessary if hearts and minds will ever be changed. This is not to say that individual people cannot create that connection as members of a group, but the focus should be on the organization's resources reinforcing the message of love already communicated through the person. (Organizational resources are why larger organizations may have economies of scale (bigger equals better) in regards to financial concerns, but cultural change must be local). Too often, the member becomes subservient to the group, a nameless, faceless amoeba of mission statements and donation requests.

Searching for Meaning in Obama's Election

2008-11-15T08:57:00.004-05:00

Hi everybody! Here's a link round-up for you on commentary on the election of Senator Obama as it pertains to race in America. A diversity of opinions, for your reading enjoyment.

Thomas Chatterton Williams, in Black Man, White House:

That is the real change Obama offers—all of a sudden the world young black kids imagine themselves inhabiting would seem a richer place to live, one without an upper limit. To Biggie Smalls' dismal list of career options afforded young black males—"You either slang crack rock / Or you got a wicked jump shot"—we could add the office of president. And in response to what Jay-Z cynically defined as the black man's lot in life—"All we got is sports and entertainment/ Until we even, thievin"—we could say, No, not anymore.

Shelby Steele, Obama's Post-Racial Promise:

But there is an inherent contradiction in all this. When whites -- especially today's younger generation -- proudly support Obama for his post-racialism, they unwittingly embrace race as their primary motivation. They think and act racially, not post-racially. The point is that a post-racial society is a bargainer's ploy: It seduces whites with a vision of their racial innocence precisely to coerce them into acting out of a racial motivation. A real post-racialist could not be bargained with and would not care about displaying or documenting his racial innocence. Such a person would evaluate Obama politically rather than culturally.

Stanley Crouch, Obama vs Farrakhan:

The deepest element of this new maturity means a fresh perspective: Now an ethnic criminal or abuser of anything at all is seen in terms of being a crook first, a member of a given ethnic or religious group second. That is why O.J. Simpson got some attention, but not much, when he was not long ago convicted for committing a dumb robbery in Las Vegas. Simpson is no longer though to symbolize "the fate of black men" on any level. The same was true of Michael Vick or any other dashingly handsome man who is beyond a fool in his private entertainment choices. Then there are the Lil’ Kims and Foxy Browns who have shown themselves to be as repulsively willing to pimp themselves as Madonna. They are who they are, and Tiger Woods or Gwen Ifill or Barack Obama all happen to be who they are. Individuals first. The nation has noticed this.

Joshua Mattern, Pins on a Map: West Virginia:

Don’t misunderstand me—none of this is leading toward an excuse for racism. I abhor it when today’s West Virginians exhibit prejudice toward minorities. But my sense, having lived among them, isn’t that they are bigoted against blacks per se, the way that Nazis were bigoted against Jews. In a state where 98 percent of the population is white, African Americans—and all other minorities—seem like unfamiliar outsiders, and many West Virginians have a deep-seeded distrust, and even fear, of things and people that are unfamiliar.

Will Wilkinson, One Night of Romance:

The government of the state is profoundly important. And I think American voters picked a competent, decent, and sober executive officer. But this is not, headline writers, Barack Obama’s America. He is not your leader, any more than the mayor of your town is your leader. We are free people. We lead ourselves. He is set to be a high-ranking public administrator. Sure, there is romance in fame. But romance in politics is dangerous, misplaced, and beneath intelligent people. Were we more fully civilized, we would tolerate the yearnings projected on our leaders. Our tribal nature is not so easily escaped, after all. But we would try to escape it. We would discourage and condemn as irresponsible a romantic politics that tells us that if we all come together and want it hard enough, we’ll get it. We would spot the dangerous fallacy in condemning as “cynicism” all serious attempts to critically evaluate the content of political hopes.

Rod Dreher, Nationalist bigotry among Latino US immigrants:

On a related note, at the Dallas Ideas Festival this weekend, I heard Marcos Ronquillo, a Mexican-American lawyer who had voted for Obama, talk about how thrilled he was that Obama had won, but how also it needs to be acknowledged openly that there is a stark black-brown (that is, black-Latino) divide in this country. These things tend to get glossed over or dismissed by black and Latino politicians, who don't want to do anything to undermine ethnic solidarity in progressive causes. On the Dallas County school board, blacks and Hispanics are at each other's throats (whites are minor players). It will be rather interesting to see how ethnic politics in the US develops in the Age of Obama.

You should read all of those articles, if you have the time. Especially the comments on the Dreher blog psot. In any case, I think the Obama Presidency may make inroads as a role model or an aspirational figure for African-Americans and heal some of the tragic cultural pathologies that too often have crushed ambition. Hatred, however, is endemic to the broken human soul, and I pray that God may grant us the grace to forgive and to love. Wilkinson's right, though: this transformation is inherently personal. The emotions may be uplifted by campaign speeches, but the soul cannot be healed by Executive Order.

The New Look

2008-11-07T11:31:00.000-05:00

I've finally completed the new look for the blog, and I think I just might owe myself a pat on the back. Maybe even a tall cold one. But of course, I couldn't have done it without the help of numerous people on the internet, writing graphics design and xhtml tutorials out of the goodness of their own hearts, and others posting up Creative-Commons licensed artwork for me to borrow. And one guy who drew birds a couple centuries ago, but whose work has, alas, slipped into the public domain.

So, without further ado, here's the acknowledgments.

For the header graphics:

I decided the header graphic ought to feature the eponymous birds, but I wanted something a bit older than stills from, say, Marty Stouffer's Wild America. I was thinking maybe something by Audubon, but when searching my favorite internet repository of old-fashioned imagery, BibliOdyssey, I came upon the work of Francois Nicolas Martinet. Plate 127 from his "Ornithologie" is the wood sparrow seen at left above, and plate 26 features a Chinese goldfinch, seen in the background at right.

For the typeface, I was thinking of something from a Victorian-era book's title page. The images are combined with a freeware typeface, Oklahoma, by Harold Lohner. This typeface was manipulated in Adobe Illustrator to create the wave-like effect, as well as the linear gradient using the tuturial from GoMediaZine. I added a parchment texture layer, available here from Flicker User DevonTT, over the paper of the book. The book itself is a "Robin Hood and His Adventures," a retelling from 1903 by Paul Cheswick that one of my grandparents had and has been passed down, along with a bunch of other old books. I photographed it and cloned out the text in Photoshop, which I also used to make the seamless paper background for the body of the blog. Originally, I wanted to the bottom edge of the book at the bottom of the blog, but I don't believe it is possible to dynamically force the background to tile a rounded integer number of times, so I can't add the bottom of the book seamlessly. (In other words, you'd see a weird line in between the background of the blog body and the bottom of the book image, and it would look awkward. Sorry.)

For the wooden background, I wanted to create something that looked like an old table, so I used a photograph of the wooden floor from my apartment, shifted some planks around so it would tile seamlessly, and adjusted the color so it would be just so.

The epigraph is from Ezekiel. I will be writing more on the content later, hopefully. The typeface is Ohlo de Boi, by Billy Argel, who was inspired by "the first Brazilian postage stamp."

Coding assistance was largely from the tutorials by Small Potato at wpdesigner.com. Other coding help for the CSS design was from Dan Cederholm and these guys. Image caption help from Bryan Harris, and pull quote help from Chris Pearson.

The typeface for the blog test is Constantia, chosen because it is an old-fashioned serif font with hanging numerals.

That's about it.

Oh, and thanks to my roommate John who was going to help me transfer my site to WordPress, until I decided to just renovate it on BlogSpot instead.

Featured Link: Pursuing a World of Dreams

2008-10-06T18:54:00.002-04:00

Excellent work from Paul Spears, and a reminder for us all.

Humanity has become trapped in a culture that cannot rest, because most of us do not have a destination. They are always chasing a moving target, and cannot find satisfaction. This moving target is great for manufacturers and advertising agencies, but horrible on human souls. This frenetic pursuit ultimately will lead to exhaustion, depression and disillusionment, because we cannot stop looking for fulfillment of purpose even when it is misdirected.

Read the rest.

The Anti-prosperity Gospel

2008-10-06T15:52:00.002-04:00

Hello all.

New blog is coming, so don't fret!

But in the mean time, I just had to post a quick comment (which I hope to elaborate further) on the financial mess we're in.

Without speaking too much on economic, political, and social factors, I would like so second these comments from Pope Benedict:

He who builds only on visible and tangible things like success, career and money builds the house of his life on sand....we are now seeing, in the collapse of major banks, that money vanishes, it is nothing. All these things that appear to be real are in fact secondary. Only God's words are a solid reality.

What we do, what we earn, will never save us, and we must be people of sufficient faith, wisdom, and understanding to know what is Rock and what is not. As hard as economic volatility and decline may be on us (and especially on those poorer than us in strictly material terms) we must realize that our culture, from top to bottom, is based largely on the relentless pursuit of wealth and status. The Church, the Body of Christ, must speak the truth boldly and consistently--with deeds to match. I believe that among my generation's most important tasks is to confront the confront the worldview of decaying confidence and reach out to those despairing in the love of Christ that surpasses all hardship. We cannot promise possessions or comforts, but in the end, these must be counted for little. We can promise things of far greater value: hope, dignity, and love. It may be the Anti-prosperity Gospel, but it is the only News we can truly call Good.

Financial Meltdown

2008-09-21T14:03:00.001-04:00

Sorry for light posting-busy lately, but blog redesign is still in the works.

Here is the most succinct explanation for the financial goings-on of the last week by Jim Manzi at the American Scene.

Welcome to History

It's in layman's terms! Enjoy.

I think.

Make My Life a Miracle

2008-09-07T18:07:00.002-04:00

This is good. And challenging.

"A little . . ., a little . . ., a little . . . ." Proverbs 24:33

"Your danger and mine is not that we become criminals, but rather that we become respectable, decent, commonplace, mediocre Christians. No rewards at the end, no glory. The twenty-first-century temptations that really sap our spiritual power are the television, banana cream pie, the easy chair and the credit card. Christian, you will win or lose in those seemingly innocent little moments of decision. Lord, make my life a miracle!"

Ray Ortlund Sr., Lord, Make My Life A Miracle, pages 130-131.

Check out more at his blog. And read the comment here.

Drink of the Week - Ramos Gin Fizz

2008-08-10T18:34:00.005-04:00

If any of you have been over to my apartment lately, you may have noticed I have a big box of cocktail recipes I bought from a thrift shop in somewhere near Show Low, Arizona. However, this box was from the 70's, and I've been doubting its bona fides for some time. (Ever since I read a recipe that involved beef bouillon.) After trying one too many atrocities from its pages, I pitched the thing and decided to try only the classics. So, without further ado, here is the first Cocktail of the Week, the Ramos Gin Fizz.
Ramos Gin Fizz.

1.5 oz gin
0.5 oz lemon j.
0.5 oz lime j.
1 oz simple syrup
dash vanilla extract
dash orange flower water
2 oz cream
egg white
seltzer

Combine all of the above except seltzer in shaker. Shake without ice to emulsify egg white. Then shake with ice. Pour in tall Collins glass without ice. Top with seltzer water for the fizz.

The drink is a New Orleans specialty dating back to the Ramos Brothers, who began mizing drinks in the 1880's, and continued until Prohibition in the 20's. In the aftermath, the Ramos Brothers released the formerly-secret recipe to the public, so the drink would not fade from memory. After Prohibition, the larger-than-life Senator Huey Long of Louisiana had New Orleans bartenders dispatched to Washington to teach Yankee barkeeps how to mix the drink properly.

I give the drink an A. A little bit tart, a little bit sweet, and quite a bit of creamy, the Ramos Gin Fizz does well. Vanilla adds a nice touch. Sure, it's complicated, but it's worth it. Plus, if you normally hate gin, this might be ok for you, since the gin's taste is muted. By the way, orange flower water is flavoring often used in Middle Eastern dishes. You can probably omit it; I used rose flower water instead that I had on hand (ingredient for another thing I am going to make later on).

See: New Orleans' Best Cocktails
Photo by: Michael Dietsch and distributed via Creative Commons License.

News Rundown August 8th, 2008

2008-08-08T11:17:00.002-04:00

Here's the News Rundown:

The Olympics

Rod Dreher has mixed feelings:

When I'm thinking with my head, I believe that it's in the world's interest for China to have a good Olympics. China's is one of the world's great cultures. Its rise cannot be stopped, only accomodated, and it's better for peace and stability that the Chinese people, given their nationalism, have reason to feel proud on the world stage, and not have their noses rubbed in their failings.
When I'm thinking with my heart, though, my thoughts run along the lines of, "You ChiComs deserve to have the world see that you're a bunch of environment-fouling, Christians-repressing, Falun Gong-beating, Tibet-crushing goons who have earned only the world's fear, not its decent respect, given your record on human rights and the environment."

I suspect the truth is somewhere in between.

Tom Gibson remembers Chariots of Fire.

Who knows how the Chariots of Fire story is likely to go down in communist China, but we are about to find out. Eric Liddell, or Li Airui as he was known in the Far East, was considered a godly, heroic figure in non-communist China, and now the modern-day Chinese authorities have agreed to let his story of Christian humanity and sporting excellence be told.
John Keddie’s acclaimed Running the Race, a biography that places Liddell’s sporting life in the religious context in which it was lived, has been published in Mandarin and will be launched in China next month - the land where the 1924 Olympic 400 yards champion was born, worked as a missionary and died in a Japanese internment camp.

I personally lack enthusiasm for the Olympics. Part of it is due to the abuses in China, but part of it is due to the idealism surrounding the Olympics itself. Actually, even that isn't true. Lofty ideals can be a good thing, and we often need them more than we'd care to admit. What bothers me is the tremendous discord between the lofty ideals and the ulterior motives surrounding the Olympics in real life--it reeks of duplicity. NBC has promos for the Olympics, raving how the Olympics creates moments "shared by the entire world," complete with shots of athletic competition interspersed with shots of people watching from all around the world--South American Latinos, East Asians, etc. The implication is, "Watch the Olympics, and you'll be doing you're part to foster global harmony!" The reality is, "Watch the Olympics, and GE's advertising revenue will increase!" To make brothers of aliens, it will take more than a mutual interest in the Men's 400 Meters. Moreover, does sharing a viewing experience really bring people closer together? Viewers of the last two College Football National Championships will attest that relations between fans of the Big Ten and SEC have soured quite a bit. Maybe in January President Obama can establish a inter-regional diplomatic envoy as part of our national healing. (Oh, that was mean--I'm sorry. Here, I'll even it out: President McCain will station troops in Gainesville, Florida, for as long as it takes--even 100 years--to create a functional society free from extremism and violence. There. Making fun of politicians is dangerous, but making fun of Florida Gators is always the right move.)

In any case, back to the Olympics. It's not just an athletic event, it's a free-for-all for corporate advertisers to sell more product, especially into the emerging Chinese market, and for China to tout its national glories. Not that companies and countries can't do these things, but to do them in the context of a putatively-neutral celebration of humanity and its physical achievements is at best crass and at worst manipulative.

The Election

McCain's in serious credit card debt.

"Senators John McCain and Barack Obama released their Senate financial disclosure statements on Friday, revealing that Mr. McCain and his wife had at least $225,000 in credit card debt....
The bulk of the McCains’ obligations stemmed from a pair of American Express credit cards that are held in Cindy McCain’s name. According to the disclosure reports, which present information on debts in a range rather than providing a precise figure, Mrs. McCain owed $100,000 to $250,000 on each card.
Another charge card, held by what was described as a “dependent child,” had also accumulated debts of $15,000 to $50,000. In addition, a credit card held jointly by the couple was carrying $10,000 to $15,000 in debt, the filing indicated, at a stiff 25.99 percent interest rate. "

Al Gore still wastes electricity.

