London is a very old city, and for some time it has been one of the most populous in the world. The housing is antiquated and very dense. Rows of houses will sometimes have strange gaps in them that look like the smile of Irish hurling teams– that is to say, minus random teeth. The houses on either side of the gap are kept from collapse by ingenious arrangements of braces and scaffolding. Then in the gap will grow a new tooth, looking just like the old one on the outside, but sleek and ultra-modern on the inside.
My husband remarked that it seems very silly to choose a home based on the outward appearance (the way Americans often do), since what affects most the quality of domestic life is on the inside. We have observed the same phenomenon in the world of books. We came across an elderly evangelical bookseller who deals in used and antiquarian books. Some of his 60,000 volumes have been used more than others– all the way back to the 18th and 19th centuries.
Some of the greatest treasures in his store house are missing a cover or even two! Some have been marked and inscribed. Some have obviously had several owners. The saddest ones to me are the ones that have pages that have never been cut apart. That means that no one in the history of the book has ever read it through. Evidently it has been owned by the “wrong kind of reader,” as C. S. Lewis astutely analyzed in An Experiment in Criticism.
The most humorous array of books we encountered was at the Minstrel’s Library in the Mitre Hotel at Hampton Court village. We spent an extremely happy afternoon sitting on leather sofas, sipping coffee, and reading books we had brought with us while our students enjoyed a tour of the palace. The books on the shelves in the “library” were ornately arranged by color. Charlotte Bronte might be sitting on the shelf next to P. D. James, Tom Clancy, or a book on engineering or pharmacopoeia as long as the spine color matched. Book furniture! Just like in Alexander McCall Smith’s Portuguese Irregular Verbs!
I was somewhat less annoyed than Smith’s Moritz Maria Von Igelfeld (upon learning that his unsold books were to be sold by his publisher to an interior decorating firm because of their excellent bindings), since the books were not my own. And the arrangement by color made more sense than the one contrived by an American interior decorator who turned all of the spines toward the back so that only the neutral shades of the papers were visible.
Dr. Alan Storkey exhorted our students, “Choose your guides wisely.” As we gain education, writers guide us as much as our pastors and teachers, and we must evaluate every idea as the Bereans did, against the objective standard of God’s revealed truth. But with that qualification, I hope that I will be a collector of worthy ideas and not just a collector of books. I would rather have a soul “thoroughly furnished for every good work,” than a wall furnished with attractive bindings.
While we have been in London, the “plain jane” lady from Scotland named Susan Boyle set a record for pre-sales of her CD album of vocal solos. Susan Boyle– nicknamed Subo by the pop press– is admittedly nothing to look at. But then again, how many of us are something to look at? She does, however, have a pleasant voice and can more than do artistic justice to the types of songs she sings.
I don’t understand why people are so concerned about her very average physiognomy. I thought that one bought CD’s to listen to– not to hang up the cover photos as works of art. Isn’t the vocal ability and talent more important than the physical case that holds it?
On the next pages of the newspaper with the article about Ms. Boyle were pictures of various UK and US glitterati that would (or at least should) curl any aesthete’s hair. Are these truly the “beautiful people” among us? They are all show and no substance. Sadly, in many cases, their “inside content” is often so foul as to even make Dorian Grey blush with shame. I hope that Susan Boyle will be able to enjoy her time in the sun without getting burnt.
It is a scriptural truth– man does look on the outward appearance, while God does look on the heart. God, grant that I will read books and not just see covers. God, grant that I be a meaningful book and not an empty dust jacket!
I haven’t had ten minutes for writing in the past three weeks. The week before Thanksgiving was taken up in a whirlwind of rehearsals, final classes, concerts and last music lessons of our “term.” Then there was a day of laundry and packing, the Lord’s Day, and an early Thanksgiving celebration with the gathered family, and off to London for two weeks with our eager study group.
In typical American tourist fashion we have gone non-stop from morning until bedtime. But in a-typical fashion we have avoided Madame Toussaud’s Wax Museum, the London Dungeon, the London Eye, and shopping on Regent Street, while taking in as much as possible of the remnants of Reformation England. The students were only slightly bedraggled from the constant pushing and prodding to get on and off the Underground trains in a timely and humane way. They have suffered only mildly from the usual allotment of blisters, muscle cramps, and shin splints from our seven to ten miles of walking almost every day.
There are two days in every study trip when the walking dramatically decreases– two days of rest– two Lord’s Days spent blessedly with our beloved brothers and sisters at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. There and then do we have time to worship, reflect, and refresh in the fellowship of kindred minds. Their hospitality to us is always abundant, loving, and gracious.
We experienced many contrasts in our fourteen days: the crowded and the solitary, the noisy and the serene, the hustle and the grinding halt (I can’t adequately describe the “gridlock” of human bodies at Leicester Square station on a Saturday evening). But one contrast particularly stands out in my mind.
On Monday, Nov. 30, we took our group to St. Paul’s Cathedral for a traditional Anglican evensong service. (One can’t fully appreciate the Puritans without understanding what they were reacting to.) As it turned out, the church was holding its first service for Advent. Our students saw a beautiful spectacle of choirs, candles, processions, vestments, liturgy, Latin plainchant and incense in one of the most visually stunning churches in the world. The aural experience of choirs, soloists, antiphonal responses and the pipe organ in that vast cavernous space is one of overwhelming “surround sound.”
In stark contrast to that is the pure and simple worship at the “Met Tab.” There our students experienced the unadorned proclamation of God’s Word, Gospel preaching, robust singing of unison Psalms and hymns, close personal fellowship and edifying conversation with believers from all over the world.
The Anglican Church of late has been very proud of its tolerance and diversity. Ironically, the “ticket holders” for the Advent service at St. Paul’s were predominantly well-dressed Caucasians. On the other hand, many people would probably not associate the word “diverse” with “separatist Baptist.” They would, however, be mistaken in not doing so, especially as regards the Met Tab. The congregation there is pure heaven– a vast array of people from every nation, kindred, people, and tongue gathered in unity and purity to worship God. (Rev. 7:9)
On Sunday, Dec. 6, we were blessed to be able to participate in the communion service following the evening Gospel message. The thought came to several of us that, due to the time differential of seven hours, our churches back home were sharing the bread and the cup at nearly the same moment. Unity of the Body of Christ in remembrance of His sacrifice for us and in hope of His soon coming spanned continents and oceans.
Today Steve and I spent time buying and reading some of the great Puritan classics by Charnock, Sibbes, and Baxter. We also held a newborn baby in a godly Christian home who will undoubtedly be raised in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Unity of the Body also spans centuries and generations.
“Medical” marijuana has been a great deal in the news lately. In our recent election, several towns in Colorado were considering whether or not they should allow marijuana dispensaries within their city limits. And on a national level, even President Obama has issued an edict that the federal government is to turn a blind eye to marijuana infractions. Some have rightfully pointed out that our president’s action in this matter sets a very dangerous precedent of the nation’s chief executive officer declaring openly that there are certain laws of the land that he will not enforce, even though he swore to uphold them all. It used to be that our presidents promoted “Drug-free America”; sadly, we now have a president promoting “Free drug America.”
