Events and Reviews

I haven't blogged much lately for a couple of reasons. I believe there's a difference in blogging and journaling. Blogging generally deals with the sharing of ideas; journaling with more internal, introspective, and sometimes private, issues. Most of my thoughts recently are in the second category, suitable for a dog-eared notebook. Also, I am aware that the greatest percentage of my social contacts are electronic, which is troublesome to me. I would give up Facebook, except I find that the "message" function is more efficient and enables me to contact more people privately than regular e-mail. Interesting that Facebook precludes Facetime. "Brave new world, to have such creatures in it." Anyway, here's what's been happening with me recently.

Events: Christ Covenant Church in Sevierville, to which I was connected for eight years, voted this spring to disband. Their last service was on Good Friday. I found this very sad. I had hoped for resurrection in their midst. Goodness knows a lot of people have loved that church and its school and poured themselves into it over the years. I have also had an opposite reaction, something akin to freedom, because it means that the reasons that I came to Sevier County in the first place are no longer there. It makes it easier to be defined by the future instead of by the past.

Another event is the change taking place at Trinity Chapel in Knoxville, where we've been members for the last eight years. Changes in leadership are moving us in a direction that will emphasize house churches, leadership training, and a need for exegetical, expository preaching and teaching. If you know my past, you know that I am salivating over this. I'm trying to heed John Kellogg's word to "be expectant, but don't have expectations," but I do believe there will be a renewal of ministry for me at Trinity. Regardless, we are embedded there.

Reading: Last month I finished Copan's Is God a Moral Monster?, an apologetic for the Old Testament against the "new atheists." I thought the description of the new atheists was more helpful than his defense of the faith. Two things: the new atheists are attempting to prove that non-believers can be just as happy and fulfilled in a world without God as Christians claim to be in a world with him. They proclaim a scientific evolution from which respect, compassion, and a love for beauty emerge. This strikes me as a bit odd, since the heart of evolutionary theory is survival of the fittest--"Nature, red in tooth and claw." Or as Doug Floyd pointed out somewhere, atheists who dwell in a non-metaphysical world are arguing their point from metaphysics.

My own observation about the new atheists is that they are old atheists with a shriller voice. They are angry. Religion is the bane of civilization. Jihad, the crusades, modern evangelism, and (I suppose) Zionism, are all of the same cloth. Fundamentalism in any form is the enemy ("A man who is willing to die for something is also willing to kill for it."). I hear this shrillness filtering down to plain everyday secular folks. It makes calm discussion difficult, and is a little scary.

Copan's defense of the Old Testament God had some good points, but left me feeling like the depths were never explored. He reminded his readers that the Old Covenant was temporary to the point that it was eviscerated. There are some good exegetical studies--but Copan will probably never live down his exegesis of Deuteronomy 25:11-12. It isn't for public consumption. I'll "message" you about it on Facebook if you request it.

I prefer the "Christ is on every page of the Old Testament" approach to reading the Old Covenant. Verne Poythress did some seminal work along these lines in The Shadow of Christ in the Law of Moses (1991), as well as Jim Jordan in Through New Eyes (1988). You can tell by the dates that I am behind the times. There may be more and better expositions of that approach now. I realize it opens a new can of worms (did Jesus wipe out the Canaanites?), but it's the most consistent approach for a Christian. I didn't feel that Copan explored that angle sufficiently.

I also found a copy of Hannah Whitall Smith's The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life in a drawer that has a bookmark in it from Anne's college days. I am wearing a mask as I read it because the dust sets off my allergies. I categorize her with a number of "inner life" authors like Torrey, Murray, Tozier, and, later, Martin Lloyd Jones. I think of them as "pre-charismatic" evangelicals. It interests me that some of them referred to the "Baptism in the Holy Spirit" (see Lloyd-Jones' Joy Unspeakable) without emphasizing charismatic gifts. It's ironic to me that modern evangelicals shy away from this terminology because it might identify them with the Pentecostal/charismatic renewals. There's evidence in the early evangelicals that the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit" is part of their heritage.