After the Tennessee Center for Policy Research exposed Gore’s massive home energy use, the former Vice President scurried to make his home more energy-efficient. Despite adding solar panels, installing a geothermal system, replacing existing light bulbs with more efficient models, and overhauling the home’s windows and ductwork, Gore now consumes more electricity than before the “green” overhaul.

Peggy Noonan calls Obama a glowworm.

Mr. Obama consistently shows that he doesn't know what he doesn't know. It's a theme with his talented, confident staff. They don't know what they don't know either. Because they're young and they've never been in power and it takes time to know what you don't know. The presidential-type seal with OBAMA on it, the sometimes over-the-top rhetoric about healing the earth and parting the seas. They pick the biggest, showiest venue for the Berlin speech, the Brandenburg Gate, just like a president, not realizing people would think: Ya gotta earn that one, kid. Going to Europe was fine, but they should have gone in modestly, with a modest venue, quietly spread word that his speech was open to the public, and then left the watching world awed by the hordes that showed up. For they would have. "We couldn't help it, they love him!" It would have looked as if Europe was coming to him, and let that sink in back home.
Anyone can carp like this in retrospect, but when you know what you don't know, you can plan like this in advance.

* * *

Two weeks ago a journalist, a moderate liberal, spoke to me of what he called Mr. Obama's arrogance. I said I didn't think it was arrogance but high self-regard. He said there's no difference. I said no, arrogance has an air about it of pushing people around, insisting on your way. Mr. Obama doesn't seem like that. He took down a machine without raising his voice. Extremely high self-regard, though, can itself be a problem.

"What's wrong with that?" my friend said. "You want a self-confident president."

I said yes, but it brings up the Churchill question. Churchill had been scored by an acquaintance for his own very high self-regard, and responded with what was for him a certain sheepishness. "We're all worms," he said, "but I do believe I am a glowworm." He believed he was great, and he was. Is Mr. Obama a glowworm? Does he have real greatness in him? Or is he, say, a product of the self-esteem campaign, that movement within the schools and homes of our country the past 25 years that says the way to get a winner is to tell the kid he's a winner every day? You can get some true people of achievement that way, because some people need a lot of reinforcement to rise. But you can also get, not to put too fine a point of it, empty suits that take on a normal shape only because they're so puffed up with ego.

Is Mr. Obama's self-conception in line with his gifts, depth, wisdom and character? That's the big question, I suspect, on a number of minds.

The Culture

David Brooks says out culture is focused on the medium, not the message. Buzz and faddishness overrules meaning.

But on or about June 29, 2007, human character changed. That, of course, was the release date of the first iPhone.
On that date, media displaced culture. As commenters on The American Scene blog have pointed out, the means of transmission replaced the content of culture as the center of historical excitement and as the marker of social status.
Now the global thought-leader is defined less by what culture he enjoys than by the smartphone, social bookmarking site, social network and e-mail provider he uses to store and transmit it. (In this era, MySpace is the new leisure suit and an AOL e-mail address is a scarlet letter of techno-shame.)
Today, Kindle can change the world, but nobody expects much from a mere novel. The brain overshadows the mind. Design overshadows art.
This transition has produced some new status rules. In the first place, prestige has shifted from the producer of art to the aggregator and the appraiser. Inventors, artists and writers come and go, but buzz is forever. Maximum status goes to the Gladwellian heroes who occupy the convergence points of the Internet infosystem — Web sites like Pitchfork for music, Gizmodo for gadgets, Bookforum for ideas, etc.
These tastemakers surf the obscure niches of the culture market bringing back fashion-forward nuggets of coolness for their throngs of grateful disciples.
Second, in order to cement your status in the cultural elite, you want to be already sick of everything no one else has even heard of.

Dan Larison says David Brooks overstates things.

No, human character did not change. One thing that has been consistent and recognizable throughout every stage of competing for status and gadget-collecting is the enduring human temptation to fall prey to the latest fad....
The beauty of these silly fads today is that they pass so much more quickly than they once did, if only to be replaced by yet another fad....
The most reassuring thing about all of this is that none of this status competition of obtaining and using gadgets really matters, and by its very transitory nature it confirms for us that it doesn’t matter.

Matt Conner says people get too worked up over nude art.

This country is going to hell. I don’t mean literal hell, as I am leaving spirituality out of this for a second. I just mean that we are shooting ourselves in the foot. A parent in Georgia is calling for a ban of Harry Potter. An art teacher is fired for going to an art museum on a principal-endorsed, parental-permission given trip. The teacher has been teaching for 28 years! She is almost 60! But some kids came back and apparently told mom and/or dad that there were breasts exposed in 3-D form, and then chaos ensued.
When you and I refuse to be challenged or shaped by different political viewpoints, we become closed-minded, dogmatic and really no good to anyone. Does this have consequences in the art world as well? When you and I refuse to listen to the talents of others, to view something that is different, to take in beauty in all its forms, do we miss out on what true beauty really is? I would answer that we do.

Commenter Nates says, not so fast.

I think there are a bunch of people like me, young men, especially middle and high school age who, in a culture that is already preaching a very loud and false gospel about sex, it doesn’t help to see breasts or the naked female form. In our lust and our fallenness, we can easily use these to begin to objectionalize women...
We need a holistic teaching of beauty and sexuality in the church and we need to allow our Christian biblical worldviews to erupt (not just ooze, but erupt) out of our private lives into everything we do.

Drug Addictions

Theodore Dalrymple says common understanding of heroin addiction may be skewed.

WORLD: Then how have addicts come to be considered blameless patients, creatures without choice?

DALRYMPLE: This is the result of a long historical process, which I date back to the English Romantics of the first quarter of the 19th century, particularly Thomas De Quincey and his very influential Confessions of an English Opium Eater. This book (the two editions published in his lifetime are very different, and the differences themselves expose the untruthfulness of De Quincey) contains all the misconceptions that have been faithfully handed down by authors ever since, including the odious Burroughs. Every fictional and cinematographic representation of heroin addiction has repeated uncritically De Quincey's equivocations, falsifications, and exaggerations.

WORLD: So why do we hear that withdrawal from heroin is physically dangerous when so many people beat their addictions without medical assistance?

DALRYMPLE: This is an interesting cultural phenomenon. People are often very surprised to learn that withdrawal from opiates (unless combined with other drugs, and with the single rare exception of withdrawal in pregnancy) is a trivial medical condition, unlike withdrawal from alcohol when it results in Delirium Tremens. The misconception arises because of the repeated misrepresentations in books and films. Of course, the myth of the horrors of withdrawal serves the interests of addicts who do not want to stop, and the professionals who want to "treat" addicts.

WORLD: What's the key evidence that heroin addiction is a spiritual or moral condition?

DALRYMPLE: There is lots of evidence. First, there are historical examples of thousands and indeed millions of opiate addicts giving up their addiction because of motivation to do so. Mao Tse Tung took a very dim view of opium addicts and threatened in the end to shoot them. When Mao threatened to shoot you, you took it seriously. Millions of people gave it up. It would not have made sense for Mao to say to people with rheumatoid arthritis, "I will shoot you if your joints don't become normal." It did make sense, even if it was wrong, to threaten to shoot addicts. There is therefore a conceptual difference between the two conditions.

NFL Hall of Fame Inductions

Art Monk depends on Christ and Christ alone:

“[E]ven now as a Hall of Famer, the one thing I want to make very clear is that my identity and my security is found in the Lord. And what defines me and my validation comes in having accepted his son Jesus Christ as my personal savior. And what defines me is the Word of God, and it’s the Word of God that will continue to shape and mold me into the person that I know he’s called me to be.
“So I’ve learned a long time ago never to put my faith or trust in man, for man will always fail you. Man will always disappoint you. But the Word of God says that Jesus is the same yesterday, today and forever. And He will never fail you..."

Have a good day, readers.

Thought for the Day Vol. 1

2008-08-07T18:21:00.002-04:00

Thought for the Day

"Where there is weakness, my power is shown the more completely." 2 Corinthians 12:9, Phillips

"The power of Christ manifests to the full its irresistible energy and attains its highest results by performing works of power with powerless instruments."

Geoffrey Wilson, quoted in D. A. Carson, From Triumphalism to Maturity, pages 150-151.

From Christ is Deeper Still

"For the sake of Christ . . . ." 2 Corinthians 12:10

"Let us look at our lives in the light of this experience and see whether we gladly glory in weakness, whether we take pleasure, as Paul did, in injuries, in necessities, in distresses. Yes, let us ask whether we have learnt to regard a reproof, just or unjust, a reproach from friend or enemy, an injury or trouble or difficulty into which others bring us, as above all an opportunity of proving how Jesus is all to us, how our own pleasure or honor are nothing and how humiliation is in very truth what we take pleasure in. It is indeed blessed, the deep happiness of heaven, to be so free from self that whatever is said of us or done to us is lost and swallowed up in the thought that Jesus is all."

Andrew Murray, Humility, page 83.

From Christ is Deeper Still

The Hiding Place, part 4

2008-07-23T18:28:00.002-04:00

“Ja! Herrein!” called a man's voice.

The guard pushed open the door, gave a straight-armed salute and marched smartly off. The man wore a gun in a leather holster and a beribboned uniform. He removed his hat and I was stark staring into the face of the gentle-mannered man who had visited me in my cell.

“I am Lieutenant Rahms,” he said, stepping to the door to close it behind me. “You're shivering! Here, let me get a fire going.”

He filled a pot-bellied stove from a small coal scuttle, for all the world a kindly German householder entertaining a guest. What if this were all a subtle trap? This kind, human manner-perhaps he had simply found it more effective than brutality in tricking the l truth from affection-starved people. Oh Lord, let no weak gullibility on my part endanger another's life.

“I hope,” the officer was saying, “we won't have many more days this spring as cold as this one.” He drew out a chair for me to sit on.

Warily I accepted it. How strange after three months, to feel chair-back behind me, chair-arms for my hands! The heat from the stove was quickly warming the little room. In spite of myself, I began to relax. I ventured a timid comment about the tulips: “So tall, they must have been beautiful.”

“Oh they were!” he seemed ridiculously pleased. “The best I've ever grown. At home we always have Dutch bulbs.”

We talked about flowers for a while and then he said, “I would like to help you, Miss ten Boom. But you must tell me everything. I may be able to do something, but only if you do not hide anything from me.”

So there it was already. All the friendliness, the kindly concern that I had half-believed in-all a device to elicit information. Well, why not? This man was a professional with a job to do. But I, too, in a small way, was a professional.

For an hour he questioned me, using every psychological trick that the young men of our group had drilled me in. In fact, I felt like a student who has crammed for a difficult exam and then is tested on only the most elementary material. It soon became clear that they believed the Beje had been a headquarters for raids on food ration offices around the country. Of all the illegal activities I had on my conscience this was probably the one I knew least about. Other than receiving the stolen cards each month and passing them on, I knew no details of the operation. Apparently my real ignorance began to show after a while Lieutenant Rahms stopped making notes of my hopelessly stupid answers.

“Your other activities, Miss ten Boom. What would you like to tell me about them?” “Other activities? Oh, you mean-you want to know about my church for mentally retarded people!” And I plunged into an eager account of my efforts at preaching to the feeble-minded.

The lieutenant's eyebrows rose higher and higher. “What a waste of time and energy!” he exploded at last. “If you want converts, surely one normal person is worth all the half-wits in the world!' I stared into the man's intelligent blue-gray eyes: true National- Socialist philosophy, I thought, tulip bed or no. And then to my astonishment I heard my own voice saying boldly, “May I tell you the truth, Lieutenant Rahms?” “This hearing, Miss ten Boom, is predicated on the assumption that you will do me that honor.”

“The truth, sir,” I said, swallowing, “is that God's viewpoint is sometimes different from ours-so different that we could not even guess at it unless He had given us a Book which tells us such things.”

I knew it was madness to talk this way to a Nazi officer. But he said nothing so I plunged ahead. “In the Bible I learned that God values us not for our strength or our brains but simply because He has made us. Who knows, in His eyes a half-wit may be worth more than a watchmaker. Or---a lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Rahms stood up abruptly. “That will be all for today.”

He walked swiftly to the door. “Guard!” I heard footsteps on the gravel path.

“The prisoner will return to her cell.”

From The Hiding Place, by Corrie ten Boom, pp. 172-173.

Gossip! Gossip!

2008-07-23T18:14:00.004-04:00

I don't watch a whole lot of TV, and I'm frequently encouraged that I made the right choice.

Here's a couple posts elsewhere on the enternet on the CW series Gossip Girls (along with an account of peculiar locker room hazing).

From Rod Dreher, the man with the awesome beard.

From James Poulos, the man with awesome sideburns.

Also, read the comments on Dreher's blog for bonus enlightenment/controversy. And y'all are free to post here any comments you like.

PS. Here's a question for you to answer on the comment boxes: did you find this helpful, in some way? Thanks!

Oden: the Saga continues

2008-07-23T18:11:00.001-04:00

Greg Oden played the piano at the Espy's for Justin Timberlake. He even wore glasses a la Elton John. Enjoy.

The Pride of Columbus

2008-07-22T21:44:00.003-04:00

Greg Oden and Jim Tressel: awesome people.

Oden on hosting the Espys, or "The Math Does Not Lie":

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

Oden at the Espys and back in classes:

Tressel is French for awesome:

Enjoy.

Thanks to:

Men of the Scarlet and Gray

Eleven Warriors

The Hiding Place, part 3

2008-07-22T21:43:00.001-04:00

Betsie poured a bowl of the soup she had cooked for supper from a much-boiled bone. The baby began a thin high wail; I rocked it while the mother ate. Here was a new danger, a tiny fugitive too young to know the folly of making a noise. We had had many Jewish children over a night or several nights at the Beje and even the youngest had developed the uncanny silence of small hunted things. But at two weeks this one had yet to discover how unwelcoming was its world: we would need a place for them far removed from other houses.

And the very next morning into the shop walked the perfect solution. He was a clergyman friend of ours, pastor in a small town outside of Haarlem, and his home was set back from the street in a large wooded park.

“Good morning, pastor,” I said, the pieces of the puzzle falling together in my mind. “Can we help you?” I looked at the watch he had brought in for repair. It required a very hard-to-find spare part. “But for you, Pastor, we will do our very best. And now I have something I want to confess.”
The pastor's eyes clouded. “Confess?” I drew him out of the back door of the shop and up the stairs to the dining room.

“I confess that I too am searching for something.” The pastor's face was now wrinkled with a frown. “Would you be willing to take a Jewish mother and her baby into your home? They will almost certainly be arrested otherwise.”

Color drained from the man's face. He took a step back from me.

“Miss ten Boom! I do hope you're not involved with any of this illegal concealment and undercover business. It's just not safe! Think of your father! And your sister-she's never been strong!” On impulse I told the pastor to wait and ran upstairs. Betsie had put the newcomers in Willem's old room, the farthest from windows on the street. I asked the mother's permission to borrow the infant: the little thing weighed hardly anything in my arms.