Nonetheless, interest groups on both sides have been more outspoken of late. I heard an interview with a person who runs a “medical” dispensary which not only sells marijuana in its familiar smoke-able state, but also marijuana cheerios, marijuana brownies, and marijuana hard candies. I guess that really puts the “hard” in hard!
I don’t dispute that marijuana may actually have some legitimate medical benefits. Some very unlikely things have been found to assuage certain medical problems – like nitroglycerin, digitalis, and even arsenic. Some of our most powerful pain relievers are opiates. But we have also learned that indiscriminate and unsupervised use of these things can be dangerous, and even deadly. For that reason, they are highly regulated. They can be prescribed only by qualified medical doctors and dispensed only by qualified pharmacists.
Why, then, are we having such a problem regulating “medical” marijuana?
Colorado Governor Bill Ritter recently said that the reason the state is having trouble getting their act together on regulating marijuana is because “the business has just grown too fast.” That is ridiculous! When has the state ever had trouble regulating a fast-growing industry when it meant an enhanced revenue stream for the state? And especially now, when the state has a multi-billion dollar budget shortfall!
So why the problem? Because everyone knows that “medical” marijuana laws are a ruse for getting the “fuzz” off the backs of recreational users. If it were not so, there would be no such thing as a “marijuana dispensary.” Marijuana would be produced in the same tightly regulated way that all other legitimate drugs are produced and would be prescribed by doctors and sold by pharmacies in the same way as other legitimate drugs.
One Colorado legislator has proposed something along these lines. He has proposed that all of the marijuana for medical use be grown at a facility connected with our agricultural university and sold as honest medicine. It would be taxed and regulated by the state and the proceeds would go to higher education.
Some might look on this as being like profits from gambling funding gambling recovery centers. You know– money from “pot” funding the education of “pot heads.” But in principle I agree with that legislator. Let’s call the bluff of the recreational users whose money and lobbying power have been behind the medical marijuana initiatives in numerous states. Let’s make medicine be medicine.
The main loophole in the existing Colorado law is a clause stating that “chronic pain” is one of the conditions that may be “treated” with marijuana. When the law first passed, only about 400 permits were issued. That number has swelled to over 20,000 in the last year. (Remember, until a year ago President George Bush encouraged prosecution of drug offenders!) At the present time, requests for permits come in to the appropriate state agency at a rate of about 500 per week. Many of the permit holders have gotten their medical marijuana cards from doctors who have never even examined them as patients. And, surprise! The largest increase in card holders is among 20-something males.
I would not have intuitively guessed that there was such an enormous problem of “chronic pain” in that particular population demographic. But maybe the college booze-up crowd is using marijuana to get rid of the pain of hang-overs. From time immemorial, alcohol itself was the drug of choice for treating their type of “chronic pain.”
George MacDonald described men who work “both to deaden the stings of conscience and memory, and to procure the means of deadening them still further.” (Sir Gibbie, pg. 10) MacDonald was referring to alcohol, but his words apply equally to all reality-deadening drugs. He also understood that “the thirst of the drunkard is even more of the soul than of the body.” (Sir Gibbie, pg. 11)
I believe that the same is true of many of those seeking medical marijuana permits on the basis of chronic pain. Their pain is pain more of the soul than of the body. And an old saw says, “Misery loves company.” I guess that is why there has been a swelling in the ranks of permit holders.
In describing the tavern crowd surrounding the miserable drunken character George Galbraith in Sir Gibbie, MacDonald wrote:
I believe their company was necessary as well as the drink to enable him to elude his conscience and feast with his imagination. Was it that he knew they also fought misery by investments in her bonds– that they also were of those who by Beelzebub would cast out Beelzebub– therefore felt at home, and with his own? (P. 11)
Those who are attempting to treat chronic pain of the soul with marijuana will likewise be unable to cast out Beelzebub with Beelzebub. The pain of emptiness, purposelessness, and the accompanying reduction in human motivation cannot be treated with soul-deadening drugs – legal or otherwise.
King Solomon, in his God-given wisdom, wrote about the real answer to the chronic pain of being alive:
Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and turn away from evil. It will be healing to your body, and refreshment to your bones. (Proverbs 3:7-8)
The best dispensary for that kind of medicine is called CHURCH!
Reference:
MacDonald, George. Sir Gibbie. London: Hurst and Blackett, Limited, 1891.
Everyone likes a Cinderella story. The down-trodden peasant girl is lifted to love and good fortune, and all are happy ever after. The story of Esther in the Bible follows this pattern, with enough real-life bumps and wrinkles in the middle of the story to keep us on the edges of our seats.
Even guys like it when the small market sports team somehow pulls off unexpected wins and becomes the nation’s “sweetheart” team. Sports writers call those “Cinderella” stories too.
But there is a flip side to Cinderella, which, considering the number of similarly themes books and films, must also resonate with a certain segment of the population. For example, in The Prisoner of Zenda, a commoner who is a dead ringer for the king falls in love with the crown princess. She, likewise, falls in love with him. When the commoner proposes marriage in the end, she decides that her true happiness lies in the path of honor. She was raised to marry the king, and marry the king she must. In The Student Prince, the crown prince falls in love with a commoner, but their eyes, blinded by romance, are soon opened again to their rightful lot in life. Once again, duty wins out over romantic passion and sentimental love. Some would say the ending is sad, but it is not; it is proper, and satisfying because it is proper.
There is one sense in which the Christian life is like a Cinderella story. In our sinful condition, we are all Cinderellas; in rags and tatters, with no human prospects, taken advantage of by the step-family known as the world. Then the Prince of Peace comes to us, condescends to our lowly estate, and lifts us up in a royal betrothal. Someday, we will be married in the palace and all the universe will be happy ever after.
However, there is another sense in which we must also live out the flip side. When we are born again, we become royalty by adoption. Then our lives are preparation for a wedding of royals. We are taught and trained and groomed in the path of duty that befits our station.
There will be many commoners who come into our lives that will try to steal our affections from our Betrothed. We may even be tempted to turn from the path of duty and honor and give a romantic glance at another. That is what happened in Camelot. Instead of giving her heart to King Arthur, Guinevere gives her heart to Lancelot, which sets the three formerly loyal friends at odds with each other and ultimately brings down an entire kingdom.
The Camelot story is instructive. The tragic figures are not Guinevere and Lancelot, who can never live out their passion; the tragic figure is King Arthur, who is betrayed by the two people in the world who should have loved him best. When Guinevere and Lancelot turned to each other, they made themselves enemies of the king. Their romance soon proved unfulfilling, and the pain of ruined lives and relationships overshadowed the fleeting joy of their passion.
Christians are royalty in God’s eyes. We are destined for marriage to the Crown Prince of the universe. Is it any wonder that we are warned that if we make ourselves friends of the world, we will become enemies of God?
In the story of Abraham and Hagar, we see royalty forsaking the path of duty because the way of the world seems more appealing. Their story has not ended to this very day; the unhappiness caused by Abraham’s unfaithfulness to God has lingered for almost 4000 years. On the other hand, Moses chose fulfillment in the path of duty. He turned his back on the lure of the world, and as a result, enjoyed the most intimate relationship with God any human has ever enjoyed this side of heaven. God spoke to him face to face.