The message in Secret is that Christ has done everything for our salvation, and we walk by faith. Utterly simple, and most readily forgotten. I have to be told what amounts to the gospel every day. I would prefer to live in carnality and complacency, or, if I'm sufficiently stirred, slide over into legalism and self -salvation. Only the gospel frees--but we have to preach it to ourselves everyday because the kudzu of performance based acceptance never stops creeping into the dark corners of our lives. This is a great book and needs to be reread every few years.

One last comment: We’re headed for a week at Hilton Head. We have a place at Shipyard. Beth will be with us, and David and Channon will be on the island the first few days. We’ll also spend some time with Anne’s Mom. Beach, book, and Copa de Oro in my morning coffee.

Facebook, Castle Anthrax, and Brother Bob

I couldn't slow down on this one. It's a bit long. Split up your read if you need to.
My Facebook family has grown over the years. There are three distinct entry groupings: 1) Family. These are fairly innocuous and newsy entries that I sometimes respond to and immediately pass on to my wife to avoid "why didn't you tell me____" when the topic surfaces at the next reunion. 2) My local church family. These are usually various forms of praise to God for a meeting, a speaker, a community event, a concert, or a prayer request. These are written in a code that an evangelical would not understand. Fortunately, over the years I have developed the ability to speak Charismatic. (For instance, possession is not something you own; it is a state of being, and an undesirable one; and deliverance is not a movie.) 3) Everybody else. In this category are old friends, distant friends, and some distant friends of old distant friends. Many, if not most of these are Christians, and of their number many are into something.

By into something I mean that they are committed to some branch of the church, a commitment which makes me suspicious that it some Facebooky way, I am being evangelized. They may think this is effective, but the truth is that I am being evangelized from so many perspectives that they cancel each other out. I lapse into ecclesiastical overload. For every proponent of Orthodoxy there are at least two Calvinists, a handful of Reconstructionists (mostly exposing other Reconstructionists), three or four hard shell Baptists, a couple of pissed off liberals (imagine being emancipated into the socialist utopia by a bunch of grumps), some Anglicans, at least one dispensationalist who is far too exuberant over the death of thousands of Japanese because it means the Soon Return, and somewhere in there is a rather quiet Mormon. Funny--no Catholics, except the one who challenged my definition of "imputation" in an old blog. He wasn't even on my Friends list.

I remember a trip to Port-au-Prince back in the 1980's. I wandered into an indoor market, where I was greeted by a mob of budding capitalists who shoved me, grabbed me, and pushed everything from beads to something resembling a mango into my face. I shouted the only phrase I had learned from discerning missionaries, "Pap Ashte" (roughly: "I ain't buying today"), and fled for the door. For some reason my Facebook experience has triggered this memory. I feel pushed and pulled by a variety of fine folks to whom I respond with Christian charity, Pap ashte. It also has brought to mind Galahad's perils in Castle Anthrax, which in the interest of Christian delicateness I will not describe, but you can probably find it on Youtube. Suffice it to say that Galahad heard many siren voices urging him to stay in the Castle. Also suffice it to say that it was his love for the Grail that brought him into a place of such distraction to begin with. But I digress.

I believe some strange things. I believe all men are connected, not in their humanity, especially fallen humanity, but by the image in which they were created. I believe the Logos enlightens all men to some degree or other, which boils down to saying that there is truth everywhere, broken and incomplete, and sometimes almost destroyed, but there. That means that I expect light and darkness in every man I meet, or read, or "friend" on Facebook. I embrace the truth and am suspicious of the darkness. This is especially true of the way I look at the church. Bluntly: every group has a piece, but none has the whole. That is why we so desperately need each other. That means that the body of Christ is wider and deeper than my experience of it. And I want the best of what each part offers. Of course, because portions of the church are closed to all but full-on communicants, some of us are reduced to a kind of theological pilfering--peeking over the walls and grabbing what we can.