Back in the dining room, I pulled back the coverlet from the baby's face. There was a long silence. The man bent forward, his hand in spite of himself reaching for the tiny fist curled around the blanket. For a moment I saw compassion and fear struggle in his face. Then he straightened. “No. Definitely not. We could lose our lives for that Jewish child!” Unseen by either of us, Father had appeared in the doorway.

“Give the child to me, Corrie,” he said.

Father held the baby close, his white beard brushed its cheek, looking into the little face with eyes as blue and innocent as the baby's own. At last he looked up at the pastor. “You say we could lose our lives for this child. I would consider that the greatest honor that could come to my family.”

The pastor turned sharply on his heels and walked out of the room. So we had to accept a bad solution to our problem. On the edge of Haarlem was a truck farm that hid refugees for short periods of time. It was not a good location, since the Gestapo had been there already. But there was nowhere else available on short notice. Two workers took the woman and child there that afternoon.

A few weeks later we heard that the farm had been raided. When the Gestapo came to the barn where the woman was hidden, not the baby but the mother began to shriek with hysteria. She, the baby, and her protectors were all taken.

We never learned what happened to them.

From The Hiding Place, by Corrie ten Boom, pp 114-115.

The Hiding Place, part 2

2008-07-21T13:03:00.001-04:00

And while Haarlem and the rest of Holland strolled and bowed and swept its steps, the neighbors on our east geared for war. We knew what was happening—there was no way to keep from knowing. Often in the evening, turning the dial on the radio, we would pick up a voice from Germany. The voice did not talk, or even shout. It screamed. Oddly, it was even –tempered Betsie who reacted most strongly, hurtling from her chair and flinging herself at the radio to shut off the sound.

And yet, in the interludes, we forgot. Or, when Willem was visiting and would not let us forget, or when letters from Jewish suppliers in Germany came back marked “Address Unknown,” we still managed to believe that it was primarily a German problem. “How long are they going to stand for it,” we said. “They won’t put up with that man for long.”

Only once did that changes taking place in Germany reach inside the little shop on the Barteljorisstraat, and that was in the person of a young German watchmaker. Germans frequently came to work under Father for a while, for his reputation reached even beyond Holland. So when this tall good-looking young man appeared with his apprentice papers from a good firm in Berlin, Father hired him without hesitation. Otto told us proudly that he belonged to the Hitler Youth. Indeed it was a puzzle to us why he had come to Holland, for he found nothing but fault with Dutch people and products. “The world we see what Germans can do,” he said often.
His first morning at work he came upstairs for coffee and Bible reading with the other employees; after that he sat alone down in the shop. When we asked him why, he said that though he had not understood the Dutch words, he had seen that Father was reading from the Old Testament which, as he informed us, was the Jews’ “Book of Lies.”

I was shocked but Father was only sorrowful. “He has been taught wrong,” he told me. “By watching us, seeing that we love this Book and are truthful people, he will realize his error.”

It was several weeks later that Betsie opened the door from the hallway and beckoned to Father and me. Upstairs on Tante Jan’s tall mahogany chair sat the lady who ran the rooming house where Otto lived. Changing the bed sheets that morning, she said, she had found something under his pillow. And she drew from her market satchel a knife with a curving ten-inch blade.
Again, Father put the best interpretation on it. “The boy is probably only frightened, alone in a strange country. He probably bought it to protect himself.”

It was true enough that Otto was alone. He spoke no Dutch nor made any effort to learn, and besides Father, Betsie and me, few people in this working-class part of the city spoke German. We repeated our invitation to join us upstairs in the evenings, but whether he did not care for our choice of radio programs, or because the evening ended as the morning began, with prayer and Bible readings, he seldom did.

In the end, father did fire Otto—the first employee he had ever discharged in more than sixty years in business. And it was not the knife or anti-Semitism that finally brought it about, but Otto’s treatment of the old clockmender, Christoffels.

From the very first I had been baffled by his brusqueness with the old man. It wasn’t anything he did—not in our presence anyway—but by what he didn’t do. No standing back to let the older man go first, no helping on with a coat, no picking up a dropped tool. It was hard to pin down. One Sunday, when Father, Betsie and I were having dinner in Hilversum, I commented on what I thought was simple thoughtlessness.

Willem shook his head. “It’s very deliberate,” he said. “It’s because the Christoffels is old. The old have no value to the State. They’re also much harder to train in the new ways of thinking. Germany is systematically teaching disrespect for old age.”

We stared at him, trying hard to grasp such a concept. “Surely you are mistaken, Willem!” Father said. “Otto is extremely courteous to me—unusually so. And I’m a good deal older than Christoffels.”

“You’re different. You’re the boss. That’s another part of the system: respect for authority. It’s the old and weak who are to be eliminated.”

We rode the train home in stunned silence—and we started watching Otto more closely. But how could we know, how in the Holland of 1939 could we have guessed, that it was not in the shops we could observe him but in the streets and alleys outside that Otto was subjecting Christoffels to a very real, small persecution. “Accidental” collisions and trippings, a shove, a heel ground into a toe, were making the old clockman’s journeys to and from work times of terror.

The erect and shabby little man was too proud to report any of this to us. It was not until the icy February morning that Christoffels stumbled into the dining room with a bleeding cheek and a torn coat that the truth came out. Even then, Christoffels said nothing.

But running down the street to pick up his hat, I encountered Otto surrounded by an indignant little cluster of people who had seen what happened. Rounding the corner into the alley, the young man had deliberately forced the older one into the side of the building and ground his face against the rough bricks.

Father tried to reason with Otto as he let him go, to show him why such behavior was wrong. Otto did not answer. In silence he collected the few tools he had brought with him and in silence left the shop. It was only at the door that he turned to look at us, a look of the most utter contempt I had ever seen.

From The Hiding Place, by Corrie ten Boom. Pp. 74-76.

The Hiding Place, pt. 1

2008-07-19T12:43:00.000-04:00

I’ve been thinking that it would be wise to share with you passages from books I’ve read, as humanity has passed down to us far too rich a heritage to ignore. Thus, I’ll begin with several passages from Corrie ten Boom’s World War II memoirs of supporting the Dutch Underground, hiding Jews clandestinely in her home, and imprisonment in the camp at Ravensbruck. Her book is The Hiding Place.

***

I was standing on a chair washing the big window in the dining room, waving now and then to passersby in the alley, while in the kitchen Mama peeled potatoes for lunch. It was 1918; the dreadful war was finally over: even in the way people walked you could sense a new hope in the air.

It wasn't like Mama, I thought, to let the water keep running that way; she never wasted anything.

“Corrie.”

Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Yes mama?”

“Corrie,” she said again.

And then I heard the water spilling out of the sink onto the floor.

I jumped down from the chair and ran into the kitchen. Mama stood with her hand on the faucet, staring strangely at me while the water splashed from the sink over her feet.

“What is it, Mama?” I cried, reaching for the faucet. I pried her fingers loose, shut off the water, and drew her away from the puddle on the floor.

“Corrie,” she said again.

“Mama, you're ill! We've got to get you to bed!”

“Corrie.”

I put an arm beneath her shoulder and guided her through the dining room and up the stairs. At my cry Tante Anna came running down the stairs and caught Mama's other arm. Together we got her onto her bed and then I raced down to the shop for Father and Betsie.

For an hour the four of us watched the effect of the cerebral hemorrhage spread slowly over her body. The paralysis seemed to effect her hands first, traveling from them along her arms and then flown into her legs. Dr. van Veen, for whom the apprentice had gone running, could do no more than we.

Mama's consciousness was the last thing to go, her eyes remaining open and alert, looking lovingly at each one of us until very slowly they closed and we were sure she was gone forever. Dr. van Veen, however said that this was only a coma, very deep, from which she could slip either into death or back to life.

For two months Mama lay unconscious on that bed, the five of us with Nollie on the evening shift, taking turns at her side. And then one morning, as unexpectedly as the stroke had come, her eyes opened and she looked around her. Eventually she regained the use of her arms and legs enough to be able to move about with assistance, though her hands would never again hold her crochet hook or knitting needles.

We moved her out of the tiny bedroom facing the brick wall, blown to Tante Jans's front room where she could watch the busy life of the Barteljorisstraat. Her mind, it was soon clear, was as active as ever, but the power of speech did not return-with the exception of three words. Mama could say “yes,” “no “ and-perhaps because it was the last one she had pronounced-”Corrie.” And so Mama called everybody “Corrie.”

To communicate, she and I invented a little game, something like Twenty Questions. “Corrie,” she would say.

“What is it, Mama? You're thinking of someone!”

“Yes.”

“Someone in the family.”

“No.”

“Somebody you saw on the street?”

“Yes”

“Was it an old friend'?”

“Yes”

“A man?”

“No.”

A woman Mama had known for a long time. “Mama, I'll bet it's someone's birthday!” And I would call out names until I heard her delighted, “Yes!” Then I would write a little note saying that Mama had seen the person and wished her a happy birthday. At the close I always put the pen in her stiffened fingers so she could sign it. An angular scrawl was all that was left of her beautiful curling signature, but it was soon recognized and loved all over Haarlem.

It was astonishing, really, the quality of life she was able to lead in that crippled body, and watching her during the three years of her paralysis, I made another discovery about love.

Mama's love had always been the kind that acted itself out with soup pot and sewing basket. But now that these things were taken away, the love seemed as whole as before. She sat in her chair at the window and loved us. She loved the people she saw in the street-and beyond: her love took in the city, the land of Holland, the world.

And so l learned that love is larger than the wails that shut it in.

More and more often, Nollie's conversation at the dinner table had been about a young fellow teacher at the school where she taught, Flip van Woerden. By the time Mr. van Woerden paid the formal call on Father, Father had rehearsed and polished his little speech of blessing a dozen times.

The night before the wedding, as Betsie and I lifted her into bed Mama suddenly burst into tears. With Twenty Questions we discovered that no, she was not unhappy about the marriage; yes, she liked Flip very much. It was that the solemn mother-daughter talk promised over the years for this night, the entire sex education which our taciturn society provided, was now not possible.

In the end, that night, it was Tante Anna who mounted the stairs to Nollie's room, eyes wide and cheeks aflame. Years before, Nollie had moved from our room at the top of the stairs down to Tante Bep's little nook, and there she and Tante Anna were closeted for the prescriped half-hour. There could have been no one in all Holland less informed about marriage than Tante Anna, but this was ritual: the older woman counseling the younger one down through the centuries--one could no more have gotten married without it than one could have dispensed with the ring.

Nollie was radiant, the following day, in her long white dress. But it was Mama I could not take my eyes off. Dressed in black as always, she was nevertheless suddenly young and girlish, eyes sparkling with joy at this greatest occasion the ten Booms had ever held Betsie and I took her into the church early, and I was sure that most of the van Woerden family and friends never dreamed that the gracious and smiling lady in the first pew could neither walk alone nor speak.

It was not until Nollie and Flip came down the aisle together that I thought for the very first time of my own dreams of such a moment with Karel. I glanced at Betsie, sitting so tall and lovely on the other side of Mama. Betsie had always known that, because of her health, she could not have children, and for that reason had decided long ago never to marry. Now I was twenty-seven, Betsie in her mid-thirties, and I knew that this was the way it was going to be: Betsie and I the unmarried daughters living at home in the Beje.

It was a happy thought, not a sad one. And that was the moment when I knew for sure that God had accepted the faltering gift of my emotions made four years ago. For with the thought of Karel-all shining round with love as thoughts of him had been since I was fourteen---came not the slightest trace of hurt. “Bless Karel, Lord Jesus,” I murmured under my breath. “And bless her. Keep them close to one another and to You.” And that was a prayer, l knew for sure that could not have sprung unaided from Corrie ten Boom.

But the great miracle of the day came later. To close the service we had chosen Mama's favorite hymn, “Fairest Lord Jesus.” And now as I stood singing it I heard, behind me in the pew, Mama's voice singing too. Word after word, verse after verse, she joined in, Mama who could not speak four words, singing the beautiful lines without a stammer. Her voice which had been so high and clear was hoarse and cracked, but to me it was the voice of an angel.

All the way through she sang, while l stared straight ahead, not daring to turn around for fear of breaking the spell. When at last everyone sat down, Mama's eyes, Betsie's, and mine were brimming with tears.

At first we hoped it was the beginning of Mama’s recovery. But the words she had sung she was not able to say, nor did she ever sing again. It had been an isolated moment, a gift to us from God, His own very special wedding present. Four weeks later, asleep with a smile on her lips, Mama slipped away from us forever.

From The Hiding Place, by Corrie ten Boom. Pp 62-66.

Incest and its Discontents

2008-07-17T08:31:00.003-04:00

Here's something to wrap your mind around.

At Dreher's Crunch Con, read Incest is best for me.

A British academic writes about her relationship with her brother:

"Of course abuse happens, but it can happen in any sexual relationship and there's an expectation that a family member would never hurt you in the way that someone else could. There's no comparison between siblings close in age having sexual feelings and contact and an adult forcing a younger member of the family to do something they neither understand nor want to be involved in...I know this is meant to be wrong, but I've never felt anything so right."

The author then explains the tension occuring now that she and her brother have found other partners, but still keep a special place in their heart for each other.

Rod makes this killer point:

Here's my question, though: If God doesn't exist (that is, if there is no such thing as absolute moral truth), why shouldn't the woman have sex with her brother? They're careful not to risk reproduction, its always been consensual, they enjoy it, and they don't feel guilty. So what's the problem?

Ross Douthat responds:

I think this British essay making the case for incest being no big deal (the title, "I had sex with my brother but I don't feel guilty," more or less tells it) inadvertently makes a pretty good case for why incest is, in fact, a really bad idea - because it corrupts not only the siblings involved, but the lives of the people around them...

But this begs the question--what is corruption? Is it merely the manifestation of these feelings? It can't be that there has been some subtle weakening of a moral code or cultural order if those things are presumed to be social constructions. One might make an argument on purely pragmatic ground--namely, that childless incest creates a cultural precedent that would draw people from child-producing relationships, and, in the long run, contribute to population implosion and social decline. But if it's purely pragmatic, why the revulsion?

I remember in a philosophy class discussing what morality actually is. Some have argued that it's simply a gut-level, emotional response: I don't like that. And while I disagree, I think that when one forsakes both revelation and reason to define morality only in terms of personal preference, a visceral response is all that's left. Deny the soul, remove the head, and all that's left is guts.

Cause sometimes you hafta dance!

2008-07-16T15:42:00.002-04:00

This is awesome...

It's neat to see so many of the beautiful places in the world...and fun people too. Of course, the indifferent guard at the Korea Demilitarized Zone shows it takes more than a peppy dance step to bring about brotherhood.

What the heck is a pleural effusion?

2008-07-07T21:50:00.007-04:00

During my trip to Europe, my lovely host--and loyal blog reader--Sarah (she's An American in Paris and cooks a mean English-muffin sandwich) suggested that I write about my goings-on as a doctor-to-be amongst the fine pages of this blog. Hence, I shall do so, and I will try and use regular person words so, at the very least, you won’t think I’m as big a dork as I actually am. And you might even learn something.

So today I am shadowing at the Hematology/Oncology ward at my university. And I can see I already lost half of you, so:

Hematology = blood studies
Oncology = cancer studies

So Heme/Onc focuses mostly on blood-related cancers, such as leukemias, which are found primarily in bone marrow, but may migrate elsewhere in the blood to other organs, and lymphomas, which primarily involve lymph nodes, where your body has little store-houses of immune cells that fight off infections (they swell up during infections b/c cells there are rapidly multiplying to fight the invaders, so if you’re sick the doc will often feel under your neck to see if lymph nodes there are enlarged—quick and dirty check to see if you’re infected). Heme/Onc also deals with other blood-related conditions, too, such as sickle cell anemia, which one patient we saw today has.