George MacDonald, in his final great metaphorical fantasy Lilith, described the struggle of Mr. Vane (representing every person) as he was seduced by the vampiress Lilith (symbolic of our selfish flesh). MacDonald describes the conflict common to us all. Vane is attracted to her beauty, but he suspects that she is evil.
“What you have made me is yours!” she cried. “I will repay you as never yet did woman! My power, my beauty, my love are your own: take them!”
She dropt kneeling before me, laid her arms across my knees, and looked up in my face… I felt that, if I did less than loathe her, I should love her. Not to dally with usurping emotions, I turned my eyes aside.
She started to her feet. I sat motionless, looking down.
“To me she may be true!” said my vanity. For a moment I was tempted to love a lie. (Lilith, p. 131)
Whatever beauties and attractions draw our attention and emotions away from our Betrothed, whether they be of the world, the selfish flesh, or the devil himself, are but an empty lie that can only end in sadness and destruction. The path of unfaithfulness and divided loyalty can never satisfy. After we are born again, the path of duty always lies in the direction of the King. Send the commoner away: learn to love the King!
Reference:
MacDonald, George. Lilith. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdman’s Publishing Company, 1983 ed.
I am always a little sad when the last vestiges of the summer are gone because it will be such a wait until things bloom again. But it is, at the same time, satisfying to finish out a season in an orderly way with everything trimmed back and tucked into a bed of mulch to sleep through the winter night.
This year I cut back my English lavender all the way to a little stump. I haven’t done that since the first year I had it in my garden. I did it then because I didn’t know any better. It came up the next spring from the little stumps I had left. The second fall, however, I didn’t get around to cutting it down, and I was amazed the next spring how new growth sprang from the old branches.
I decided to cut it this year because it was getting a little scraggly and unruly. I think it will be good to give it a fresh start. It was my last job of the day.
Fall truly fell on us this year– suddenly and harshly. We are used to having frosts and even snows fairly quickly after the first official day of autumn. But things usually warm back up, plants turn splendid colors and we enjoy a last brilliant burst of riotous beauty. But this year we didn’t have a frost– we had a freeze– a deep freeze that lasted two and a half days.
We should have had above average color this year because of the abundant foliage produced by above average moisture through the summer. But all of the fall flowers froze and the leaves on the trees have shriveled, dulled, and dropped.
So it is that I spent the day Saturday raking and bagging dead leaves, cutting down dead mums, and pulling up dead marigolds. I uprooted all of the nasty morning glory vines that froze before they had a chance to dry. Normally pulling the dried vines off of the fence is a simple job, but some of the vines and even some of the seed pods rotted and were nasty to pull.
By the time I got to the lavender at the end of the day, I was ready to rush through and be done. I got the loppers and began cutting through the woody branches with their dried, faded blooms and silvery leaves. What a delicious aroma rose up! I always forget how pleasant the smell of real lavender is– not the canned or plugged-in kind– but the real stuff.
I got down on my hands and knees so I could see better what I was doing, but also so I could be nearer the source of the lovely smell.
Friday we had a funeral at our church for a very elderly saint. She was not a member of our congregation, but her granddaughter is a dear friend of mine. I did not really know her; I did not even meet her until the stage of her life where her bloom was dry and faded, and her foliage silver-gray. But I know first hand the sweet aroma of her life through her offspring.
The idea of “seasons” of life is a well-known metaphor. But I appreciated the notion anew as I gathered up the cut lavender and enjoyed the beautiful smell. This must be the meaning of “precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”
Some people are like the frozen morning glories– ghastly, sodden messes, blighted and frozen. Or like the lifeless, colorless leaves that shrivel and drop. I hope I will be lavender; no matter how dried or faded, still exuding beauty as I am cut down and gathered up. I hope that when I am cut back, I will leave behind a root that will spring up with new life season after season.
I was in my kitchen listening to the radio as I cooked supper. I will probably not remember that in a couple years (unlike where I was when I heard about the World Trade Center being blown up); undoubtedly, this will be a function of the fact that Michael Jackson’s death was not a shock to me and because I never had any positive emotional attachment to him or his music. I was not shocked because when someone abuses himself as much over as many years as Jackson did, disease and early death are natural consequences. And, if anything, I had negative emotional responses to Jackson’s so-called “art” because of its decadence and morally destructive powers.
I was in London when Jackson’s come-back tour was announced and hailed as the event of the century. Everyone in the pop world in the U.K. was going crazy, lining up early and often to get outrageously pricey tickets. I had only feelings of abhorrence. Even today, at the end of September, I heard a news report that people had been camping out for four days to get tickets to stadium events where the video footage of Michael Jackson rehearsing for that concert tour will be shown. That is one expensive pay-per-view!
As I stood in my kitchen, I think I had some feelings of pity for the messed-up man whose best friend was a messed-up movie star who used alcohol, drugs, and multiple marriages to seek fulfillment. But even though Al Sharpton consoled Jackson’s children with the words, “There was nothing strange about your daddy,” I could never get past revulsion at the thought that this man, if we were to believe him, used children as human teddy bears in his bed. I could never get past the disgust that this man had used his “talents” for the degradation of several generations of teenagers with his messages of rebellion, promiscuity, and self-indulgence. Not to mention, his life-size example of sensuality and perversion.
When Sharpton said Jackson wasn’t strange, the thing that was strange was that Sharpton didn’t think he was strange! Don’t you think it strange that a man in his fifty’s had to be anaesthetized in order to get a good night’s sleep? Don’t you think it strange that a man would have a sham marriage just for the purpose of having a child, then dump the baby’s mother? Don’t you think it strange that he would get a male friend to serve as a sperm donor for another baby? Don’t you think it strange that he would threaten to throw one of his infant children off a hotel balcony?
So was he “the King of Pop?” I believe he definitely was a symbol of pop culture– or at least, what is wrong with pop culture, i.e., the deification and idolatry of celebrities, the worship of material extravagance, the preaching and promotion of a culture of selfishness and abuse.
As has happened with other notables, the death of Jackson overshadowed another death the same day, that of actress Farrah Fawcett.
I’m thinking of how the death of JFK overshadowed the passing of C. S. Lewis; or how the death of Princess Diana overshadowed the death of Mother Teresa.
I am not now putting Farrah Fawcett in the same category as Lewis or Mother Teresa, because actually, she had many of the same problems as Jackson. Nonetheless, radio personalities who announced Fawcett’s death in the morning with a “too bad– so sad” attitude, by evening where obsessed with every detail surrounding Jackson. Their obsession lasted for days that dragged on into weeks.
Fawcett had many problems of her own. She was known in her youth for her stunning beauty, but her beauty could never buy her the lasting love of a stable marriage. She lived for years with a man who made famous the line, “Love means you never have to say you’re sorry.” Admittedly, in a later movie his character said, “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” But what I really think he meant was, “Love means you never have to say ‘I do.’”