In utter perversity, I lay awake sometimes and work on a novel which I will never write, but the plot fascinates me. The protagonist is a young seminary graduate attending a conservative Presbyterian church. The pastor constantly preaches against the evils of subjectivism and enthusiasm. Being a rebel, our hero sneaks off to a store front charismatic fellowship on Sunday evening. He has an encounter with the Holy Spirit, and becomes a tongue-speaking prophet in that congregation. That pastor in turn preaches against the 3 "r's," religion, repetition, and ritual, all of which are prefaced with "vain." So off he goes to a small Anglican church across town that has a Wednesday night Eucharist. After a few months of practice and study, he develops an understanding and appreciation for the liturgy. He is baptized, receives the laying on of hands, and is confirmed in all three in sequence. Our protagonist asks deeply enigmatic questions, such as: "Will I really be a better tennis player if I join the US Tennis Association?" "If I do join, will they cancel my membership if I secretly play basketball?"

The rest of the book is his attempt to keep Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday evening from touching each other, and the tension builds: narrow escapes, etc. Of course, he is eventually discovered, and is excommunicated from the first two with great indignation. The Anglican priest, being a bit of an Emergent, laughs his head off and then suggests that he drop out of sight to avoid the wrath of the Parish Council. After making promises to behave, he moves to another town. The book closes with him flipping through the phone book looking for the names of churches.

Blasphemous? Rebellious? It does raise certain issues about authority and accountability. But what fun! And why not? The protagonist's constant questions are, "If I am this, why can't I be that?" "If I do this, why can't I do that?" Those are dangerous questions that can tear down walls.

But once again, I digress. Let me return to the original subject. Somewhere back there I was talking about Facebook and evangelism and anthrax. Some final points:

One: Things will never be the same. The age of computer connectedness is upon us, and it is impossible not to be confronted with other ideas, especially where the church is concerned. Gone are the days of hiding in one's own sanctuary and viewing with suspicion those who dwell afar. Ideas are pinging around cyberspace at rates incomprehensible to one who still wants to hide with a book in a quiet place. This is not at all bad. I read somewhere recently (probably Facebook) that Al Queda is ticked off because it is being marginalized in the most recent revolutions in the Middle East. They (so far) have had little to do with the rise of democratic ideas that are passed from laptop to laptop. Borders are increasingly irrelevant. One would think that something similar will happen in the body of Christ.

Two: I can't help it. I love Phyllis Tickle's quadrant. Think of four squares created by a cross in the middle. One square are liturgicals, one consists of social action Christians, another is made up of conservatives (evangelicals), and the fourth are the renewalists (charismatics). At the center, where four corners meet, there is a swirl of conversation and experience that is causing the lines to blur and become indistinct. There's something growing in that mess. She points out in this illustration that a certain number of folks will recoil in horror from this chaos, and retreat, like Dean Smith's Tarheels, into their four corners. It's safe and predictable there. In a gracious openness, she acknowledges the contribution of the corner folks to the security of the others. This is no new concept, and I've blogged about it before. What concerns me today is how pronounced and strong the pursuit of the corners is becoming. The Quest for the True Church has never been healthier. There are just so damned many of them! So one is forced to pick, or to in a supernatural effort confess that he already belongs to all.

Three: I do not want to end with the impression that church membership is some spooky connection to something out there that has no feet, or hands, or heart. Of course the church has a local manifestation--and is most important manifestation of church for the individual believer. And that local expression is deeply cultural. It simply cannot be helped. As long as I live, I will think like a Western man; and more specifically, an American; and most specifically, a southerner. It is not a question of choice, but of birth and conditioning. I have this somewhat exotic notion that the Incarnation includes the capacity of God the Holy Spirit to reach into cultures and speak the language of that culture to its people. I realize that's laying a lot of responsibility on God. But if I must learn think like a 16th Century Englishman, or a Russian, or an Italian in order to find the Light of Christ, I am doomed.