In any case, today I got to help out with a thoracocentesis—don’t worry, I’ll define it in a sec. Tumors can cause many different secondary effects. We had a patient who developed a pleural effusion, which I’ll define in a sec also, but you first you need to know about your lungs. Your lungs are normally surrounded by membranes—thin layers of tissue, called the pleura. You can see them in this picture from Wikipedia—don’t worry, it’s public domain. The pleural membranes kind of make a balloon—the membranes are in blue, and the space within is in black. Your lungs (red) kind of fit into and are surrounded by the pleura on most sides.

Imagine punching a balloon with your fist, and having it spread all over your clenched hand. This is what the pleura do around the lungs—they cover most of the lung surface, except where the lungs connect to your windpipe and the blood vessels connect to the heart (your wrist punching the balloon). The space in between the layers of the pleura is squashed pretty small. Normally, it’s filled with fluid—about 15 ml, or half an ounce per lung. This allows the inside and outside layers of the pleura to slide across one another when you breathe, so your chest can expand and your lungs fill smoothly.

Sometimes too much fluid can go into the pleural space. This is a pleural effusion, and happened to our patient today as a result of his lymphoma. Here is an x-ray picture from Wikipedia by Clinical Cases that is much like the case I saw today. In both cases, the patients’ right lung (left side of x-ray) is normal—air looks black in x-rays. The left lung is almost completely cloudy due to fluid—not inside the lung, but inside the space around the lung.

Our patient had trouble breathing, so we performed a thoracocentesis. We had him lean over on a table near his bed, and the internist (sort of novice resident) carefully inserted a needle in between the ribs and into the pleural space—but not into the lung. The needle was hooked up to a syringe, which was used to withdraw fluid and pump it through a one-way valve into a bag. This took probably 15-20 minutes from start to finish. When the patient was leaned over with the internist behind him, this transpired:

Patient: “But what if I have to fart?”
Resident (internist’s advisor): “It’s ok, you can fart.”
Patient: “I know, but it would be awfully mean.”

I should note here the patient had two Percosets in the morning. It’s too bad these things don’t get written up in case reports. Then again… (and to think, I’ve been looking all over for “gas impermeable Mylar pantaloons.”)

We removed over 1000 ml of fluid. That's a quart, you metric-hatin' Yankees. And I got to hold the table the patient leaned on so it wouldn’t roll away. I am basically paying $30,000 a year to be a door-stopper. With a white coat. Living the dream.

Also, I know I've been bad about updating, but I'll try to do better. Promise! I know my Week of Being a Real Man turned into a Month of Being a Bum, and everyone's been pestering for the Official Finches and Sparrows Europe Experience, which I just might deliver to you, if I can decipher whatever I scribbled on that napkin at the train station in Munich. Witness the potential--posts on Wall-E; Blade Runner; biological perfectionism; the Louvre and the dying art world; German beers and Italian wines; why your photos are terrible; why my photos are only mediocre; more medical adventures; the long-awaited Weekend Blog round-up; peculiar cocktails you can't afford but wouldn't like anyway; novel art with novels; the best meal of my life; building a culture of heart and hands; the Holocaust; the Gospel according to Mark; T.S. Eliot, and the craziest Italian wedding that didn't involve the mafia (as far as I know).

Plus I might even redesign the blog layout itself, which, if I pull off, will be beautiful, but will require more Photoshop skills than I have, John James Audubon, a better understanding of CSS and XHTML, typographic vector art, a new blog host, and Scotch whisky. Maybe even a fountain pen. I told you it was crazy, and I'll probably just end up spilling liquor and ink all over my computer.

That being said, pray for me.

PS. John, that last inside joke was for you. If you didn't get it, I'm marching down the hall and smacking you.

Peter Pan in The Promised Land

2008-05-21T12:30:00.006-04:00

Here's a couple of edifying pieces.

The first is an essay from a recent City Journal by Kay Hymowitz, titled "Child-Man in the Promised Land," in which she accounts the cultural glorification of men who never really grow up.

Here's the beginning:

It’s 1965 and you’re a 26-year-old white guy. You have a factory job, or maybe you work for an insurance broker. Either way, you’re married, probably have been for a few years now; you met your wife in high school, where she was in your sister’s class. You’ve already got one kid, with another on the way. For now, you’re renting an apartment in your parents’ two-family house, but you’re saving up for a three-bedroom ranch house in the next town. Yup, you’re an adult!

Now meet the twenty-first-century you, also 26. You’ve finished college and work in a cubicle in a large Chicago financial-services firm. You live in an apartment with a few single guy friends. In your spare time, you play basketball with your buddies, download the latest indie songs from iTunes, have some fun with the Xbox 360, take a leisurely shower, massage some product into your hair and face—and then it’s off to bars and parties, where you meet, and often bed, girls of widely varied hues and sizes. They come from everywhere: California, Tokyo, Alaska, Australia. Wife? Kids? House? Are you kidding?

That description may sound like a bit of hyperbole, but read the whole thing. Our culture is inundated with that attitude, and among many sections of our society, men forsake hardship for the JM Barrie fantasy.

Contrast this with "The Month of Man" address by Ray Van Neste of Union University.

Our culture is infatuated with youth and encourages you not to grow up. After all, it says, the glory is in the youth. If you would be men you must reject this siren song and swim against the tide. You must diligently seek to throw off immaturity and to grow up. Remember the one boy who never grew up was Peter Pan - and in case you haven’t noticed his role has typically been played by a woman. The chase for perpetual youth is never manly. The other example of avoiding the effects of growing up is the medieval boys choirs. To maintain the high voices of the boys as they aged, the boys would be castrated. Again, avoiding maturity is emasculating.

So my main point to you tonight is, work on growing up. It does not “just happen.” Examples abound of physically mature males who have never truly attained manhood because they failed to mature in anyway other than physically.

Read the whole thing. You won't be disappointed.

Jim Tressel's Mancakes

2008-05-20T16:12:00.004-04:00

This is so great. So there's a blog out there that is about "college football recipes" or some such. I don't know if they are recipes inspired by college football celebrities or actually shared by them, but this place has something called "Jim Tressel's Mancakes," because he's such a man, he doesn't eat pancakes, he eats mancakes.

I will warn you, the writer of the blog uses naughty words, which is almost as bad as not liking Ohio State. Anyway, here's the recipe:

1 c. wheat flour
1 c. oatmeal
1/4 tsp salt
2 tbspn brown sugar
4 tbsp ground flax seed
1 tsp baking soda
1 tbsp nutmeg ground
1 tbsp ground cinnamon
1 c milk
2 eggs
1 tbsp butter

add dried fruits, or maybe almonds

mix to same consistency as regular pancake batter and cook normally.

Photo caption: Jim likes to celebrate victories over Michigan with a big stack of mancakes. He also likes to forget the sting of bowl losses to SEC with a big stack of mancakes, 'cause in the South, they're not man enough to eat mancakes. That's why they have grits.

Being a Real Man Week resumes

2008-05-19T21:01:00.005-04:00

So, when you have a neuroscience test and your computer hard drive dies, things can get put on hold. By the way, don't try to remove the battery to restart your computer. You can push and hold the little power button, and that should do just fine. If you do what I did, your computer will forget what a hard drive is, and not even John can fix it completely (though he did save my files from oblivion by booting up in Linux, the operating system for people who hate Windows but know they don't listen to enough indie rock to have a Mac. But John does listen to enough indie rock to own a Mac. But I digress).

Anyway, it's time for a new installment of Being a Real Man.

Here's another good post from the Art of Manliness.

Are you a pace-setter? You might want to buy a Homburg. And if you have no idea what I am talking about, click here.

Also, when you shave, do you feel like you got run over by a lawn mower? Resolve the pain of razor burn with a classic wet-shave here. Plus save money. (PS. Chris, the beard is gone. I'm sorry).

But now we get to the good stuff. Seriously, skip the first links and go with these. They're from Boundless. Folks our age (I assume most of my readers are my age, but if you're not, that's ok) are asking how to become a man. And some wise folks answered.

Becoming a Man, Pt. 1

Becoming a Man, Pt. 2

Ok, that's all for now, peoples. But I got some more links to finish up our Week (and a Half) of Being A Real Man.

Photo caption: John drilling a hole in my computer to get the files out.....Actually, it's "Carpenter at Work at Douglas Dam," by Alfred T. Palmer, June 1942.

Learning the Art of Manliness

2008-05-08T18:45:00.002-04:00

I just found basically the best website ever---not explicitly Christian, but plenty of fantastic stuff abounds within.

It's The Art of Manliness.

Here are a couple of great posts. Both somewhat relationship-themed. But it's good stuff.

For all my married friends out there, read this: Fourteen Ways to Affair-proof Your Marriage. Note: I'm implying you need the help, but you might appreciate it nonetheless.

And then: "Finding Yourself is a Crock." I'll have another article on this--albeit more scholarly--later this week.

What are your thoughts? Do you agree? As always folks, leave a comment below. It will make my day.

The Week Begins...

2008-05-06T17:40:00.004-04:00

I know, it's Tuesday.

But this begins the Week of Being a Real Man.

A couple of my friends have mentioned my last post to me, and the most outstanding aspect of that one was the emphasis on a meaningful masculinity, so to speak--something that I hadn't really focused on when I posted that last one, but something I realize now is certainly important--both in that post and in our lives. (At least for half of us. Although I guess most of the ladies out there would appreciate have a "real man" in their lives, so maybe for all of us.)

Anyway, over the week, I may not provide a whole lot of commentary, but I will provide some good links--most of them serious.

So the first link in the week of Being a Real Man is:

"The Marks of Manhood," by Albert Mohler.

Mohler is a noted radio program host--I think he's some manner of Baptist. In any case, his essay is hosted on The Rebelution, a website/organization started by Alex and Brett Harris (younger brothers of Josh Harris) encouraging teenagers to "do hard things" for God, their families, and their communities, instead of giving in to prevailing attitudes of indulgence.

In any case, feel free to tell me what you think.

The painting is The Accolade, by Edmund Blair Leighton, 1901.

Men of Vision

2008-04-29T20:22:00.005-04:00

This is too good to pass up.

I got it in the latest post from the blog "Christ is Deeper Still," by Ray Ortlund. The title is alludes to Corrie Ten Boom.

Within, he quotes Sacrifice, by Howard Guinness (pp 59-60).

"Where are the young men and women of this generation who will hold their lives cheap and be faithful even unto death? Where are those who will lose their lives for Christ's sake -- flinging them away for love of him? Where are those who will live dangerously and be reckless in his service? Where are his lovers -- those who love him and the souls of men more than their own reputations or comfort or very life?

Where are the men who will say 'no' to self, who take up Christ's cross to bear it after him; who are willing to be nailed to it in college or office, home or mission field; who are willing, if need be, to bleed, to suffer and to die on it?

Where are the men of vision today? Where are the men of enduring vision? Where are the men who have seen the King in his beauty, by whom from henceforth all else is counted but refuse that they may win Christ? Where are the adventurers, the explorers, the buccaneers for God who count one human soul of far greater value than the rise or fall of an empire? Where are the men who glory in God-sent loneliness, difficulties, persecutions, misunderstandings, discipline, sacrifice, death? Where are the men who are willing to pay the price of vision?

Where are the men of prayer? Where are the men who, like Job of old, count God's Word of more importance to them than their daily food? Where are the men who, like Moses, commune with God face to face as a man speaks with his friend and unmistakably bear with them the fragrance of the meeting through the day?

Where are God's men in this day of God's power?"

Perhaps, I would pray, seated at a keyboard, reading a blog with a funny name about birds. And I would further pray, that they wouldn't remain seated for long.

And I don't want to appear glib or saccharine about this, either. I understand it is a daunting task--the greatest challenge of our day-to-day lives--just to get over ourselves. It is easy--indeed, automatic--to be self-absorbed and indifferent to all else, and this self-absorption can taint even the good things, even the blessings in our lives. Our dearest friends and family that we said we would love always. Our careers and ministries that we had recently believed were a sacred calling from God, but now feel burdensome.

We must begin to live with a vision of a life, a community, a Kingdom, that is greater than ourselves. Cheap and alluring are the roads of selfish ambition or trivial amusement, but those roads lead to a pit.

But wait! Read the Corrie ten Boom quote at the top of Mr. Ortlund's blog: "There is no pit so deep, but..."

Peace,

Tyler

Not a moment...

2008-04-18T18:26:00.001-04:00

...passed after posting the last one that I found this at Between Two Worlds. Seriously, same minute. I am not joking.

Libation Station, What's You're Elation?

2008-04-18T17:05:00.004-04:00

This link round up is a bit light-hearted, starting with the title--a one-off of this gem, but this time we're talking about the pleasures and perils of drinking.

Here's a great one about the pubs of Oxford:

A pub is a great leveler — not a workingman’s club, but an everyman’s club. The best are filled not only with the scent of yeast and hops, but also with banter and wit. Back in 1954, when the Rose & Crown on North Parade Avenue in Oxford was threatened with closure (inadequate toilet facilities), the defense that won the day called it a “home of cultured, witty and flippant conversation.”

Compare this to college-age dives like Brother's or Lodge Bar. Flippant conversation without the culture or wit is very different beast--hitting on inebriated girls or singing along to Soulja Boy is nothing I want any part of. But I would guess Brother's also has inadequate toilet facilities.

In any case, whenever all you Columbus expatriates are back in the Jewel of the Midwest, call me up and we'll go to Mac's or the Brazenhead.

Also, this looks like a good read when I'm not studying neuroanatomy. John O'Sullivan reviews Eric Felten's book, How's Your Drink?, a repository of anecdotes about--and, more importantly, recipes for--all sorts of cocktails.

But none of these attractions explains the mysterious allure of the cocktail to regular or hardened drinkers. Why do they prefer it — not everyone does — to straight spirits, champagne, wine, or beer? Doubtless many people would answer that question many different ways and some of them would be guessing at a reason they don’t quite understand themselves. My own explanation, however, is that drinking a cocktail is an attempt to recover the experience of that occasion when we had our first genuinely enjoyable alcoholic drink. In my case it was a glass of Drambuie given to me by a friend on a school trip in 1957. I have never quite forgotten the moment. In the novel Kipps, H. G. Wells captures the very similar result when his modest hero has his first glass of whisky: “Kipps . . . drank another sip of old Methuselah. . . . He was able to follow the subsequent course of that sip for quite a long way. It was as though the old gentleman was brandishing a burning torch through his vitals, lighting him here and lighting him there, until at last his whole being was in a glow.”

Alas, no second, third, fourth, or subsequent glass ever has quite the same effect. We may settle down monogamously with a favorite. (Drambuie never won me over to that extent.) We may gradually drink our way through the multicolored array of bottles under the bar mirror opposite. We may be quietly and sensibly satisfied with whatever becomes our regular tipple. But ecstasy rarely strikes a second time with the same drink — and never a third.

Some the stories are great. If you ever get your hands on the book, read the one about Jack Kennedy, gin and tonics, and the end of the world. Seriously.

But, if you're in a rush to blush, you can mix something up right away. Consult these two mavens if you must.

Robert Hess, Cocktail Spirit. Best haircut ever.