Sadly, after his “significant other” died of cancer, he announced that he had planned to marry her as soon as she got better. Perhaps she might not have gotten worse (unto death) if he had been willing to commit to covenantal love years ago. The security of true love has many healthful benefits. Who knows?
But what made the biggest impression on me, believe it or not, was an advertisement I saw for the first time that day. It was an advertisement for a Promise Keepers conference in Denver. And it was much more emotionally distressing than the loss of two pop icons of my generation.
Be patient– this does all tie together!
The conference theme is “Called Out.” It is specifically targeted at “youth and young adults.” It features “rock, hip-hop, dance, spoken word, poetry, urban gospel and more.” The look of the graphics is ‘grungy contemporary’ – like spray painted stencils. The photos of the artists are likewise trendy.
As I looked at the promotional package, I wondered, “Called out of what?” There was no evidence of being called out of “all that is in the world”– i.e., “the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life.”
I know that it is a currently popular idea in Christian circles that since “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,” “worldly” is likewise in the eye of the beholder. Therefore, if you don’t think something is worldly enough to make you an enemy of God, then obviously, it must not be. Each individual becomes his own arbiter of what is righteous and what is unrighteous.
As a professor of fine arts in a Christian college, I have heard all of the arguments. “The arts are ‘amoral’; it is Biblically lawful for us to do whatever we want with them. We just need to ‘redeem’ pop culture and use it for God’s glory.” That is usually the bottom line.
It is true that the letters I am currently using to build words are “amoral.” The letter “g” is no more or less righteous or unrighteous than the letter “q”. The letters “g” and “o” and “d,” when assembled in order, come to have one of several meanings in the English language, that we can understand as moral or immoral more precisely within larger contexts.
The same is true of musical pitches of various duration. Each individual note may be said to be “amoral,” but though music is an evocative language, it is a language nonetheless. And in the context of western culture, we ascribe culturally agreed-upon meanings to music that have moral or immoral connotations. For example, no one mistakes the “bump and grind” sound of “The Stripper” for a military march or a gospel chorus. I am not talking about the ancient Greek “Doctrine of Ethos,” the belief that certain combinations of pitches mystically produced certain effects. I am talking about meaning ascribed culturally as with any other type of language.
There is a cultural language of visual images, of musical sounds, of physical posture and movement, of slangs and dialects, and when put in context, we understand them to mean, “I love the world and every lust that is in it.” Sadly, the Christian poster and promotional materials I received the day Jackson died speak that message loud and clear.
I wish the Christian church in America would be honest enough to say, “We don’t want to ‘redeem’ worldly culture, we want to retain it and enjoy it like everyone else.” But even when they say they want to ‘redeem’ culture, they misunderstand the word itself. They don’t want to buy it out of slavery, wash it pure and white, and set it free; they want to ‘atone’ for culture in the Old Testament sense of the word. They merely want to “cover over” wickedness with a pretty veneer, but at its heart, worldly culture remains worldly culture.
One of the stated purposes of the conference promoted in the materials I got that day is to help young people “identify and expose generational curses as well as personal areas of sinful behavior like suicide, binge drinking, sexual immorality, unhealthy relationships, pornography, addictions, etc.” (Sounds like a recap of Michael Jackson’s life, to me.) I don’t think young people have any trouble identifying those things as sinful; they need spiritual victory more than they need an expose’.
The leadership of this conference is asking God for a “kingdom breakthru” because young people “…don’t see God, they don’t hear God, and they don’t know how to connect with God.”
I ask you, how will our young people see God when all the church gives them is more of the pop visual culture that is in the world? How will they ever come to know that the character of God is different from the ways of the world? How will they ever hear God if we always drown out His voice in a cacophony of raucous and rebellious music? How will they ever hope to get freedom from sensual and physical addictions when all we feed them in the church fosters their thirst for the sensual? Why would they want to be the “called out,” when all they see points to the fact that the church has “called in” every aspect of the world?
Where was the church the day Michael Jackson died? Out to lunch with the world! I am grieved.
Eric Brandt, self-described “ world-traveled Colorado native, a free thinker and a philosopher,” wrote an opinion column for the Thursday, August 13th Greeley Tribune, suggesting that Christians in our society are “forcing the hand” of politicians on certain policies most people would recognize as requiring moral decisions. He wrote, “I scarcely know a fundamental Christian who isn’t, in practice, intolerant.” The very next paragraph in his opinion piece states,”The Taliban is alive and well in the United States… They don’t call themselves the Taliban in America; they call themselves ‘right-wing Christians.’”
That sounded a little intolerant of Christians to me, but maybe I am just sensitive, since I consider myself to be one.
Brandt listed off of number of atrocities committed by those who claimed to be Christians. I admit that many wicked things have been and continue to be done in the name of religion, including in the name of Christianity. Those of us who believe in Satanic evil have no trouble seeing evil done in the name of religion, particularly the Christian religion, as Satanic disinformation of the first rank. When it comes to any type of religion, or philosophy, for that matter, many people talk a good game, but fail to live it out in practice. Brandt, ironically, never mentioned any of the multitudinous atrocities committed in the name of “social democracy” or any other euphemism for atheistic totalitarianism. (Think, Stalin, Lenin, Mao, Pol Pot, Kim Jung Il, etc.)
We should evaluate plants based on the fruit they bear, not on the sign someone posted, perhaps mistakenly. I remember seeing a movie once where some old men planted a garden from seed packets they bought from a catalog. They planted peas, beans, lettuce, etc., based on the information on the package. But when the plants came up, they were all corn. What they got was a crop of corn– it did not matter what the packages said on the outside.
Christian is as Christian does. Jesus Christ said that the whole law of God hangs on two things, loving God with all your heart, and loving your neighbor as yourself. (Mark 12:30-31) He taught what we call the “Golden Rule”: “Whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.” (Matthew 7:12) If anyone is curious about what it looks like when someone is being Christian (not just using the name), Jesus explains it thoroughly in his greatest sermon, recorded in Matthew chapters 5 -7.
Jesus says nothing in his sermon about enacting legislation or converting people by force. True Christians win converts by love– not by violence. True Christianity has been a source of great good around the world. Churches, historically, have created, funded, and staffed more hospitals, schools, orphanages, soup kitchens, homeless shelters, safe houses, addiction recovery programs, etc., than any other social institution, including the U.S. government. Church volunteers did more to rebuild the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina than any other entity– and at no cost to disinterested tax payers!
In our own community, churches help feed the needy through food cupboard programs and by helping the Weld Food Bank. Churches run all sorts of youth programs giving kids after-school opportunities they wouldn’t otherwise have. Churches run daycare services for working parents. Churches help with neighborhood clean-ups, provide locations for community services such as flu clinics and health screenings, and open their doors to many local groups and activities, often for free. Not to mention that our churches are the main source of moral training– the real thing that keeps the world safe for democracy.
I admit that Christians might seem a little strident sometimes when we are practicing the Golden Rule. Protecting the weak and helpless sometimes means taking on those with power, like when we take up the cause of unborn babies. But I certainly don’t want to have my skull crushed and my brains sucked out, nor do I want to be dismembered alive, so I can’t imagine that a weak, helpless baby should have to undergo that kind of treatment. I am bound to do to the unborn as I would want them to do to me.