At this point I think of Brother Bob--the (composite) Pastor of Booger Holler Independent Church in Sevier County, TN. Brother Bob is a big man who's worked with his hands all his life and has a raspy voice from shouting hell-fire from the pulpit on the weekends. He comes into our office pushing a snotty-nosed brat who is on probation at our office. He sits the brat in a chair, tells him to shut up, and to obey his probation officer--or every demon in hell will pitchfork his skinny butt for eternity. Now, folks, like it or not, this works. The brat begins to assume some responsibility and clean himself up. And it's not because of demons or pitchforks or the threat of force. It's because for the first time in his life a real man loves him and proves it with his action and his time. And there, in all its power for change, is the gospel. Why, I don't even like the man. He offends my old Anglican sensibilities. But he is what Sevier Countians needs. In their language. In their culture. And it will be different in every county, every region, every nation of the world. But the same Lord, and the same church.

God, Politics, and Humor

"Vladamir (Putin) had invited (President) Medvedev to visit with us in Sochi, Russia's equivalent of Camp David. The mood was festive. Putin hosted a nice dinner, followed by folk dancing. At one point, members of my delegation, including me, were plucked from our seats to take the stage. The dance felt like a combination of square dancing and the jitterbug. I'm sure I would have been more fluid if I'd had a little vodka in my system. Curiously enough, I rarely saw vodka on my trips to Russia, unlike in the old days of communism."

-George W. Bush, Decision Points


I had originally wanted to report these comments about vodka on Facebook, because it struck me as funny. There was irony in the use of vodka by the Spartan leaders of the old regime, and the lack of it by those we perceive as moving towards democracy and freedom. Humor: nothing more. But knowing my Facebook family, I was afraid that in some cases the humor would be lost, and the name "Bush" and the fact that I am reading his memoirs, would bring some hits from the right and left that would go beyond my desire to merely entertain. So I decided to be preemptive and contemplate politics and humor in a blog.

Let me say in defense of fair balance that I read Obama's The Audacity of Hope just prior to the 2008 elections. (Both books, by the way, were gifts from my daughter.) I found Audacity to be powerful, warm, compassionate, and above all, proactive. It was stirring. But I can't remember laughing one time during my read.

On the other hand, I laughed all the way through Decision Points, and kept interrupting Anne and the Australian Open to read anecdotes and funny personal experiences. It made me think about the nature of humor and politics. So I make the following sweeping generalization: though the right wing in American politics is plenty capable of anger, it still seems to have the capacity to laugh, and even laugh at itself. The left, on the other hand, looks like its caricature of the right--deadly serious about everything, puritanical, smileless, capable of humor only as mockery and sarcasm, and (to paraphrase Don Knotts) grimly spreading liberation around the world like a plague.

Why is this? I think it has something to do with God. Conservatives are, well, conservative. In a culture that has been moving to the left for a couple of generations, they are the foot-draggers and the looking-backers. A conservative today is about where a liberal of 20 or 30 years ago was. And because they are holding on to the past, perhaps as far back as Eisenhower, conservatives still have a memory of the Judeo-Christian tradition. (It also means in another 20 to 30 years we’ll all be a super-serious smileless lot, sourly defeating oppression and championing freedom of choice without a grin.) And while there are Christians on the left (Obama counts himself as one), I believe liberals in general are more comfortable with the Humanist Manifesto than the Bible, and breathe a sigh of relief that we are finally rid of God.

I’ve made a lot of assumptions here, and probably dug myself a deep hole, but my point is not really about politics. It is about the relationship of God and humor. I’ve always been fascinated with why things strike us funny, and I’m no further along than when I first began. That makes me think that humor cannot be understood within the realm of human endeavor alone. There is something transcendent about it--some standard of measurement outside ourselves that makes us think of ourselves as odd or out of step, or connected to some entity that sees us differently. CS Lewis said somewhere that the two greatest proofs of the existence of God are that men don’t like to walk by cemeteries at night, and they like to tell dirty jokes. There’s something about our bodies and the juxtaposition of spirit and flesh in one being that is funny to us. Something is wonderfully delightful about being us, something of heaven and earth are entwined within us, and something is also horribly wrong and unadjusted.