Alberta Straub, Cocktails on the Fly.

Of course, I wouldn't be responsible without telling you of the inherent dangers, as illustrated recently in Russia.

Mr Lyalin, an electrician, had spent the evening drinking with a watchman at his workplace when they got into an argument, Interfax news agency reports.
The morning found him waking up in the watchman's office but instead of going back to work, he decided to take the bus home.
At home, Mr Lyalin had some sausage from the fridge and lay down to sleep, the Komsomolskaya Pravda newspaper says.
After a couple of hours, his wife noticed the handle sticking out of his back and called an ambulance.
Viktor Belov, a surgeon who treated him, found a kitchen knife in Mr Lyalin's back but "by good fortune, it had gone through soft tissue without touching vital organs".
His alleged attacker reported the crime to the police himself, Interfax adds. Mr Lyalin apparently feels fine and bears no ill-will.
"We were drinking and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?" he was quoted by Komsomolskaya Pravda as saying.

With that, uhhh, cheers?

In Defense of Loving Truths

2008-03-26T16:18:00.002-04:00

I will try to keep this brief, and I know a lot could be said about the topic I'm about to broach, but we'll have to save that for another time. Perhaps you could fill in some of the gaps with your always-appreciated comments.

In any case, here at med school, we've been doing a unit on spiritual diversity--specifically, how do we respect the beliefs of others as we pursue medical care consistent with their wishes?

I've been thinking all morning about the our fearfulness of upsetting others by approaching the topic of faith. And I agree that part of the motivation for the whole "tolerance" movement is helpful: how easy it is to avoid "those people" unlike ourselves! How quick we are to condemn others! How often that old spirit of fear and disdain returns! We must never underestimate our own sinfulness and pride, and the ease with which we judge others as bad, so we can esteem ourselves highly.

But what happens if we esteem ourselves lowly first? What happens if we approach one another out of humility, out of our own brokenness? Confession, of course, must precede grace.

But while the emphatic calls to tolerance can remind us of our own sinfulness and need for Christ, these same calls for tolerance, intended to uphold all faiths, paradoxically do the opposite. They denigrate each and every position one may hold, whether he is a Christian, Muslim, or Atheist.

The conventional view of "tolerance" depends on a central conceit: that one's faith is a purely personal choice. So you want to be a Salafist Muslim? Very well. Or perhaps convert to Reformed Judaism? Of course. Or maybe you are attracted to Pure Land Buddhism. Fine and good. Or maybe you would prefer Agnosticism. Excellent. These are your personal choices, and it would be a gross violation for me to impose upon you.

Yet this seemingly good-natured amicability banishes belief, thought, and reason. By understanding faith (or non-faith) as a purely personal choice for fear of causing trouble and contention, well-intentioned people shut it up into a box---impenetrable to reason and discussion. Much like the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, faith is not something explicable, expressible, or coherent, it simply is. Instead of being something someone agrees with or concedes is true, it becomes a subrational and existential choice. Logic and reason have no meaning for one's belief system.

But when a belief system is divorced from truth, so, too, is any possibility of meaning torn away. It only makes sense to believe in a heaven if it is true. It only makes sense to believe love is right if it is true. It only makes sense to hope amidst our darkness moment if who or what we hope for is true. Anything less is only self-deception, words that soothe only be repetition, but not by veracity.

When someone professing tolerance proclaims "fine and good!" to everyone, he must understand that this superficially accommodating gesture is a slap in the face to any sincere believer or unbeliever. For what he says is:

"So you wanna be a Salafist Muslim, or a Reformed Jew, or a Pure Land Buddhist? Fine, what you choose doesn't really matter. The only important thing is that it matters to you."

But anyone--everyone--deserves more than smiling indifference. Anyone who is sincere about their position must respond in protest. The Muslim must say, "Yes, when I go on the hajj, it matters to me, but the reason I do this is because it matters more than just to me!"

The Buddhist must say, "These are not things we choose just because. They are not things we picked out of a hat. We understand you are concerned with offending us and appreciate that, but we did not choose our beliefs because they are small enough to fit inside our own heads. We chose them for the opposite reason: because they are bigger than us, because truth is bigger than something we can just make up."

The Jew must say, "We chose them because we believe they are big faiths, and any faith big enough to be right is also big enough to be wrong. So please don't treat us like children. Treat us like adults--yes, with the respect that is often lost in heated debate--but with the respect that our belief is not something arbitrary."

Yes, often respect is lost because of our pride and sinfulness. That much we should always be aware of. But what is lost when we say all faiths are equal? Something far greater.

While I am on the topic of discussions of faith, I'd like to speak a bit about some glaring differences in faith systems I've seen. Just this Easter morning, I was listening to the radio on the way back from church, and they were interviewing a musician, and what he thought of spirituality. He said that when he plays, he feels such a oneness, a connectedness to all things---to everything. Words to that effect. I am not saying that is wrong in and of itself, but do these vague "Good Vibrations" have the power to save?

Similarly, in some of our readings for class today, I read this:

I have had a very interesting patient for whom bike riding was spiritual. She belongs to a community that travels all over the world and on bike treks. She said, "I feel at one when I'm biking, especially since it has such a connection with nature, too" When she injured herself, we did a spiritual history in which I asked: "Have you ever thought about there might come a time when you're older and you can't bike the same way? What would give your life meaning then?"

The next year, she came back and said: "I thought about your question, and I took up jewelry making, and I love it. I work with my hands now, and I can make jewelry for others. It's a creative outlet and gives me a lot of meaning." She always laughs because, as she said, " I know now you're going to say what if I get arthritis in my hands?" But I think what she learned in that process was that she could continue to look for meaning and purpose in her life; it's not static. What a profound lesson to learn.

Excerpted from: Lewis, Sheldon. "A Journey Through Spirituality and Health." Alternative and Complementary Therapies. June 2007.

To her newly-found enjoyable hobby, I wish her the best, but we must ask the question, does it have the power to save, or merely amuse? One of my most trusted mentors in the faith works as a jeweler, but if you'd ask him, I don't think he'd say his hours at the Diamond Cellar are what made his life significant. "She could continue to look for meaning and purpose in her life"? With tremendous questions unanswered by jewelry making, I think she probably will continue to look.

Some--in fact, probably all of us, to varying degrees--are quite good at avoiding the root questions that bring us to bow before Christ. What do we do with our own brokenness? It is easy to deny, or feel-good your way out of them, but they still remain. And when the questions can be avoided no longer, mealy-mouthed sentimentality does us no good. Watch this clip from a recent ER:

Embers

2008-02-19T22:21:00.003-05:00

This latest post stems from a couple of things I've read recently. Please read this completely before you continue:

"Can You Call Me Back Later?"
by Michael Brendan Dougherty
of Surfeited with Dainties

†††

Cliche is a poison to the witness of the church. I suppose that some cliche is inevitable in any group. And further, there is some comfort in the familiar, in words that have roots, that have a heritage, that are not some modish novelty. But when the words of a rich heritage are hollowed out by time and careless overuse, they degrade into cliche. They are all form, shape, and contour, but no substance. Divorced from the truth they once bore, our words evoke little more than sweet memories. Meanwhile, the advertisements beckon, the magazines expose, and the televisions screech. The brothers and sisters of our abused generation, enticed by the offer of the 'good life' attained by unending consumption (of clothes, degrees, furniture, sexual partners, beer), cling to the hope of tomorrow's new thing, or, if hope is lost, sink into despair. Most probably suffer from a mix of both--the vague uneasiness that a deeper richness is attainable, but the uncertainty of where to look. Perhaps if only they swallow hard, clench their teeth, and look beyond the horizon for sunrise, this present gloomy fog will pass. Only a bright light can pierce the darkness. If the best we can offer is a well-rehearsed line, they won't listen. They've seen the ads. They know a slick slogan when they hear one.

I told him that “the Lord put this on my heart for him.” He seemed to take that
to heart, even though I was trying to relieve my conscience of him.

Christ told us about letting light shine before others, and the perils of keeping it hidden. Don't our hackneyed tokens of love, our half-hearted consolations, re-entomb the risen Christ? Don't we all light lamps and hide them under bowls? "Look at the great deeds I've done for you, Lord! I've saved the oil! I've trimmed the wick!" But we let the light fade and slowly extinguish. The sweet smoke may please us like the burnt offerings of old, but the cooling embers' glow leaves us all in darkness. We are the new Pharisees, sacrificing our friends at the altar, and asking of God if it has appeased his anger with us. Has the conscience been cleared? The tongue drips love, but the heart is still.

I barely had enough money to feed myself. How could I protect him from abuse at
work or home?

Is that it? Are we really that different than so many people we are trying to help? Do we, too, with gritted teeth and clenched jaw, wait out the same storm they do? When we see the tension and pain in others' lives, are we plagued by the tension of our own doubt, fear, and callousness? When we peer at another's creased face, does it, like a mirror, reflect our own weakness and inabilities? A tongue that knows not what to say? Eyes that want to look away?

†††

At this point, take a break from my post here. The two blogs I have been keeping up with during my Lenten otherwise-fast from the "blogosphere" are David Kuo's J-Walking, and Anne Jackson's Flowerdust, who both have, with about a dozen other bloggers, travelled to Uganda to work for a few weeks in the slums. Read David's first encounter here before continuing:

"Snapshots"
by David Kuo
of J-Walking

...I watched her and watched her... left right there... alone on her dirty
blanket, surrounded by circumstances that aspire to be called squalid...

One may throw up his hands in futility. What good is caring when so little can be done? Why bare one's soul, only to have it pierced by the tatters of anothers' wounds--wounds that we have no idea how to heal? Is heartache the price of love? Perhaps it is more than that--that such heartache is not the tradeoff, but the definition of love--brothers of brokenness.

Still, we recoil. Is it narcissism? The desire that, if one is healed, we would be the healer? That we would cast out the spirits? And if we cannot, don't we leave the recalcitrant demoniacs, for fear that we would have to face our own need and brokenness too? "My name is Legion, for we are many." Do we avert our eyes from those of Legion, because he may tell us he possesses us, too? The creased faces of our friends may mirror not only our hearts, but our souls.

Perhaps this is why the Lord tells us we must die to ourselves through His grace. Nothing else can break through our own brokenness and lead us to true love. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." We may aspire to that, but it is vanity. Christ is the healer, the one who died in our place. We can only offer so much less:

Dearest friend, I cannot fix your brokenness. I can not bind the wounds.

But I cannot do nothing.

I cannot die for you, but at least I will die with you, for I cannot live knowing the dead sleep alone.

When Christ told us to let our light shine, he did not command us to light the whole world, but merely to light the house. That's the best we can do. And perhaps, together, room by room, house by house, we can build that city on the hill, rising above the slums and squalor, a beacon in the night. Perhaps we can remind others--and ourselves--that though the sky is darkened and the storm clouds loom, the Morningstar will soon return, ushering in the day that never ends, when all wounds are healed.

†††

Two men huddle underneath the lights in an empty parking lot. The snow swirls along the ground, sparkling a pale, sickly green underneath the halogen lights, making the night seem even colder than normal. The two men spoke briefly, with whispering wind muffling their words.

The taller man waved goodbye, and started for his car, and the other stepped back to collecting his grocery carts. It was cold out, and the tall man was busy with more than enough troubles, but something stopped him after a step or two. The wind carried the smoke of freshly-split pine. He looked across the street, where a small house was filled with the glow of firelight. He looked back at the man with the shopping carts.

"Oh man, bet that would be nice!"

The other looked up from his carts, and flashed a brief grin.

"Yeah." His breath wafted in the air, like something burned in his chest. He stared a moment, and looked back at his cart. "Well, I'll be seein ya."

"Yeah. Bye, John."

Suicide Kings and Laughing Jokers

2008-02-15T13:56:00.003-05:00

Most of you may know I liked to do photography back in high school, and although I haven't done much lately due to the time and cost, I still to like to see what cool stuff there is out in the art world. Usually, not much, as many contemporary artists seem content on just being weird. I once read about a guy who would write two different addresses on a postcard, one on either side, and then mailed it so see where it would end up. Callde it something like: I hope they didn't give him an MFA.

Anyway, sometimes I do come across something pretty neat.

Check this out:

Psymanism

At first glance, you might think there's nothing special to the pictures, but click again to see a zoomed-up version.

It's time for Lent Resolutions...

2008-02-14T22:14:00.004-05:00

Howdy everybody!

It's good to be back in the saddle...

Well, here's the scoop. I've been thinking about how I've been living lately, and I've kind of been convicted about....well, let's screw the timidity for a moment, and say that I've DEFINITELY been convicted about wasting too much time on the internet, visiting every random blog from yon to hither. My typical routine would be to mark out stuff I'd want to write about, but then I'd never get around to doing it. Meanwhile, the list of feeds in my Google Reader (if you don't know what that is, imagine all the lanes on the Information Superhighway merging together) kept getting larger. I knew something was amiss when I was talking about the political opinions of folks that even my friend Patrick had never heard of, and he has Anderson Cooper on speed dial.

SO. I decided I need to take steps this Lent to be, shall we say, a little less anti-social, and a little more creative. What does this mean?

1. MORE BLOG POSTING ACTION.

I know, you're thinking, "Tyler, you silly doof (goof + doofus), you make less sense than an Arnold Schwarzenegger film" Normally, I'd agree with you, but hear me out...this way I am actually communicatin with y'all, and some of you even seem to like what I have to say. Plus, I can finally write some stuff I've wanted to, and you might find it edifying. If there aren't too many links to Youtube.

2. THE GOOGLE FEED IS DELETED.

I am not checking the horde of blogs for Lent, making two very special exceptions I will write about in a post in the next week or so. So the link to my Google Reader on my homepage is deleted. Or "Baleeted!" if you're a Homestar fan. This means no more American Scene, no more Evangelical Outpost--even no more Crunchy Con!! Believe me, this hurts. And believe me, this also shows how much of a nerd I actually am. But won't be for long. Hopefully.

3. I WILL BE CALLING YOU.

And asking you how are things? Cause it would be good to know.

4. INDIANA JONES is COMING BACK

This has nothing to do with anything, but it is important nonetheless. Check this out. Even John will admit that it's cooler than Lost.

Well, that is it for now...I should have some stuff up in the next few days or so. Keep them eyes peeled.

Quick question---do you guys actually LIKE the random links I put in here? Cause if they're distracting, consider them----BALEETED!

The picture above is by Ewing Galloway and is available as a poster here. Just so I'm not infringin' on anybody's copyright. Wouldn't be the cowboy way, now would it?

Music that you might like, or maybe will think is really really bad

2008-01-16T20:19:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone. Taking a quick break from studying cancer genetics (oncogenes, tumor suppressor genes, vincristine, lynch syndrome for those of you who care--probably only Greg C., though).

Anyway, here is some silliness--I will have some real stuff later this week, so don't cry.

Awesome Tapes from Africa

Yep, that is the actual name of the blog. Some guy who was in Africa bought a bunch of tapes. Posted them. Goodness ensues.

The Duke recommends: Tiken Jah Fakoly, francafrique
Kumasi Bantama Christ Revival Singers, Wo Pe Nye Ho
Bainito Muyanda, Kifo cha Wamalma
Kandja Kouyaté, Guede
King Sunny Ade and His African Beats, Ase (feat. Stevie Wonder on harmonica)

The last one is the gem of the group, because it was made in 1983 or so, when synthesizer were taking West Africa by storm. It's got a nice groove. I'm not joking.