I am very sorry for those of you who don’t know any true Christians. I can give you some locations here in town where you would have a good probability of meeting some. True Christians will not try to force your hand in any way; but if you need something, they will offer you a helping hand.
My connections to the state of Minnesota go way back. I lived there from September 1963 to December 1974. But before that, my grandmother and aunt lived in Duluth. They moved there in the 1950′s so my aunt, who had a Ph.D. in physical education and kinesiology, could teach at the University of Minnesota-Duluth.
My Aunt Mary was a unique person. Besides having a doctoral degree (which was unusual for women in that era), she was into p.e. and fitness long before it was the “in” thing. When we would visit her house, we would eat and drink all sorts of healthy things made more attractive by the addition of red cellophane straws in the juice or real cream in the blueberries, etc. Grammy’s enormous salt-free date sugar cookies needed no additions.
Aunt Mary also provided lots of fresh air and sunshine. At least once there was a sawed-off appliance box in the back yard, full of fine white Lake Superior beach sand. Grammy supplied the aluminum jello molds and old spoons for hours of sandbox fun. Their house was in a little neighborhood off the main road with an undeveloped green belt on the other side of the street. It was the perfect place to roller skate on the sidewalk and pick wildflowers in the “woods.” When it got too foggy or drizzly, as it can in Duluth, we moved indoors to skate in the basement or to explore the wonders of Grammy’s sewing and crocheting catch-alls, even though it meant I would miss the comforting sound of the distant fog horn.
Grammy had an old wooden firkin sitting next to her chair which was full of bright balls of cotton crochet thread and large rolls of strips of scrap fabric that she crocheted into rugs using a large wooden hook. Often, the scrap fabric came from the discarded uniform ladies’ swimming suits from the university. One of Grammy’s button boxes was full of the metal buckles that came off of the shoulder straps; we would pretend they were money. She also kept a box of chalky pink peppermint tablets and chalky white wintergreen tablets nearby. Yum!
1509 Waverly in 1959
My grandmother’s house was the most elegant place I had ever been. It did not have the air of “starter home” stamped upon it, as my own home did in those early days. The inside always seemed cool and dim. The windows seemed long and narrow and elegantly draped. The sofa had brocade upholstery, and a little chair with an oval back sat in the corner by the built in bookcases. The chair was upholstered with a dark green fabric and the wood frame around the back was ornately carved– fit for a princess!
The dining room had a mahogany gate-legged table which was great for making tents with “hidey-holes.” Around the table were some slightly mismatched Duncan Fyfe chairs with cane seats. The china hutch was full of old china and glassware. But the kitchen was even better! It had a built in breakfast nook with booth-style seats and a chrome-edged table just like in the diners on TV.
In the left-hand corner of the living room was a short stairway that went up to a landing. Beyond the landing, the stairway disappeared up to the right. Near the top was a little door in the wall with a glass doorknob– the mysterious laundry chute, which came out two stories below, right next to the wringer washing machine and bucket of homemade soap.
Across the hallway at the top of the stairs was my grandmother’s bedroom with the old-fashioned wallpaper and the wall sconces that had been converted from being gas lamps. Even the electrical switches were special and quaint; push the top button in– lights go on; push the bottom button in– lights go off. I can’t remember for certain, but the impression I had of her room was one of coolness. I think she had shades of blue along with her antique bedroom furniture which had been crafted by some earlier member of her husband’s family. You know the type of set I mean– a bed with a very high headboard and footboard, a marble-topped dresser with a 3/4 length mirror and little drawers on each side of it, and a very old commode cupboard with a marble washstand top.
1509 Waverly in 2009
The bathroom was all white with the little hexagonal ceramic tiles on the floor and larger white tiles on the walls. Oh, the geometry I learned because of those tiles! While I was taking a bath, I would try to put various shapes around sections of tile in my mind. I could make parallel lines and I could make diagonal lines, but I could never make perfect squares no matter what I tried. My grandfather had been a chemistry teacher, and the bathroom cupboard was full of ancient containers that exuded ancient odors– witch-hazel, camphor oil, boric acid, yellow oxide of mercury, Unguentine. I liked Grammy’s little box of Cashmere Bouquet powder the best.
I usually got to sleep on a cot in my aunt’s study, just around the corner from the laundry chute. It was sunny and yellow with a white framed French door that looked out on a balcony that was really the roof of the back porch (a little mud room off the kitchen). I always thought it would be so romantic to go directly outdoors from the upstairs. However, the porch roof was not deemed structurally sound enough for human occupancy, and I was never allowed to open the doors. That room had great impact on my entire life; the cot where I laid at night was placed in front of an old-fashioned glass-doored bookcase with my aunt’s neat and tidy complete set of “The Yale Shakespeare.” Each annotated play was individually bound in a royal blue cloth cover. At age six and seven, I already felt the aesthetic lure of Shakespeare that would change but never lessen as I matured.
The yard was full of platform bird feeders. It was there that I first remember seeing cardinals and bluejays and rose-breasted grosbeaks up close. The yard also had exotically named flowers such as “bleeding hearts” and yellow “lady slippers” which fascinated me. They were just like the ones in the photographic picture book my aunt had given me called “Fairy Church in the Woods.”
The streets in Duluth either run parallel with the lake shore like a system of terraces, or they rise up steeply from the lake shore inland, like in San Francisco on a smaller scale. One time we had attended a parade on one of those lake shore streets but had parked the car several blocks up (literally). My little sister, then very little, got separated from our party in the press of people going back to their cars. It was one of those sheer panic moments that live in family lore. I knew I would never see my sister again and began to cry bitterly. My mother only rubbed it in a little, for her own parental purposes; “You think about how much you’d miss her the next time you have a fight!” Really, she was thinking, “How will I ever tell Stan if something has happened to her?!” My father was at home working.
Somehow she had worked her way back up to the car before any of us went there to check. The lady who lived in the house above where we had parked had seen Debi and taken protective custody. She came out to meet us when she saw our obvious distress, and asked if we were looking for a little blond girl. I learned the meaning of “joy and rapture” at that moment.
Grammy at Lake Superior– 1959
There were always “tailgate” picnics; I think we must have visited every state park and every “wayside” picnic table along the North Shore. There was no place on earth in my childhood with more romance; evocative names and places such as Enger Tower on Skyline Drive to Castle Danger, Gooseberry Falls, Knife River, and Split Rock Lighthouse delighted my childish imagination. In the days before car seats and seat belts, I would eagerly take my place on top of a red and white tin bread box in the middle of the front seat. The box doubled as a picnic basket and booster seat.
My aunt had attained the highest level of achievement possible in the Campfire Girls. When we went on some of our picnic outings, we were treated to such gourmet delights as “corn fritter” pancakes, fried kernel corn, and mock angel food cake (made with sweetened condensed milk, bread chunks, and coconut!)– all cooked over an open fire, of course. Nothing ever tastes as good as hot picnic food on a cold day outdoors.