Consider the emotional fruits of confession. Con-fessio: to “say with.” In Greek, homo-logeo: to “say the same thing.” Simply put, confession is telling God what He already knows about us. While confession may bring tears and remorse, it’s final manifestation is laughter--a response to finally getting in step with the rest of the universe. Conversion, repentance, confession, redemption, reconciliation, are all words of laughter. Who cannot be moved with the Psalmist’s observation that “weeping may endure for a season, but joy comes in the morning.”

That leads to an even higher transcendence in laughter. God Himself is joyous. In His barely known essence as Three in One there is constant laughter as the Three enjoy one another. God laughs when He beholds His creation. And in some cosmic sense He laughs at us--not the laughter of mockery, but the laughter that comes from seeing His own beauty and joy reflected back to Him in small, fragile creatures that are capable of reason and feeling. It is Satan who is grim with self-determined purpose and discontent.

So here is a test. If you find the following dull and slightly offensive, or don’t get it, welcome to the left. If it makes you laugh, you are still a foot-dragging remnant of the right:

“Putin and I both loved physical fitness. Vladimir worked out hard, swam regularly, and practiced judo. We were both competitive people. On his visit to Camp David, I introduced Putin to our Scottish terrier, Barney. He wasn’t very impressed. On my next trip to Russia, Vladimir asked if I wanted to meet his dog, Koni. Sure, I said. As we walked the birch-lined grounds of his dacha, a big black Labrador came charging across the lawn. With a twinkle in his eye, Vladimir said, ‘Bigger, stronger, and faster than Barney.’ I later told the story to my friend, Prime Minister Stephen Harper of Canada. ‘You’re lucky he only showed you his dog,’ he replied.”

Incensed

My son's new wife has industrial asthma. That means her lungs are extremely sensitive to any particles in the air, from pollution to perfumes. She had a reaction to Anne's hand lotion when we were together over Christmas. We are having to learn to be aware and plan ahead when we see her. There is no question in our minds that love trumps lotion.

Recently the Reformed Episcopal church where David has been a member for years began to use incense in their morning service--which is a total disaster for Channon. After David objected, the vestry met and informed him that the practice would not be changed. This is basically excommunication for a physical inability from the worship of God as the vestry understands it. My son and daughter-in-law will be searching for another church within the same tradition. I love the Anglican tradition, and I love my family, and I’m conflicted. So, here goes.

First: the proper form of the worship of God is the raison d'etre of Anglicanism. The title of Peter Toon's Which Rite Is Right? pretty much sums up the Anglican passion. The nature of true worship trumps (though certainly does not ignore) evangelism, pastoral care, and discipleship. It is difficult to question this passion without appearing to be unconcerned about what pleases God, and frivolous about the depths and majesty of the liturgy. My only response to this is that Jesus gave a two sided answer to the question of what was the greatest commandment--Love God, and Love your Neighbor. It strikes me that worship involves both of these. The Apostle John told us that we cannot love God if do not love our neighbor. When a passion for correct worship negates passion for the development of the human spirit, the balance has been lost.

Second: there is no question that modern American churches (just because they are American) have to contend with "the tyranny of the weaker brother." Members of American churches constantly threaten to leave (with their tithe) over issues like the lighting in the sanctuary and the color of the new bathrooms. It is a power game. Church leaders have to eventually draw some lines, or they will be overwhelmed by democratization, the result of which is always mediocrity. But that is simply not the case here. We are not talking about preference or rebellion against authority, but plain, pure, physical necessity.