Other weirdness:
Ralph Carmichael presents the Electric Symphony

Instrumental gospel tunes, done by several Moog synthesizers, circa 1970.
Just listen to the samples. It's unbelievable. I don't know if it's in a bad way, or a good way.

By the way, I was not deliberately trying to find these---I stumbled upon them in a stroke of good (or bad) luck.

Don't waste too much time with these, or writing me angry emails about how this music/websites ruined you forever. And please don't say I've ruined my blog, either. Adds a bit of spice, ya know?

Deadly Viper Bling Bling Assassin

2008-01-14T15:28:00.000-05:00

Yep, you read that right.

I am posting this 'cause we "inherited" a gigantic TV, and I am very conflicted. It's nice to watch movies, but really, it's kind of ridiculous. I mean really. Ridiculous

The picture on the left is not our tv.

Anyway, read the link here, at Deadly Viper Blog.

Also, here is a different deadly viper assassin story.

While you're here, check out the snazzy photo of me on the right. I tried to take a self-portrait by holding my camera in one hand and leaning against my bedroom window to let in light, so the picture was kind of blurry. I messed around with it in my Photoshop knock-off program, so it looks crazy, kind of like something I suspect an emo kid would do, except I still don't know what emo is. I'm not emo, am I? I would be embarassed.

The Vomit Eaters

2007-12-29T12:28:00.000-05:00

"As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly."

This weekend I have a special weekend link roundup for you, and its nature is one that is serious enough that I don't think it would be appropriate to clog up my post with pictures of cattle rustlers or send out funny emails this time.

A number of the blogs I read regularly (or learned about from a link from a blog I DO read regularly) have had touching accounts of struggles with sexual addiction. Sexual brokenness is such a tremendous struggle both within the Church and outside of it that I would argue that its effects may be analogous to a cultural Black Death. Lust, like the bubonic plague, had long afflicted humanity, but societal changes may allow it, like the plague, to sweep over hill and dale and into the homes of all people, tearing them asunder. In the 1300's, longer winters reduced food supplies, and widespread malnutrition weakened immune system responses, just as trade with the Orient brought plague-infested rats aboard merchant sloops. Between one and two of every three people perished.

Our culture today suffers from hunger. The old cultural mores are fading fast and indifference to God dulls many. The relentless pursuit of perfection (Lexus's motto, by the way) and wealth erodes what little substance remained, as rainwater washes away the earth from fallow fields. How many are raised by absent fathers--more shadow than flesh--or driven mothers--who clutch rather than hug?

Amidst this societal brokenness, pervasive cable television and interactive internet carry an old disease but unleash a new epidemic. And we barely have the strength to fight. See this, and read the comments, too.

Here are the stories of those who have been infected--but they are also stories of healing, as well. But before you read them, I'd invite you to pray. Repent, if need be. I don't want this to be some light reading nestled in between ESPN and Drudge Report. If you don't treat this topic with respect, I'd rather you not read at all; sexual addiction feeds on numbness to tragedy, and I will do all I can to prevent my blog from furthering any such numbness. My prayer is that this would convict the indifferent, encourage the despairing, and bless the recovering. It is why each of these three chose to share their stories, and they have been a blessing to me.

* * * * * * *

Anne Jackson, Flowerdust.net

Anne is one of my favorite bloggers, probably because she has personality--she says: "Anne Jackson is a big dork who loves God, her husband, people, the church, and writing. Oh, and dark chocolate." If you've ever read my emails instead of deleting them, you know I'm a fan of self-deprecating humor.

Anyway, here are links to struggles she shared, with a quick excerpt after each.

An Emotional Affair

Something happened not long after Chris and I got married. There was a guy we both knew and for whatever reason, I began getting tons of attention from him. Now that we were married, the whole conviction thing crept in and I told Chris what my mind and emotions were doing. It was THE scariest thing I have ever done. But I promise you. It is possible. You can tell your spouse what you’ve been going through.

Pretty Woman - My Battle with Beauty and the Beast

Something I have always battled is comparing myself to other women. It’s almost natural for me to see someone and think, “If I were that skinny…that tall…that confident…if my teeth were that white…my skin that clear…” but on the flip side, I also think, “I’m glad I’m not that fat…that short…that gangly…that wrinkled…”

Truth and Sex

So..I know this has been a really scary thing to write about. Honestly, I’m still debating whether I should post this or not. But I don’t think I have a choice. This is a real problem and if we keep hiding it - like I did for so long - we will always be a slave to it.

Cindy Beall

I learned about Cindy because her posts were cross-listed on Anne's blog right before Christmas (they evidently know each other and will be working at the same church in Oklahoma City).

Our Story, Chapter 1

I heard the cracking of my heart as he spoke and felt the devastation setting in almost immediately.

But it’s not really Chris I trust…it’s the Jesus in him that I trust. Isn’t that the way it is with all of us?

My Boys

Be sure to see that link to her boys...it's a treasure.

Tim Yeager, Truth Isn't Sexy

I found Tim's blog also via comments from Anne's blog, and I've been reading his long and arduous struggle towards recovery. It's been difficult and not without stumbles, but if God can make a dead man live, he can restore his son. Here are some various posts.

The Breakthrough (12/1/05)

The Pain in Healing (12/8/05)

The proper way for a broken man with a deep wound of brokenness to be healed, is to allow God to heal you from your root, slowly and steadily. Everyone’s root is different, but it is where all addictions are based. I have needs inside of me that long to be met. If I may quote somebody, who quoted another somebody, “”Unmet Needs get Met, it is our choice who meets them”". I chose the wrong desire for many years to meet my needs, and it left me empty and emotionless (I know I will be talking about the loss of emotions in a later blog). The only one who can meet your unmet needs is God. I mentioned earlier that I wasn’t sure if packing a wound hurts, but I can tell you that the process of God healing me
hurt my flesh, greatly. It is a slow process, one that is still going on now, but is the only way to be truly healed. It has been likened to the process of refining gold, one that requires fire, patients and time.

Alright, Here it Is (2/22/06)

This past month I have:
Call Adult Chat lines
I have called strippers, posing as a guy interested in ordering there services
I have lied.
Somewhere deep in my soul I tried to justify all of this by not masturbating. God doesn’t care about what I do or don’t do, He cares about my heart. I have been selfish; I have kept my heart to myself, away from God and my wife.

I Am Broken (3/29/06)

I am full of shame, self-hate and I feel hopeless. I am scared to find out that God’s plan for my wife is for her to be happy far away from me...So here I am, hurting because of the hurt that I have caused my wife by the selfish choices that I have made. fearful that my honesty will be the end of the only thing I have left, and terrified that I will be alone...

A Month for the Books (6/13/07)

I am not sure if I may ever say that am free from any past temptation, but I can say that I am definitely at a healthier place in my life. My relationship with Christ has seemed to turn into one of dependency on Him, and intern seems to be adding depth to a relationship that was at one time living or dying at the surface...My wife and I are closer than we have ever been. Still separated, but honestly much better off than any other time in our life. We still aren’t free of struggle, but our ability to to resolve has definitely improved.

Our Deepest Fear (10/1/07)

We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

* * * * * * *

That is it for now. Feel free to comment, and as always, I would be happy to pray for y'all if you tell me.

Preview for next time: Quick thoughts on politics and religion, coming Wed, Jan 2 (or thereabouts).

In Hoc Anno Domini

2007-12-25T23:46:00.000-05:00

This is a Christmas Eve editorial from the Wall Street Journal by the late Vermont Connecticut Royster, a long-time columnist who passed away a little over a decade ago. (His family also had the peculiar habit of naming children after states. Among his relatives were Arkansas Delaware, Iowa Michigan, Wisconsin Illinois, and Oregon Minnesota Royster. I think naming after cities could be even better: Chippewa Falls, Hampton Roads, or Muscle Shoals. But then again, maybe that's why I'm weird and you're, um, not.)

In any case, this editorial was first published in 1949, and has been published annually ever since. You might enjoy it, so I quote it in full:

* * * * * * *

When Saul of Tarsus set out on his journey to Damascus the whole of the known world lay in bondage. There was one state, and it was Rome. There was one master for it all, and he was Tiberius Caesar.

Everywhere there was civil order, for the arm of the Roman law was long. Everywhere there was stability, in government and in society, for the centurions saw that it was so.

But everywhere there was something else, too. There was oppression -- for those who were not the friends of Tiberius Caesar. There was the tax gatherer to take the grain from the fields and the flax from the spindle to feed the legions or to fill the hungry treasury from which divine Caesar gave largess to the people. There was the impressor to find recruits for the circuses. There were executioners to quiet those whom the Emperor proscribed. What was a man for but to serve Caesar?

There was the persecution of men who dared think differently, who heard strange voices or read strange manuscripts. There was enslavement of men whose tribes came not from Rome, disdain for those who did not have the familiar visage. And most of all, there was everywhere a contempt for human life. What, to the strong, was one man more or less in a crowded world?
Then, of a sudden, there was a light in the world, and a man from Galilee saying, Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things that are God's.

And the voice from Galilee, which would defy Caesar, offered a new Kingdom in which each man could walk upright and bow to none but his God. Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me. And he sent this gospel of the Kingdom of Man into the uttermost ends of the earth.

So the light came into the world and the men who lived in darkness were afraid, and they tried to lower a curtain so that man would still believe salvation lay with the leaders.

But it came to pass for a while in divers places that the truth did set man free, although the men of darkness were offended and they tried to put out the light. The voice said, Haste ye. Walk while you have the light, lest darkness come upon you, for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth.

Along the road to Damascus the light shone brightly. But afterward Paul of Tarsus, too, was sore afraid. He feared that other Caesars, other prophets, might one day persuade men that man was nothing save a servant unto them, that men might yield up their birthright from God for pottage and walk no more in freedom.

Then might it come to pass that darkness would settle again over the lands and there would be a burning of books and men would think only of what they should eat and what they should wear, and would give heed only to new Caesars and to false prophets. Then might it come to pass that men would not look upward to see even a winter's star in the East, and once more, there would be no light at all in the darkness.

And so Paul, the apostle of the Son of Man, spoke to his brethren, the Galatians, the words he would have us remember afterward in each of the years of his Lord:

Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.

* * * * * * *

I can't find a link to the original on the Journal's website, but because I am somewhat apprehensive in posting a complete editorial without understanding copyright restrictions for blogs, I'll oblige you with this shameless plug:

Subscribe to the Wall Street Journal today! It features some of the finest news, financial analysis, and commentary you'll find anywhere! Go to WSJ.com now to sign up!

And now that I have let a blatant commercial message sully my blog on this special day, I bid you all,

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

The Joyfulness We Reject

2007-12-14T19:19:00.000-05:00

Hi everybody

A few brief words from me, then the quotations begin.

Briefly, I struggle mightily with joyfulness, or rather, NOT having it. It is easy for me to assume the worst motivations in people and events, or to expect them. It is even easier to presume the worst in myself--that I have failed, or will fail in the future, that I will garner the disapproval or ignorance of others, that I will be hurt. There's a lot that goes in to that, and I would be glad to discuss that with you, but if you bring it up with me, I must warn you--I may assume you are just trying to lecture me. Be forceful enough I can't run away, but gentle enought that I won't want to.

That being said, I have a few thoughts, and some other blessed resources you may find especially nifty.

First, in some ways, my worst fears are correct. None of us are worthy, least of all myself. But we have no reason to leap from failure to despair. A few simple words have broughy joyfulness to my heart:

"You did not choose Me, but I chose you, and appointed you, that you would go and bear fruit and that your fruit would remain, so that whatever you ask of the Father in My name, he would give to you." Jn15:16 (NASB)

What an encouragement! How often we assume that we must please God and curry favor. To earn his love. To choose him. But this is not what He desires, nor is it what is best for us. Remember: He chose you. He appointed you. Moreover, he has appointed us to serve Him and bear fruit for Him for His Kingdom. Much can be said about this (and if you want to leave your thoughts in a comment, do so please!!) but the germane point here is this:

We are not the victims of a careless cosmos or a capricious (or malevolent) deity, a far-away terror manifest only in our troubles. Indeed, He is just the opposite: an tremendously close Presence who assumed our troubles upon Himself, who manifest sorrow within Himself, that we would no longer be alone and afraid.

And yet, how often do I turn away! The words written down by John so many centuries ago mean little if I disbelieve them. I am slowly learning just what Christ meant when He called himself a stumbling block, and blessed those who do not take offense at Him. It is too easy to dismiss those scoffers as bitter atheists or secularists, and look at what the do, and call them proud, and spiteful.

I am convinced more and moer that Christ did not say those words to them, but even more so to us. We are the proud! We are the spiteful! We are the scorners! Chief of all myself.

The truth is that I so rarely live like Christ's words hold much promise, that they are water that takes away the thirst. I so rarely believe I am appointed or chosen. I so rarely freed from the burden of trying to earn it.

I keep trying because I want to earn it.

And that is the stumbling block. That is the key. That is the offense. That in spite of all our fears and insecurities, that we still try to do it ourselves. We can only carry either the fruit of the cross, or the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. We choose wrongly.

Here are some super-duper resources I've read in the past few days when not studying biochemistry...

The Captivity of Negativy, by Kara Scwab, at Boundless. Recommended heartily, with two thumbs up--right and left!! (Was that a dumb joke? Oh wait, no more negativity! Dang I almost forgot!)

The next one I will quote in its entirety. It is at spiritdaily.com, a website with Catholic theology and a curious eschatological bent (consult Mr. Webster if you must), but nice little homilies that are only up for a day or so, so to make sure y'all read it, it gets stuck here.

ONLY THROUGH PURITY CAN WE SEE ALL WE NEED TO SEE AND IN THE RIGHT PERSPECTIVE
Do you see what is really there? Do you see the truth, the full truth, and othing but? Are you sure there are not distortions in what you observe -- even things imagined?

We go through life with a vision that's imperfect. Sometimes it is more imperfect than at other times. Sometimes, it's outright distorted, as through a prism (or the mirror of a funhouse). Sometimes, we're outright blind. And the reason is that truth is seen in proportion to our purity, our goodness, and our honesty. That's a heavy remark but the eye is the window of the soul and when the soul is murky, when it is blocked, so is what we see.

Sin after sin pile up to block us. We imagine that someone doesn't like us. We imagine they are talking behind our backs. We imagine they have done all kinds of things they may not have done. We fret about what will happen to us. Remember what it says about the "log"? There is the log in our eyes and there are also the logs we dump into our living waters (the part of us that flows from God). Look at what happens in the Northwest when they're lumbering. Logs pile up, obscure the water, and almost halt it.

The same is true with us. Sin. Bad habits. Negative thoughts. Pride. These are all logs that stop the water and thus the tree that could bear fruit alongside it.
It's also like a spring: Clear water allows us to see the bottom (and the fullness of
a creek) while water that's muddy can hide what is in it (even danger: did you
every notice where alligators live?). The truth is clear only when the soul
is pure, and so purify this Christmas and see like you have never seen! See the
truth. See the full picture. Stop imagining the worst.

Ask Our Blessed Immaculate Mother to give you immaculate vision. Purify yourself by elevating yourself into a mindset of love. Go to Confession. Fast before the feast.
This will help you observe matters in a new, fuller way -- and that can be
the source of what Christmas is all about: comfort and joy. Go for it!
It is the time of year when matters can be unusually lucid and you should take
advantage of it: "Lord, let me have new eyesight. Let me see what I should see,
clearly. Let me see reality in more fullness."