Our most memorable venue for one of these al fresco adventures was a place along the North Shore which we dubbed, “The flat rocks.” “The flat rocks” was not an official wayside stop on the scenic route; it was a little off the main road and had to be reached by a little dirt path that went down to the shore. It was a wonderful spot to play, and you could build your fire right on top of the rocks! Unfortunately, the unofficial nature of the spot made it hard for us to find it again later in life.
Sometimes we would see an in-bound ore boat or freighter when we would be out driving or picnicking on the North Shore. Then
Baxter and Katie at Lake Superior– 2009
it would be an exciting race to see if we could make it back to Canal Point before the boat made it, so we could see the remarkable lift bridge go all the way up and watch the enormous ships go by at what seemed like arms’ length. Often we would make a special trip to see the more exotic-looking foreign ships go through. All of the comings and goings, which were many in those days, were listed in the newspaper. Our canal visits almost invariably ended with a soft-serve ice cream cone, often dipped in chocolate or butterscotch coating. We didn’t care so much about health and fitness after the heat of the chase!
Very few things from my childhood live so vividly in my memory as my sojourns in Duluth.
Someone has said, “You can’t put your foot in the same river twice.” I understand that you cannot go back to the way things were, but you can go sit on the river bank and admire the old vantage points.
We then went on up the North Shore, being careful to avoid the by-pass route to Two Harbors. I knew that we had a better chance of finding what we were looking for if we stayed as close as possible to Lake Superior. A few miles beyond the most populous tourist spots north of Duluth, I saw a road marker for Stony Point Drive. That sounded somewhat promising. We drove down a dirt lane, getting closer and closer to the lake all the while. There it was– the spot on the shore known in family lore as “The flat rocks.” We had a wonderful picnic there, and my
three youngest children got to skip rocks into the lake from the tops of the big flat boulders I had clamored over 47 or 48 years before.
This summer we made another pilgrimage to find Grammy and Aunt Mary’s old house. Mom did not remember the address, but she knew that it was within a short walk of the U.M.D. campus. I did not remember a precise address either, but the name Waverly surfaced from my subconscious (probably engraved there by addressing notes by hand during the days when each letter took effort). My brother printed us maps off the internet of the neighborhoods around the university. I determined that if there was a “Waverly” anything anywhere near the school, we would start there. I also knew that we were looking for a secluded street with a green belt between it and the main road.
My excitement grew when I looked at the maps and found a two-block long bit of “Waverly Avenue” adjacent to the UMD campus. As we turned the corner onto Waverly, it took me only seconds to shout, “That’s it!” I recognized the houses on either side as the ones where we had played with the neighbor children and where we had gone to tea with an elderly friend of my grandmother. I recognized Grammy’s front porch. I recognized the “woods” across the street. The scale of everything seemed much smaller than it had when I was seven, but it was all still there.
I hopped out of the car to take pictures. A beefy young man was walking toward the house. My husband explained, “She used to stay there when she was a child.”
The young man said, “Oh, that’s interesting. I live there now with a bunch of other guys from the football team.”
That explained the vinyl swimming pool, beer bottles, and banners in the back yard.
I didn’t ask to go in. I wanted to keep my “elegant” memories.
But for any of you family members who might want to go back and get a view from the old vantage points, the address of Grammy’s house is 1509 Waverly Drive; just go up Woodland Avenue and turn left on West St. Marie Street and left again on Waverly Ave. And Stony Point Drive is a little ways south of Knife River on the scenic route. Specifically, it is north of street address #5750 and south of #5878. It’s a circle drive, so if you are going too fast to turn the first time you see the sign, you can always turn the second time. But if you get to Knife River, you’ve passed “The flat rocks.”
So long for now. I’m away on a Nostalgia Trip– Wish you were here!
The front cover of William P. Young’s book, The Shack, wows us with the fact that this self-published novel is a “#1 New York Times Bestseller; Over one million in print.” Better known author Eugene Peterson proclaims, “This book has the potential to do for our generation what John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress did for his. It’s that good.”
For all that hoopla, it is not a book I would have picked up on my own; I specialize in “old books.” I am intimately acquainted with Pilgrim’s Progress, having taught numerous courses at various levels based on that classic work. But a friend asked my studied opinion and loaned me her copy of The Shack to read. She was dubious about its value both from a literary and a theological standpoint, so I decided to have a go at it. I know it is probably not a healthy trait, but I tend to be like the person Phyllis McGinley described in “Reflections at Dawn”;
“Though ladies cleverer than I
Can loll in silence, soft and idle,
Whatever topic gallops by,
I seize its bridle”
By way of introduction, I need to make a few qualifying statements about where I am coming from in my critique.
1. I am not of the school that asserts non-fiction is true and fiction is a lie because it “didn’t really happen.” I believe fiction can be a vehicle for teaching truth and/or truths. I have been challenged to think very deeply about certain objective truths in God’s word by reading realistic fiction, allegorical fiction, fantasy fiction, and even science fiction. I am not put off of any particular book because of the genre the author chose (except that I really detest the Bible and Biblical stories in the form of “graphic novels”).
2. I handle symbolism, allegory, analogy, and metaphor very well. I do not demand that literary representations “walk on all fours”; I can handle comparisons where the author may only have in mind one or two points of similarity with “the real thing.” In fact, I love the challenging “conceits” in the poetry of John Donne.
With all that said, I will offer my humble critique of Young’s novel. There are numerous web-sites devoted to why this is the best book ever written and as many devoted to why it is the worst. I have not read what has been posted on any of these sites, and the opinions I am going to express are entirely based on my own reading of the book, so you may take my brief thoughts with a grain of salt, whichever side you come down on. If in doubt, read the book for yourself. Though you may not like it, it will not “damage” you, especially if you read it with a spiritually discerning eye.
WHAT YOUNG DID WELL
Young has an engaging writing style. I would call it a 21st century style, along the lines of Alexander McCall Smith. He is very direct and succinct. Sadly, I think this type of style succeeds primarily because we are a society with a short attention span.
He also makes a quick emotional connection with “hurting” people. That is probably one factor in its success, because the reality is, it hurts to be human. It has ever since the first sin in the Garden; we brought it on ourselves. God said life would be that way in Genesis 3.
Young handles certain aspects of theology in a Biblically faithful way. He is basically evangelical in perspective. For example, he handles well the concept that we can’t do anything for ourselves spiritually, apart from the life of Christ in us (p. 149). He has a good grasp of relationship issues and how autonomy breaks relationships between fellow humans and between humans and God (p. 146-7). He communicates how fear is a hindrance to love (p. 142). He pictures conviction of sin in an effective way (ch. 11) and is not afraid to call sin sin throughout. He adequately portrays God as being outside of earthly time, which is sometimes difficult to do. He is also explicitly trinitarian. I also appreciate his attempts to portray a true “abba” God, one who smiles, laughs, and even cooks (as Jesus did on the seashore).
Young shines most when dealing directly with themes of bitterness vs. forgiveness and self-love vs. biblical love.
WHAT YOUNG DIDN’T DO WELL
I did not like the way Young left the line between “true story” and “truth story” very ambiguous. When a casual reader reads the “Foreword,” he will begin reading the book thinking it is “historical fiction”; that is to say, most readers will believe they are reading a true (non-fiction) story about a man named Mack who went through tough times and had an encounter with God in the woods, and, as they used to say on Dragnet, “ only the names were changed to protect the innocent.”