Third: there are a host of new Anglican denominations springing up in reaction to the swing to the far left in the older groups, especially ECUSA. These groups have two things in common: they are conservative, and they are, well, new. They are churches longing for continuity with the past who have no past, so they must create it instantaneously. Like Athena, they have to spring from the head of Zeus full-grown, with a history, all in one generation. Members of the REC may object to this characterization, since they are over 150 years old. But the recent attempt to break with their “Presbyterians with a prayer book” reputation, and their attempt to become more Anglican in order to reach disenchanted ECUSA’s, means that they are as “new” as more recent denominations.

Such churches do not have the luxury of real, in-time parish, diocesan, or denominational tradition like the Roman or Orthodox church down the street. They are having to create 500 years of Anglican tradition with a 21st Century generation, and create it quickly. I know whereof I speak. I was an Anglican for ten years. First was the alcohol issue. 16th Century Englishmen had never heard of Carrie Nation, but 21st Century evangelicals have, like it or not. Both parishes that I served gave in to the wine in the chalice/ grape juice in the tray compromise. The incense question was never even raised in my first parish. It was a matter of space. It would have been like firing up a thurible in a bathroom. Choke. Gasp. In the second parish, the rector tried it a couple of times. Those who did the most coughing and spluttering were long-time vestry members. Conviction gave way to expediency. We wanted a congregation (and its leaders) still present when the smoke cleared.

I must admit that I was disappointed. Here was an opportunity to finally do things right. I didn’t leave my past commitments and go through ordination to waffle around with compromise. But there were two major problems. One was the weight of history since the Reformation. We have seen two Great Awakenings, the holiness movement, the pietistic movements, the Pentecostal and charismatic renewals, and now, Emergence is upon us. I am not arguing for the validity of any of these. I am simply saying that history did not stop with Cranmer. Arresting the apex of all true worship in the 16th Century locks the Holy Spirit in that time frame.

The second problem is irritating and profound. The greatest obstacle to creating perfect worship is depraved, recalcitrant, God-loved, forgiven humanity, whose stomachs growl, whose posteriors grow numb, whose knees pop at the altar, whose lungs rebel against smoke, who want lunch and a quiet afternoon at home alone on Sunday with the little woman. Anyone who strives for the perfection of the ancient liturgy is going to have to reckon with this heaving mass of reluctance. Yet it was not the smell of incense, but this mass of sneezing, coughing, gurgling mutineers against all that is sacred that urged the heart of God to Incarnation and Passion. May I dare to say that they are the “real deal” in Christianity. If not, we could just leave the incense burning in the nave and go home, content that God would be honored without all this humanness.

Fourth: What the heck does God think? Well, it is certainly true in the Old Covenant that otherwise true believers were barred from the central worship places because of physical handicaps. God's concern at the time was to emphasize his utter separateness and holiness. Rules for worship trumped personal weaknesses. But now enters the New Covenant. The church moves through Christ from an exclusive stance to an inclusive one. "Do not touch the mountain" becomes "Come unto me, all you who are weary and heavy laden...." Is it possible that the sacrifice of the perfect form for the least saint is an odor more precious in the nostrils of God than all the properly prepared incense in Christendom?

For Us

If God is for us, who can be against us?

Perception, especially in the Christian faith, is everything. One such perception dawned on me when I read these words in Romans 8 this week. I tend to see God as a stationary Person whom I must approach to find forgiveness, encouragement, or solace. After all, Jesus spoke of himself as the "way," which implies that I must go on a some form of mini-journey to find him.

But for a moment, this verse in Romans pulled back a veil, and I saw things in reverse. I realized that I am not a Christian because I am for God, but because he is for me. We "love him because he first loved us." Or to use spatial language, we believe in him because he first moved towards us.

He moved towards us in the Incarnation. That was wholly his initiative. While the Jews may have prayed for deliverance and for a manifestation of the rightness of their revelation, the actual fact of the Incarnation was startling to the point of offense. And it certainly made no impact on philosophical pagans, for whom salvation was the escape of the spirit from the confines of human flesh.