"Let me see what is backstage." Remember how when you opened to God you suddenly saw things differently? There are further vistas to open. But sin trips us up. Sin --
even minor sin -- distorts. It darkens. So do bad habits. We stir up the muck
when we are anxious, when we have anger, when we have lust, when we are tapping
into a frenzy of the soul. When our thoughts are "dirty."

When we're lustful, we see only through that lust. It clouds us. It skews our thinking. And when we're jealous, our vision stops at the object of our jealousy.
Deceive others and you deceive yourself! When you're selfish, meanwhile,
it's like trying to walk while holding a mirror in front of you (seeing not what
is in front of you but only yourself, or what is behind you and should stay
there).

On the other hand, when we have purified -- when we're clear, when we're humble -- we get the living waters from Heaven. St. Teresa of Avila once said that the light of Heaven is like "a very clear stream, in a bed of crystal, reflecting the sun's rays," while Sister Lucia of Fatima described the angel she saw as "whiter than snow, transparent as crystal when the sun shines through it."

It is with that light that purity sees. Look at the Infant. Look at the chaste father. Look at the immaculate mother. Invoke them. They will help you purify. They will help you see. They had the foresight of the Holy Spirit. The eye is the window of the soul and impurities cloud it. We see worries that we really don't have to worry about. We argue with members of the family when there really is not something there to argue about. This happens especially at Christmas (when the devil is so active).

If we lie, or cheat -- if there is a bit of deception in us -- our vision is limited in proportion to our deception (or negativity). The same is true if we lack love. Love brings the clearest waters. Good water is clear and bad water is murky from
pollution or algae or some other imbalance. In the maintenance of a pool is
the need for the right pH, the right chlorine, and the right filter that keeps
the water from obscuring what we can see. So too in our lives. This is why
we must remove the "log" to see what we really can see. How often we try to form
judgments based on partial perceptions!

The answer is living and thinking
rightly. The answer is in being a blessing to everyone. The answer is in rising
above the tugs of worldliness through purity. This holiday season -- this season
that is so pure -- resolve to cause everyone around you to feel better. Give
everyone a blessed day. Watch your interior life closely (every thought). Do you
know how it is when you have a day where everything goes right -- when all seems
to flow with grace? Pray that everyone you come across has that experience: give
everyone the gift of a day's blessing.

Such will elevate you. Such will purify. Christmas is a terrific time to purify! Make it the gift to God this holiday -- and to yourself. And see like you have never seen before -- all the way to Bethlehem.

Now this last is a link I found on spirit daily. It is the True Knights, a website against pornography that is "Defending the Family, Defending the Faith" and whose mission is to fulfill the "need for a crusade of manliness and purity to counteract and nullify the savage work of those who think man is a beast. And the crusade is your work."

How flippin-sweet is that?! Plus, the website plays (I kid you not and I am so excited my fingers are trembly) BAROQUE GUITAR CONCERTOS!!! Great googly-moogly! Or, as my jazz-guitarist room mate says when he gets new guitar strings, "Hot Diggety Dog!"

Christmas Message from Jesus

2007-12-12T17:25:00.000-05:00

Hi everybody

Someone posted a comment as Jesus on another blog I enjoy, David Kuo's J-Walking. I reproduced it here because we all need a little bit more shameless plagiarism.

Dear Children, It has come to my attention that many of you are upset that folks are taking My name out of the season. Maybe you've forgotten that I wasn't
actually born during this time of the year and that it was some of your predecessors who decided to celebrate My birthday on what was actually a time of pagan festival. Although I do appreciate being remembered anytime. How I personally feel about this celebration can probably be most easily understood by those of you who have been blessed with children of your own. I don't care what you call the day. If you want to celebrate My birth, just GET ALONG AND LOVE ONE ANOTHER.
Now, having said that let Me go on. If it bothers you that the town in which you live doesn't allow a scene depicting My birth, then just get rid of a couple of Santas and snowmen and put in a small Nativity scene on your own front lawn. If all My followers did that there wouldn't be any need for such a scene on the town square because there would be many of them all around town.
Stop worrying about the fact that people are calling the tree a holiday tree, instead of a Christmas tree. It was I who made all trees. You can remember Me anytime you see any tree. Decorate a grape vine if you wish: I actually spoke of that one in a teaching, explaining who I am in relation to you and what each of our tasks were. If you have forgotten that one, look up John 15: 1 - 8.
If you want to give Me a present in remembrance of My birth here is my wish list.
Choose something from it:

1. Instead of writing protest letters objecting to the way My birthday is being celebrated, write letters of love and hope to soldiers away from home. They are terribly afraid and lonely this time of year. I know, they tell Me all the time.
2. Visit someone in a nursing home. You don't have to know them personally. They just need to know that someone cares about them.
3. Instead of writing George complaining about the wording on the cards his staff sent out this year, why don't you write and tell him that you'll be praying for him and his family this year. Then follow up. It will be nice hearing from you again.
4. Instead of giving your children a lot of gifts you can't afford and they don't need, spend time with them. Tell them the story of My birth, and why I came to live with you down here. Hold them in your arms and remind them that I love them.
5. Pick someone that has hurt you in the past and forgive him or her.
6. Did you know that someone in your town will attempt to take their own life this season because they feel so alone and hopeless? Since you don't know who that person is, try giving everyone you meet a warm smile; it could make the difference.
7. Instead of nit picking about what the retailer in your town calls the holiday, be patient with the people who work there. Give them a warm smile and a kind word. Even if they aren't allowed to wish you a "Merry Christmas" that doesn't keep you from wishing them one. Then stop shopping there on Sunday. If the store didn't make so much money on that day they'd close and let their employees spend the day at home with their families
8. If you really want to make a difference, support a missionary--especially one who takes My love and Good News to those who have never heard My name.
9. Here's a good one. There are individuals and whole families in your town who not only will have no "Christmas" tree, but neither will they have any presents to give or receive. If you don't know them, buy some food and a few gifts and give them to the Salvation Army or some other charity which believes in Me and they will make the delivery for you.
10. Finally, if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to Me, then behave like a Christian. Don't do things in secret that you wouldn't do in My presence. Let people know by your actions that you are one of mine.
Don't forget; I am God and can take care of Myself. Just love Me and do what I have told you to do.
I'll take care of all the rest. Check out the list above and get to work; time
is short. I'll help you, but the ball is now in your court. And do have a most
blessed Christmas with all those whom you love and remember : I LOVE YOU, JESUS

How often do we focus on the wrong things this Christmas season! Even well-intentioned calls to "put the Christ back in Christmas" are often
a best a showy display, and usually just cause a bunch of fights. What
if we made a conscious effort to put the Christ back in our lives?

Also, my favorite's #6---"warm smiles." What's yours? And don't forget, Google invented comment boxes for a reason, folks. Don't make me threaten you with coal in your stockings. Cause I'll do it. Really. With a warm smile, of course.

The Aftermath

2007-11-28T17:07:00.000-05:00

Here's some quick updates dealing with the same stuff I talked about last week...

Black Friday's Flaming Shroud @ The American Scene

Here's the money quote:

The logic of democratizing luxury features not just the practical hurdle of
near-bankruptcy in the middle classes but the emotional hurdle of near-satiety.

Entertaining Ourselves to Death @ Crunchy Con

Money quote:

We can't acquire a sense of community with our faces intent on the pocket-sized
screen in the palm of our hands. We can't admire the unexpected beauty of a
robin's song when the pellet-shaped buds in our ears deafen us to his presence.
We can't experience even a moment of peace, when the voice on the other end of
the line constantly demands our attention, our focus, our energy.

And finally, here's what you missed on TV last night:

Sermon of Reverend Van Pelt @ Charlie Brown Christmas.

I'll let you figure out the highlights for yourselves.

And after you do, read the comment by Doug on the Charlie Brown blog entry.

I would wish you all a Merry Christmas, but it isn't even December yet, so I'll defer to the usually irascible Lucy Van Pelt: "It's too early..."

And if you didn't get that quote, you should have watched Charlie Brown Christmas last night.

Weekday Link Roundup and Greater Franklin County Turkey Corral-O-Rama '07!

2007-11-22T12:47:00.000-05:00

Hi loyal readers! (Should that be plural?) Anyway, I wish you all a wonderful and blessed Thanksgiving this fine fall Thursday. Right now I am waiting for some extended family to show up, and then the eating begins, but right now I am getting a quick fix for my burgeoning internet addiction. Just kidding. Kind of.

Anyway me and mah pardner Tom Turkey here have rustled up some good links for ya, and then I'll have some nice commentary for ya later.

First the fun lins! Do any of y'all remember Sesame Street? And that little man with the gruff voice was stuck inside a cup or something? Really, I am not making this up, so stop giving me that look you are giving right now...he was the best! Here's some links:
"It'll be a full life!"
"Robert Begins with the Letter R, and W Begins with the Letter W"
"I Asked with Adroit Concern..."

Anyway, now that that's out of the way, time for the real meat....

I've been thinking quite a bit about what gratitude...what we should be thankful for, and whether we live that way.

Thursday we had a celebration of thankfulness. You would think that this would be born from a spirit of humility, an understanding of blessedness, that our lives and our possessions are in the hands of One who is greater. And yet the very next day, everyone goes shopping. Everyone needs more. Even the celebration of Thanksgiving itself is skewed. How much time did you spend praying in thanks, and how much did you spend eating? How much of our culture is characterized by gratitude, and how much by gluttony? Do you see the same irony I see?

I am not saying the feasting is wrong, but what kind of an audacious message would it send if we spent Thanksgiving Day fasting?

My dad came back from China a week or two ago. His comment: the first thing you notice as soon as you set foot in an American airport is just how overweight everyone---everyone---is here. And he told me this over dinner, just as I had gotten back from the library, having rented a big stack of Seinfeld episodes, because, y'know, I just had to get my goodly dose of entertainment.

Right? What's going on here?

I've read several things about, in essence, gaining the whole world and losing your soul. Links are interspersed throughout, with some comments by Yours Truly. But remember that my commentary and excerpts are just a little preview---y'all should really read them for yourself. Or as LeVar Burton would say, 'Don't take my word for it...find out for yourself!"

†††

Phil Dillon - The Poverty of El Norte.

Went to Mexico to help build (expand, rather) a church. Saw great wealth in unlikely places. Returned to American, and saw great spiritual need. Quote:

...it’s impossible to say what the high points were...Was it being able to see a nineteen year old young man named Antonio, who had overcome so many obstacles in life, lead seventeen people to living faith in Jesus Christ as he and I wandered around the city square in Axtla on a beautiful Sunday afternoon? Was it seeing a woman who had been tortured by pain and unable to even stand rise by the power of the Spirit and walk, leap, and praise God? Was it seeing the desperate hunger and need filled as Jesus lovingly responded to the desperation and hunger? Was it seeing a little lame girl, Griselda, ask us to pray with her for a pair of shoes so that she could go to school and for a Bible so that she could read all about Jesus? Was it seeing the gratefulness etched on the faces of the Nahuatl (pronounced nah-what) men and women cupping their hands as they received the gift of a small bag of frijoles at the close of the meetings? Was it witnessing the power of the Holy Spirit as it surged in waves through the crowd?

And later on...

I’m struck by the powerful temptation to get back into the American routine of
wealth and complacency. Why not just let CNN and Fox News and CSI and American Idol and IPODS and Tommy Hilfiger and fast food get us back into the rut of
American normalcy?

...
I see this and I’m becoming convinced that Victory Fellowship and other little beacons of light are being called to be those small pockets of spiritual wealth and generosity in what is becoming a spiritual wasteland, a place where the prayers offered aren’t for the IPOD we just can't live without or the designer outfit to die for, but for the fire of the Spirit to fall and hide our nakedness, a place where our cry is not “Give me!” but “Here am I Lord, send me,” a place where repentance replaces demands for things that cannot soothe the hunger or satisfy the thirst.

Wow. Mr Dillon has some very strong words, and I do think there is great emptiness in our wealth. I was verystruck by the "iPod we just can't live without" because the very next thing I read was:

Josh Harris: Jerry Bridges' New iPod

Excerpt:

Jerry is a dear friend of Covenant Life. He's been teaching at the Sovereign Grace Pastors College for the past eleven years and nearly every time he's done so, he has also preached at our church. This year we wanted to do something a little special to honor him. We decided that the man needed an iPod.

Hmmmm. Now I am not going, "A-ha! So Josh Harris is really an agent held by the deadly clutches of Mammon!" Giving a gift to a good friend is by no means discouraged (what has the Word taught us about generosity?) but it is remarkable how broadly our mindset is focused on things, and not on God.

Victor Davis Hanson: "The Chains of the Past" -- See Prisoner of Memory

"A Few Good Men" - See the Agrarian Life

I thought this would make a great counterpoint to the rat-race/consumerism mentality so prevalent today. Classicist and erstwhile political pundit, Victor Davis Hanson spent time at his family's old farm growing up, and reminisced about the old days.

On his grandfather's hard-working habits:

He seemed to think hard physical work was somehow spiritual, and rarely worried about labor-saving devices or doing things differently that might save additional labor Calluses, sweat, soreness were all a sign of moral betterment, something deeply resented by me and my siblings when we were forced to join him for hours in shoveling or tying up vines on our knees, but later appreciated for teaching how the mind can tolerate hours of rote rugged toil.
My biggest worry? The loss of knowledge I inherited about the physical world. My
grandfather could smell a storm on a southern September wind. He looked at the way birds nested to sense rain, and daily marked the phases of the moon, and tides and kept a precise diary for 50 years. He could judge the year by stunted or rich grape foliage, and weekly measured the water table, and checked the direction of the wind and the cloud formations. He had what I’d call a “sense”, the ability to know by intuition the impending physical world and the way humans would react to it, a Thucydidean in the fullest sense.
He had absolutely no interest in profit other than staying alive, and being able to farm and support his family. The appearance of his farm, not its profitability, was the key, since the aesthetics were a reflection of his own character. Shortfalls and farm losses were made up out of his hide, by avoiding expensive meat, and living off most of the things grown on our farm from persimmon bread to pomegranate juice.

What if we lived that freely by the grace of God?

Shaun Groves - "Is It Really This Simple?"

Truly giving.

†††

I am sorry if this comes off as a but of a carmudgeonly rant, but I think we need to be absolutely serious here. I see the burden of materialism everywhere--in my culture, in my family, in my friends, in myself. And it's so hard to see the sickness until it's nearly too late---with the mortgage, car payments, 3 televisions, 2 cellphones, 223 cd's, decorative cookware, an italian sofa, double-breasted, pinstriped, worsted-wool suits, and $10,000 in credit card debt. You'll look back and ask, "How did I get here? And why do I feel so alone?"

We never know how completely materialism poisons us, because it gives us such a delirious high. And like the junkie in the ghetto, when we find ourselves confronted with pain we inflected upon ourselves, and yet still walking down those alleys, we can easily console ourselves:

"Only one more time..."

But we know when we lie.

But many, many people, in their brokenness, follow this lie up with another, and say that since they've seen so many lies, there must be no truth. But even after great spells of consumption, and the loneliness and emptiness it begets, I remember:

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

That is the greatest consolation. And that is what I am thankful for.

Weekend Link Roundup! ON HIATUS

2007-11-11T12:56:00.000-05:00

Sorry everybody, but I am studying for my last anatomy exam (skull and assorted cranial viscera). But here is a picture to keep you occupied until next time. And yes, I look that grumpy when I am studying.