In reality, the whole story is made up by Young, though through the vehicle of the story, he conveys certain truths about God, man, sin, and redemption. I found the fuzzy line between “true story” and “novel” to be a distraction. To go back to Peterson’s comparison with Pilgrim’s Progress, Bunyan was very clear about the allegorical nature of his story, even though he was breaking new ground in the 1680′s to use a novel to teach theology. Bunyan’s readers know from the start that “Christian” represents anyone who comes under conviction of sin through God’s Word.
While I appreciate that Young was trying to help readers understand aspects of relationship within the Godhead, I could not quite get around portraying God the Father as a human being, let alone as a woman. I understood that Young was trying to convey the fact that God meets us where we are spiritually through having Mack meet God as a woman when he would have been unreceptive to God as a father because of his bad relationship with his earthly father. However, God is a spirit, no one has seen the Father, even Moses was only allowed to see God indirectly after He passed by, and we are to make no physical representations of the Father.
One could make a case that God is compared to a female bird that shelters her young under her wings (Psalm 57:1); there the image is even that of an animal rather than a human. But I think Young could have told his story and conveyed his important truths without creating a physical image of the Father. Most theologians agree that whenever God appeared visibly in the Biblical record, such theophanies were the pre-incarnate Christ. I don’t have a problem with Mack meeting Jesus in the woods; after all, Paul visibly met Christ on the road to Damascus (Acts 26:12-19).
I have no problem with the womanly representation of eternal wisdom. Scripture itself uses the same image (Prov. 7:4, 8:1ff). Other Christian writers such as George MacDonald and C. S. Lewis used the image of a tall, stately, timeless woman as the embodiment of godly wisdom. But those authors also steered away from imaging any part of the Godhead except Christ (for example, Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia and Second Adam in Lilith). Their depictions also stayed masculine. In fact, Lewis wrote in his fictional work That Hideous Strength, “What is above and beyond all things is so masculine that we are all feminine in relation to him.” (THS p. 316) By this statement Lewis clearly conveys the relationship of the church as bride to the eternal Bridegroom.
Young’s depiction of the Holy Spirit as ethereal, mystical, and feminine in the character of Sarayu is again suspect, even though I appreciate that Young was trying to convey certain truths about the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit biblically is a person,– not “it”, and fully partakes of all the characteristics of God, but the Spirit is (like the Father) “spirit”– non-corporeal. Biblical depictions of the Holy Spirit include: “like” a descending dove, a tongue of fire, a blowing wind. The ethereal qualities of Sarayu come close to being like these Biblical images, but I thought that Young still lost a lot in his translation.
The other main fault that I find in The Shack is the demeaning of church-based Christianity. Young gives the impression that one of the things that has messed up Mack’s spiritual perspective is institutionalized religion (for lack of a better broad brush term). Once Mack is able to cast off the baggage of past encounters with human beings (even Christian ones like his wife), he is finally able to begin being a real Christian. (p. 205-207)
I also believe Young gives some false impressions when he discusses law and grace. Papa (God the Father) says,
“Honey, I’ve never placed an expectation on you or anyone else. The idea behind expectations requires that someone does not know the future or outcome and is trying to control behavior to get the desired result. Humans try to control behavior largely through expectations. I know you and everything about you. Why would I have an expectation other than what I already know? That would be foolish. And beyond that, because I have no expectations, you never disappoint me.” (p. 206)
It may be that Young was merely trying to affirm his belief that God is entirely sovereign, knows everything about every moment in history, and nothing takes Him by surprise or is out of His ultimate control. That part is all right and good; however, it is NOT biblically true that God has no expectations for us. Isaiah 5:1-2 tell us:
“I all sing about the one I love, a song about my loved one’s vineyard: The one I love had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. He broke up the soil, cleared it of stones, and planted it with the finest vines. He built a tower in the middle of it and even hewed out a winepress there. He expected it to yield good grapes, but it yielded worthless grapes.”
God is very clear here about the fact that He does have expectations for His people. And unless we should miss the point in God’s own metaphoric language, He explains His meaning clearly in Isaiah 5:7.
“For the vineyard of the Lord of Hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah, the plant He delighted in. He looked for justice but saw injustice, for righteousness, but heard cries of wretchedness.”
God clearly has expectations for His people, even though He knows that, apart from the work of the Holy Spirit, we will choose the way of sinful flesh, as we have ever since our ancestors sinned in Eden. George MacDonald elucidated the same issue by saying that God loves us so much that He will do whatever it takes to get rid of everything unlovely in us, and “our God is a consuming fire.” (In George MacDonald: An Anthology compiled by C S. Lewis) To me, that leaves a flavor more like “Be ye holy, for I am holy” (I Peter 1:16), unlike what I found in The Shack.
Other examples that seem to demean the role of the church in the Christian life include:
For me to appear to you as a woman and suggest that you call me Papa is simply to mix metaphors, to help you keep from falling so easily back into your religious conditioning. (p. 93)
Mack had to suppress a snicker at the thought of God having devotions. Images of family devotions from his childhood came spilling into his mind, not exactly good memories. Often, it was a tedious and boring exercise in coming up with the right answers, or rather, the same old answers to the same old Bible story questions, and then trying to stay awake during his father’s excruciatingly long prayers. And when his father had been drinking, family devotions devolved into a terrifying minefield, where any wrong answer or inadvertent glance could trigger and explosion. He half expected Jesus to pull out a huge old King James Bible. (p. 107)
I also felt Young was weak on having a Biblical understanding of authority. For example, on page 122, he writes,
“Mackenzie, we have no concept of final authority among us, only unity. We are in a circle of relationship, not a chain of command or ‘great chain of being’ as your ancestors termed it. What you’re seeing here is relationship without any overlay of power. We don’t need power over the other because we are always looking out for the best. Hierarchy would make no sense among us. Actually, this is your problem, not ours.”
Biblically, God describes Christ as being willingly submissive to the headship of the Father. (Philippians 2:6-8) Young’s description conveys the sense of willing submission, but it does not capture the sense of “…the head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is God.” (I Cor. 11:3)
It seems to me from clues about the author found in and on the book that Young was trying to tackle the problem of pain– why bad things happen to “good” people. He succeeds in arriving at a somewhat emotionally satisfying and not altogether unbiblical answer. However, in the process he gives cannon fodder for pop culture Christians who already have trouble with the Biblical doctrines of authority and of the church.
If you choose to read this book, read with a critical mind. It is very easy to get caught up in the pathos of the story and in Young’s easy dialogue and leave unchecked those areas where his portrayals and viewpoints are more in line with contemporary pop psychology than with the Word of God. It will do you no harm if you read it in such a way that it causes you to think deeply about the nature of God and His redemptive love and measure your thoughts against God’s objective truth, as the noble Bereans did. (Acts 17:11)
References (in order of reference):
Young, William P. The Shack. Los Angeles: Windblown Media, 2007.
Amis, Kingsley (ed.). The New Oxford Book of English Light Verse. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978.