He moved towards us in the earthly life of Jesus. The Jews defined ritual cleanliness as the opposite of uncleanness--hence the stringent laws about the place (or dis-placement) of lepers in the society. Yet Jesus walked into groups of lepers and touched them. The healing power within him was stronger than the effect of the disease upon him. Reversing the Old Testament principle of defilement, the light of Christ overcame the darkness. And he approached them.

He moved towards us in his cross and resurrection. I don't want to belabor the doctrine of the atonement here; but I want to point out that in these events God the Father made it possible for himself to dwell with and in beings who still struggle with uncleanness and are intellectually finite. A way has been opened for us to fellowship with him as we are, while being changed by it.

The gospel is certainly not something we earn. By definition it is the evangelium, the "good news." And it is good news because it is the initiative of God, his willingness to run to us when we are running from him. Without his initiative, their is no hope of salvation.

We've all seen romantic moments in a movie, or in a commercial, in which a husband gives his wife a gift beyond his means, but which demonstrates his love. Her response: "O George, what have you done?" The question sounds like an accusation. But it is the opposite-- a question based on the joy of experiencing something too good to be true. Incarnation, life, death, resurrection--I found myself asking in my last reading of Romans 8, "O God, what have you done?"

Year's End

I got up this morning to a sheet of ice over the roads. No way I'm getting to work. So it seemed like a good time to begin on the "obligatory" end of the year review. First, external events.

Four events stick in my mind. In the summer we rented a condo at Hilton Head, which we shared with David and Beth. Had good times on the beach and struggled with a catamaran. The best times were sitting around the table on the deck in the mornings and watching the squirrels and the turtles and sharing with each other. Over the weekend of July 4th Anne and I borrowed her brother's lake house in NC and invited the Kelloggs to stay with us. They mentored us in our younger days. John is in his eighties now, and flies to Africa 3 or 4 times a year. God has opened a wide ministry for him there. His counsel to us has stuck with me: "Be expectant, but lay down your expectations." It takes a lifetime to come to that conclusion.

In October we went to Salt Lake City for a Max conference. Were very busy, and did not see as much of the area as I would have liked. But what we did see was impressive: very clean city with beautiful surroundings and friendly people. We did spend a few hours poking around Temple Square. It gave me a bad case of the heebee-jeebees, seeing the glint in the eyes of true believers and statues of Joseph Smith, et.al. Not to deny the influence of Mormonism on American culture--we stayed in the downtown flagship Marriott. Nice.

The big event of the year was just a couple of weeks ago--David and Channon's wedding. David in our minds is one of the most loving and caring people on earth, and we've prayed for a long time for love in his life and an end to loneliness. This sure seems to be the real deal. We love Channon and look forward to getting to know her better.

As for internal events: I suppose I should divide these into negatives and positives. On the negative side, I have had an ongoing battle with depression this year. It is exacerbated by the fact that depression can be as homey and friendly as an old blanket--all warm and cozy and debilitating as hell. Breaking away from it is like slogging through a swamp to dry land.

I have a plaque in our bathroom that reads, "We crucify ourselves between two thieves: regret for the past, and fear of the future." That pretty well sums in up. I have spent hours analyzing my past, trying to make some sense of events, especially during the last few years. It's a hopeless task. The past can be viewed through so many perceptions that in the end only God knows what it means. I suppose he is much more concerned with the finished product than the chain of events. "Forgetting those things that are behind...."

As for the future--Anne and I did not plan well for retirement (if that is even a value anymore), and the crash of 2008 hurt what we did have. Like most Americans, Social Security will sustain us only at a subsistence level. I see a cliff looming ahead as we get older. I counter this fear by reminding myself that God has never ceased to provide for us any time in the past or present.