PS. Just so I don't fall into legal trouble, the picture is the fine work of Zachary Pullen, some artist-guy on the internet whom I found via Google. If you like the painting, you can buy it for $5000. Plus $20 shipping and handling.

Weekend Link Roundup!

2007-11-02T23:15:00.000-04:00

Hi everybody!

It's now time for the first weekend link roundup! The cowboy on the left is ready...how about you?

I know posting is a bit erratic, so here is the way I will try to work things around here...

Every Saturday, or there abouts, I will a Weekly Link Review, where I'll post links to things you might find interesting--or at least I find interesting.

This way, when you're on the internet, you won't waste it as I do (reading the best of Buckeye blogs) or in some of your favorite ways: pretending you're John Elway, reliving your favorite Star Trek moments, listening to 80's pop hits or their modern reinterpretations. Actually, those are some of my favorite ways to waste time, but I am too embarassed to admit them. Our little secret, ok?

Anyway, here are some interesting things you may want to check out:

The Porn Myth
Don't miss this one, but be forewarned! It gets a little PG-13 at times. It is a recent article by Naomi Wolf, a renowned feminist, who concludes that perhaps the sexual liberation of the 1960's wasn't all that groovy. The contrast between her Orthodox Jewish friend and the university student on the last page is remarkable. Perhaps there is more to church teaching on sex than prudery and repression.

The Pleasures and Perils of Fermentation
This is the one you want to read second, especially YOU, fellow college student! How do we have a God who is the Vine, but is not the god of debauchery? More to the point, how can we be people who enjoy the broadest freedom--the freedom to drink, and the freedom to abstain?

What Little Girls Should Get to Do
About girls freed from sex slavery in India...and yes, I know it is hosted on the blog of Jim Wallis, who can be fairly left-leaning, and that may cause some of you to hurl your breakfast. But please, try to read it before you spew Cap'n Crunch all over your keyboard, 'cause I bet that's hard to clean up.

God-cool Stuff
Another tale of outside-the-box ministry. See my other post Holy Smokes! for more good things.

One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest (of Atheism)
Noted philosopher Anthony Flew (whom I read in my one-and-only philosophy 101 course) recently became a theist due to the claims of intelligent design.

Well that is all for now. I will try to write something original in the next few days here.

Church Controversy

2007-10-10T22:00:00.000-04:00

A recent Churchwide Assembly meeting of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, of which I am a member, has caused quite a stir. The Chicago Sun-Times declared "A Huge Victory for Gay Clergy," and Reuters News Service explained, "Lutherans to Allow Pastors in Gay Relationship." What actually happened?

At the biannual Churchwide Assembly in Chicago in August, the following resolution was passed:

Resolved, that in an effort to continue as a church in moral deliberation without further strife and pain to its members, the Churchwide Assembly prays, urges, and encourages synods, synodical bishops, and the presiding bishop to refrain from or demonstrate restraint in disciplining those congregations and persons who call into rostered ministry otherwise-qualified candidates who are in a mutual, chaste, and faithful committed same-gender relationship; and be it further

Resolved, that the Churchwide Assembly prays, urges, and encourages synods, the synodical bishops, and the presiding bishop to refrain from or demonstrate restraint in disciplining those rostered leaders in a mutual, chaste, and faithful, committed same-gender relationship who have been called and rostered in this church.

At a recent meeting at my home church, Upper Arlington Lutheran, Senior Pastor Paul Ulring expounded on the details of the resolution and what it means for UALC.

The resolution itself passed in part due to calculated maneuvering. Proponents of the resolution were supported by a $2 million lobbying effort, complete with five professional parliamentarians. Late Saturday evening, when the Assembly was winding down and approximately 100 delegates (delegates were 40% ordained and 60% lay) had left, the resolution was brought to a vote and passed in a fairly close (42-vote spread) vote.

Ulring also stated that of the 65 bishops in the ELCA, 45 oppose the measure, and 10 more are on the fence. The other 10 support it, and in many cases, their support is in part a response to "family situations" where someone close to them has declared themselves a homosexual. Pastor Ulring is a member of the Lutheran CORE, a collection of concerned ELCA clergy, laity, and congregations. The CORE ranges from "farmers from Minnesota to East Coasters who, I am pretty certain, sleep in their collars--in fact, a few of them joined us here for worship, and they genuflected when they entered the pews, and I didn't know what they were doing...." This rather diverse CORE, Ulring said, is already preparing for the next Assembly in 2009.

The question remains of what direction UALC should follow. Many different viewpoints on the church's relationship to homosexuality are present in the UALC congregation, Ulring noted. Some are fed up, and want to leave, and others would acquiesce, because, to them, denomination has never been particularly important. Others have themselves left UALC because their own children came out of the closet and they no longer felt comfortable. Still others want to stay, "for history, for tradition, for family"; to leave the ELCA would be unconscionable to them.

For Pastor Ulring, the question must be answered: "What do we want to accomplish?" Leaving the denomination would make a statement, but would it be effective in anything other than satisfying ourselves or assuaging the trauma? Ulring doubts it. He was "sad, angry, disappointed, and surprised," but he has not given up.

First, the situation should force to consider our own behavior. Have we, he asked, prayed for the ELCA and for our bishop? Ulring admits that he himself failed to do so for far too long, until the Lord convicted him to call upon Him in hope, rather than grumble in bitterness. He challenged us to do the same.

Second, the pressing issue is not any particular view of human sexuality, but the authority of the Word in our own personal lives and in the church as a whole. And merely professing its truth is woefully inadequate. Confidence in Scripture is unimportant if the Bible is never applied. Ulring notes, "I know some people who will talk up and down about the infallibility, the inerrancy of the Word of God, but they never read it."

Third, a contentious discussion within the congregation over leaving the ELCA would distract from the true mission of the church: to reach out to the lost and preach the power of Christ's crucifixion and Word. This is not to say the church's response to homosexuality should not be discussed, but a cantankerous split, at this time, would cost too much and gain too little. Instead, he has written a letter to ELCA leadership expressing his dismay over the resolution, excerpted here.

"We believe this resolution violates both the authority of Scripture and God's will....Where in this church is there now real, viable room for conservative Christians who read the Bible for what it is: God's revealed Word? Alongside the ancient Councils of the Church, we reject the notion of two or more ‘equally valid’ ways of taking what Scripture says. The authority of the Word is not something upon which we take votes...I convey to you, on behalf of the members of Upper Arlington Lutheran Church, our strenuous objection and profound dismay over the decisions and directions emerging under your leadership. We call on you, in Jesus Name, to turn from this course....Already the call to leave the ELCA is strong. That would be a huge step for us. I would like to think it would matter to you and to the ELCA, as well."

In short, Pastor Ulring concluded that this resolution, although troubling, does not warrant dissociation with the ELCA. But he did warn that, if "a line is crossed," he is prepared to offer the leadership necessary to guide UALC through a potential dissociation, which, he added, would not be constrained by a potential loss of property, since all would remain in possession of the congregation regardless.

Finally, Pastor Ulring warned the UALC congregation as well against pride. "We must be careful to guard our hearts against anger, self-righteousness, and lovelessness...it is a high responsibility to be right, or at least to think you are, and we would be wise to remember the verse that says that the anger of man never works the righteousness of God."

My two cents: First, I am pleased we decided not to leave the ELCA at this time. I am hesitant to cut off a relationship without any attempts at reconciliation, and pray that peace would return between our congregation and the ELCA.

Second, we must be always be aware--indeed, intently focused--on the witness we present to the outside world. A quick way to paralyze a church with malaise is to turn inward, expending one's energy on internal struggles and bickering, regardless of the importance of the conflict. To neglect our witness is to starve the church. Most importantly, we must never forget that the gay community is included in those we are trying to reach.

What a victory for evil if we forget them. What a victory for darkness if we believe standing up for truth means ignoring the lost. I believe that if we do reach out to gays with the same fervor that we oppose misguided interpretation of Scripture in ELCA leadership, we will lose our opportunity to reach them, and be viewed as yet another example of a church that condemns and of a god who hates. If we do not guard ourselves just as strenuously against self-righteousness concerning our relationship with the gay community as we must do in our relationship with the ELCA, we will end up judging gays, rather than loving them. We must never use our vigilance for the truth as an excuse to deny their humanity and their value.

We must be wise, and recall who wanted Christ crucified. Certainly there are many in our culture, and many in the ELCA, who would oversee the death of morality and bury righteousness. Many echo the indifference of Pilate, asking, "What is truth?" But theirs was not the only evil that drove the nails into Jesus; the pride and the self-righteousness of the Pharisees could not bear the One who dared to love the condemned.

On the day that Christ died, there were many who did not know of Him and what He stood for. Men who gave up belief, men who saw the decay of a decadent and brutal Imperial regime, men who saw that righteousness had no place in a world of power and greed. Men who asked, "What is truth?"

But still other men thought they knew the truth, but they were not set free. Men who knew only condemnation from the elders, and found what they felt was love through homosexuality among outcasts like themselves.

Both these groups did not know Christ when He died. But He died that they might know of Him soon--that they would know of truth, and that they would know of love.

As a church that bears Christ's name, we must fight against the indifference of Rome. But we must guard as vigilantly against pride, as well. We must not regard ourselves as holier than anyone else. We must not disdain those who remind us of our own brokenness. We must not hate those who dare to love. We cannot take up the pride of the Sanhedrin, and carry thirty pieces of silver to pay traitors, and three pieces of iron to pierce flesh.

We cannot proclaim Christ by crucifying Him again.

Holy Smokes!

2007-09-23T12:25:00.000-04:00

Smokey's Bible Fellowship, that is...

If only all bible studies could be like this one...

World Watch Update

2007-08-22T16:17:00.001-04:00

Update in Zimbabwe:

Please check the following two links. Apparently the discord continues...

Inflation Hits Record as Mugabe Tightens Grip

Arrests in Price Campaign

World Watch -- Zimbabwe

2007-08-19T12:37:00.000-04:00

Hello everyone, sorry posting has been sporadic during the last month and a half. In any case, I am starting a new periodic series in the blog called "World Watch," which will highlight news from around the world you may find intriguing or valuable, but possibly under-reported, especially here in the west.

Today after church, as I was driving home, I was listening to AfroPop Worldwide, a radio program on NPR that focuses on the music of Africa, much of which is quite beautiful.

In between songs from Madagascar and Zimbabwe, host Georges Collinet delivered some sad news from Zimbabwe.

As I had already known, the nation is ruled by strongman Robert Mugabe, who has overseen the descent of the Zimbabwe economy from among Africa's strongest into a decrepit morass. Inciting racial strife, he has taken--by force--white-owneed farms, and collectivized them, and agricultural output has been collapsed. Massive starvation has ensued. Unemployment is at 85%. Inflation is the highest in the world, reaching 11000% per annum this summer. Opposition political leaders have arisen, culminating in the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), which was defeated by Mugabe in 2002 in elections tainted by violence and oppression.

Collinet reported that Mugabe has now bulldozed the houses of MDC leaders in Zimbabwe's capital, Harare. Some now estimate that the number of homeless is two million, out of a population of thirteen million. Many have fled into the countryside to relatives, and this is during the coldest winter in recent memory.

Pray for the people of Zimbabwe.

Photo caption: A demonstration at the Zimbabwe Embassy in Great Britain on August 12, 2006. (photo by TwoWings, license CC-BY-SA)

Welcome to Finches and Sparrows

2007-07-01T16:07:00.000-04:00

Hi everyone.

My name is Tyler, I am a Christian, and this is my blog, Finches and Sparrows.

I don't exactly know how it's going to end up, or where this is going to take me, but I plan to write about culture, news, and religion, and possibly college athletics, if the mood strikes. I also might put photos I take up here if applicable, which I do sometimes as a hobby. I will try not to ramble on about frivolous things; just call me if you want to hear about what I ate for breakfast.

Right about now, you are probably wondering, "Wait a minute, wait a minute...news? religion? finches? Tyler, unless you have a hidden interest in bird-watching, I think you misnamed your blog...."

The name's a bit cryptic, but it does make sense.

I am referring to the finches of the Galapagos Islands, off the Pacific coast of Ecuador. These islands were the site of some of the discoveries that led to Darwin's development of his theory of natural selection and evolution. He was travelling the world in 1835 on the HMS Beagle as the companion of its commander, Captain FitzRoy.

On the high seas, the decisions made by a captain could mean life or death for the sailors aboard, and because of this responsibility--and the conflicts of interest that could arise--captains could never establish meaningful friendships with the crew. Sea-faring captains were prone to isolation, depression, and suicide, and often another person would be selected to serve not on the crew, but as a friend for the captain during long voyages. On the Beagle, this was Charles Darwin.

While the Beagle was moored at the Galapagos, Darwin disembarked and studied the local plant and animal life. He noticed that many animals, especially the finches, differed from island to island, and these differences conferred advantages upon the particular finch. For instance, an island with many large, hard nuts also had finches with large strong beaks to crack the nuts, but an island with smaller seeds had finches that were smaller and could grasp seeds more easily. Other islands were home to finches with long slender beaks that could poke through holes to grab at members of the large local insect population.

A few decades later, in 1859, Darwin released his findings (along with many others) in the seminal On the Origin of the Species. His work began the scientific inquiries that ultimately coalesced into the modern theory of evolution. This framework can be summarized into several statements.

Differences between living creatures are the result of differences in their genes, their set of instructions on how to do what they do. When its genes are copied to make offspring, they may not be copied perfectly; mutations can delete, duplicate, flip, move, or otherwise change the genetic information.
All life is a struggle to survive, and some genetic information lets its organism to cope better with the situations it faces.
Offspring with the mutated genes may (but not always) do better than the cousins with the normal gene. The mutants will compete better for food, compete better for mates, and have more babies.
Over time, the mutants may dominate the normal creatures, and the species may change.

This is a cursory summary of evolution, but it will do. So, why care about Darwin's finches? Not because this blog will focus on evolution, or because I think it is the fundamental root of society's problems, but because I am using the finches as an emblem for the sickness of our society.

What kind of a world--what kind of a humanity--do we know? Like the finches, whose character, whose identity, were formed by the meaningless process of genetic mistakes, many of our brothers and sisters bear similar scars in their souls. They are hurt, and their ideas and their actions are shaped by a viewpoint of pointlessness, or the sins--the mistakes--of those close to them.

Like the finches, whose lives were marked with struggle--the evasion of lurking predators, the ceaseless fighting for food, the pursuit of a mate, all in a few short years before they die, many of our friends and family struggle. Many try to elude their predators--those who threaten them, or those who hurt them long ago. Many scratch and claw their way for food, the trappings of a materialist lifestyle, but still are hungry. Many long for the sweet taste of true love, but have only found the bitterness of love corrupted. And many spend their final years with more questions than answers, more doubts than confidence, and more fears than hopes, stumbling about like a traveler by night, watching the moon wane like their days here, wondering what they will do when all is dark.

Our job as believers, and my hope for this blog, is that we could present a different story, and tell of a different songbird. Remember the Gospel of Luke?

"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God...don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." Luke 12:6-7 NASB

Can we realize that "the lost" is not just a term of convenience, but one of a brutal reality? Can we look upon them, like Christ, and "have compassion"? Can we share with them the faith, the hope, and the love of knowing God?

Can we sing the sparrows' song in the finches' forest?