Lewis, C. S. That Hideous Strength. New York: Scribner Paperback Fiction, 1996.
There seems to me to be some odd thinking going on (or perhaps it is that no thinking is going on, which is not odd) about the government’s role in preserving our health. On the one hand, those who are of the “nanny state” mentality want to protect us from a whole list of things that could harm our bodies: cigarettes, trans-fats, high fructose corn syrup, sundry food dyes, etc. On the other hand, however, many of the same folks won’t grapple with the fact that there are many other more destructive behaviors that can’t be touched for a variety of politically correct reasons: perverse and/or promiscuous sex, alcohol use/abuse, unnecessary or illicit use of prescription drugs, use of illegal drugs, etc.
I find it fascinating that the U.S. military is trying to ban the use of tobacco products, supposedly to cut costs for the V. A. health care system in years to come. I am nearly sure that that is a bogus reason, and that the powers that be are probably more concerned with being culturally in vogue. I am also sure that problems associated with alcohol abuse in the military cost much more; think about liver disease, brain dysfunction, accidental injuries during binges, alcohol poisonings, as well as psychological problems, domestic violence, and other forms of mental, emotional and physical debilitation. These are not only problems in the military; they are problems in our culture at large. If we really wanted to cut long-range medical costs, why would we choose to focus on the dangers of tobacco (which debilitates primarily the smoker’s body over a long period of time), instead of on alcohol (which debilitates minds quickly and can be fatal for the drinker or those around him almost immediately)?
Why would we choose to focus on eliminating trans-fats from restaurants and processed foods and not worry much about all of the societal factors that encourage and promote immoral sexual behaviors that cost millions of dollars and uncalculable amounts of human misery due to sexually transmitted diseases, abortions, illegitimate births, and damaged human relations?
Why would we worry about whether or not high fructose corn syrup is causing our epidemic of obesity and turn a blind eye toward the pharmaceutical industry that would pump all of us full of chemicals that cause side effects which require pages of fine print to describe?
While the mainstream media have been consumed with who cast the first racial slur in Cambridge, Mass., a number of more important stories have gone off the radar–
1. The lady who was so addicted to pain killers that she infected who knows how many innocent victims with Hepatitis C (incurable and potentially fatal) as she stole their painkillers and substituted saline solution in her old, dirty syringes.
2. The lady who was stealing prescriptions from terminally ill Hospice patients and filling them for herself.
3. The number of “medical” marijuana users in Colorado will nearly double this year; and the average age has dropped from 42 to 24. (Are there really that many chronically ill 20-somethings?)
4. Michael Jackson’s body was so ruined by years of various types of abuse that he had to be anaesthetized in order to go to sleep. Eventually, the anaesthesia killed him.
5. The ousted and exiled president of Honduras has threatened to further destabilize the government of his homeland by bring in plane-loads of cash and drugs.
6. One of the main problems in Afghanistan is control of the poppy fields
Proponents of drug legalization put forward the following arguments: if drugs, such as marijuana, are legalized, the government can tax and regulate them as they do other substances. If people can walk into a store and buy them, the crime associated with “drug dealing” will go away. I argue, however, that while certain types of neighborhood thuggery might diminish, there would be other negative consequences and dangers. Yes, gangland alcohol running and bootlegging diminished when prohibition ended, but drunk driving, under-age binge drinking, and destructive social behavior while drunk are bigger problems than ever.
The kind of people that are going to want the biggest supply of drugs are the very ones who will not have a lifestyle that will enable them to pay for the drugs, not matter what their cost. Just last month thieves broke into a marijuana “dispensary” in Boulder, Colorado and stole two twenty-gallon barrels of high grade cannabis. Theft and panhandling for drugs will proliferate for drug users as they have for alcoholics. Drugs which cause psychotic events will cause increasing problems in domestic relations as well as danger to the public at large. Breckenridge, Colorado is considering restricting “dispensaries” from being close to schools. Police will have to have an ever expanding arsenal of tactics for catching and preventing DUID’s. And if the government tries to take the profit motive out of selling drugs by giving drugs away as a government service– you know, like medicaid drug benefits for marijuana– the already scarce resources for legitimate medical care in America will further dry up while creating an ever greater demand.
It is painfully obvious that we have a societal sickness that we are trying to self-medicate; we feel bad and we are trying desperately to find something to help us feel better. But I am afraid the cures we are trying are as bad as the disease. We are consumed with our bodies, but we won’t account for things that damage our minds and our souls.
God may just let us bankrupt ourselves materially and morally like the woman “who had suffered much… and had spent all she had, and was no better but rather grew worse.” (Mark 5:26) God still asks us individually and societally, “Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which does not satisfy?” (Isaiah 55:2) He knows we are so self-willed that we will not believe how empty and unsatisfying life is without Him, unless we experience the emptiness for ourselves.
After we have gotten a snoot-full of self-inflicted misery, we may seek to touch the hem of His garment for healing. When we realize that “in vain we have used many medicines,” we perchance might seek out the Balm in Gilead. (Jeremiah 46:10)
London is a very old city, and for some time it has been one of the most populous in the world. The housing is antiquated and very dense. Rows of houses will sometimes have strange gaps in them that look like the smile of Irish hurling teams– that is to say, minus random teeth. The houses on either side of the gap are kept from collapse by ingenious arrangements of braces and scaffolding. Then in the gap will grow a new tooth, looking just like the old one on the outside, but sleek and ultra-modern on the inside.
Dr. Alan Storkey exhorted our students, “Choose your guides wisely.” As we gain education, writers guide us as much as our pastors and teachers, and we must evaluate every idea as the Bereans did, against the objective standard of God’s revealed truth. But with that qualification, I hope that I will be a collector of worthy ideas and not just a collector of books. I would rather have a soul “thoroughly furnished for every good work,” than a wall furnished with attractive bindings.
But there is a flip side to Cinderella, which, considering the number of similarly themes books and films, must also resonate with a certain segment of the population. For example, in 
This year I cut back my English lavender all the way to a little stump. I haven’t done that since the first year I had it in my garden. I did it then because I didn’t know any better. It came up the next spring from the little stumps I had left. The second fall, however, I didn’t get around to cutting it down, and I was amazed the next spring how new growth sprang from the old branches.
a grain of salt, whichever side you come down on. If in doubt, read the book for yourself. Though you may not like it, it will not “damage” you, especially if you read it with a spiritually discerning eye.
I find it fascinating that the U.S. military is trying to ban the use of tobacco products, supposedly to cut costs for the V. A. health care system in years to come. I am nearly sure that that is a bogus reason, and that the powers that be are probably more concerned with being culturally in vogue. I am also sure that problems associated with alcohol abuse in the military cost much more; think about liver disease, brain dysfunction, accidental injuries during binges, alcohol poisonings, as well as psychological problems, domestic violence, and other forms of mental, emotional and physical debilitation. These are not only problems in the military; they are problems in our culture at large. If we really wanted to cut long-range medical costs, why would we choose to focus on the dangers of tobacco (which debilitates primarily the smoker’s body over a long period of time), instead of on alcohol (which debilitates minds quickly and can be fatal for the drinker or those around him almost immediately)?