As for the present: I enjoy getting up and going to work every day. The best part of my job is my relationship to my fellow workers. We are all supportive and know each other well enough to give counsel. I would miss that if I left. On the other hand, I am more aware than ever that "all men are liars." I am constantly disappointed with our clients--misdemeanor probationers. It's easy to believe that the entire county is hyped up on uppers or downers, is consciously deceitful, and obsessed with an entitlement mentality. Responsibility is a foreign idea. Oxycontin is like candy in the high school. Bottom line: the culture is sick and the judicial system is broken. Deeper bottom line: Jesus really is the hope of the world. Everything else is some kind of delusional band-aid. Feel like I'm
wasting my time and trying to put a good face on it with half-measures.

Well, there's that. On the positive side, Anne and I have enjoyed our experience with Max International this year. Max is a network marketing company that manufactures a supplement that increases the strongest anti-oxidant in the body by 200-300%. Increases energy and retards aging. We've had a good personal experience with it. After the bad experience many of us had with the big "A" in the 1970's, this company has been refreshing. We're impressed with the corporate leadership and with our local team. It is gradually generating some extra income for the coming years.

Of course network marketing can be a bit weird. Large numbers of associates are Christians--and network marketing by its nature can take on the earmarks of the church. There are apostolic fathers, mentors, discipleship, enthusiastic meetings, and evangelistic techniques, plus a payoff in material blessings. There is a thin line between a business that applies biblical principles and a cult. A thin line that I intend to keep an eye on.

And on the positive side, there is Jesus. Light of the world who meets me every morning. He is solid and "there." Buber's Thou. Increasingly the world system around me is becoming meaningless, and he is becoming the source of all meaning. There just isn't any meaning or purpose anywhere else. There is great joy in him, and I know it would increase if I ceased to grieve for the passing away of the world. Thanks to contributors to that joy this year: the elders of our church, Solzhenitsyn, Oswald Chambers, Fr. Steve Freeman (great blog), Alexander Schmemann (For the Life of the World), John Kellogg, Anne's love, David's caring, Beth's wisdom, all Facebook friends, and my co-workers. What a hodge-podge of God's mystery and delight!

Merry Christmas, everybody.

The Gates

Just finished reading John Connolly’s The Gates, a book for older children (and adults). In it the powers of hell try to invade earth by a combination of clumsy witchcraft and the Hadron Particle Collider—science and demons intertwined in ways that are reminiscent of warnings from CS Lewis.

Connolly is a word master and just plain funny. Here is a sample:

Nurd, the Scourge of Five Deities, sat on his gilded throne, his servant Wormwood at his feet, his kingdom spread before him, and yawned.

“Bored, Your Scourgeness?” inquired Wormwood.

“Actually,” said Nurd, “I am extremely excited. I cannot remember the last time I felt so enthused about anything.”

“Really?” asked Wormwood hopefully, and received a painful tap on the head from Nurd’s Scepter of Terrible and Awesome Might for his trouble.

“No, you idiot,” said Nurd, “Of course I’m bored. What else is there to be?”

Connolly blows off God in the first couple of chapters, caricaturing him as an old man with a beard who created the world in seven days, and in whom no self respecting person with a knowledge of science can believe. Then he goes on to give a description of hell as another dimension attempting to break into ours. Why heaven cannot be making a similar attempt he does not say.

Connolly’s Satan (The Great Malevolence) hates mankind with a perfect hatred—because men are happy and productive and love flowers. Man as man is the object of his scorn. The biblical notion that Satan hates man because of the Image he reflects is not on Connolly’s radar. Here is a repeated theme of the modern novel—Satan without God, hell without heaven, and evil resisted and overcome by man without any help from You-Know-Who.

Heaven still manages to sneak into the book through the back door, however. In the end, a child’s courage saves the world, along with a demon who joins the forces of light and sacrifices himself to save the others. Child-like faith. Conversion to the other side. Self-sacrifice. Hmmm. Truth pervades all art worth the name, maybe even against its will.

Still a fun read!