Bill Simmons for Sportsman of the Year

I don't tend to talk much about sports here—I do that other places (some of them listed to the left) where the conversation is already going on—but as a long-time fan of the Seattle SuperSonics (one of my earliest memories is of listening to part of the 1979 NBA Finals with my dad) I had to say this: Thank you, Bill Simmons.

In six years of writing for ESPN.com, this is the longest piece I've ever sent to my editors -- nearly 15,000 words of anguished e-mails from Sonics fans around the country. I spent the past 24 hours sifting through them and whittling them down the best I could. Don't print this baby out. Read it, skim through it, do whatever you need to do. But definitely check it out.

Here's why the Seattle situation should matter to everyone who cares about sports: After being part of the city for 41 years, the Sonics are being stolen away for dubious reasons while every NBA owner and executive allows it to happen, including David Stern, the guy who's supposed to be policing this stuff. I think it's reprehensible to watch someone hijack a franchise away from the people who cared about the team and loved it and nurtured it through the years. It belittles not just the good people of Seattle, but everyone who loves sports and believes it provides a unique and valuable connection for a city, a community, family members and friends.

Thank you. Thank you for the opportunity to let an entire fanbase speak. In the end, thanks to the efforts of Save Our Sonics (the brainchild of Brian Robinson, Steven Pyeatt, and the other folks behind SonicsCentral—Sonics fans everywhere owe those guys a huge debt of gratitude), with special appreciation for the work of Seattle city attorney Tom Carr, I continue to believe that Seattle will not lose its team; still, the ongoing threats and arrogance and insults and mendacity we've had to suffer from Clay Bennett and his ownership group, and the possibility that despite everyone's best efforts and all the emotional and financial support invested in this team over the past four decades, these robber barons might actually be allowed to steal our team, have taken a real toll. Thank you, Bill, for letting us speak.

Update: Here's his follow-up. I don't agree with every idea he has, but I love the walk-on idea; and again, thanks to Bill Simmons for giving us a voice and a platform.

Skeptical conversations, part II: What is God like?

The second section of my credo deals with the character and attributes of God—what God is like—including some further discussion of the doctrine of the Trinity. (The link to the first section can be found here.)

Update: read the first section here and the second section here.

William F. Buckley, RIP

The father of modern conservatism died this morning of emphysema at the age of 82. The founder of National Review, the host of “Firing Line,” the man largely responsible for untangling the conservative movement from the likes of the John Birch Society, the man who did more than anyone else to make the ascendancy of Ronald Reagan possible—the man who, as William Kristol said, “legitimized conservatism as an intellectual movement and therefore as a political movement”—is gone. He leaves behind a political landscape vastly different than the one he found in 1955 when, in the first issue of NR, he committed himself to “stand athwart history, yelling Stop”; and while I know those on the left will disagree, I firmly believe that landscape is the better for his efforts—as is evidenced, I think, in the fact that even many on the left loved and respected him. (The same cannot be said, alas, for many of those who consider themselves his heirs.) Perhaps more importantly, he leaves behind a great many people whose lives were personally enriched by his friendship, leadership, guidance, and assistance, and a great many more who were richly blessed by his work. He was a great American, and he will be greatly missed.

Lenten Song of the Week

This isn't a hymn that's commonly associated with Lent, at least in my experience, but I think it fits this season; I also think it's a magnificent text that benefits from one of the most beautiful melodies the human heart has ever produced (at least in this life).

I Cannot Tell

I cannot tell why He whom angels worship
Should set His love upon the sons of men,
Or why, as Shepherd, He should seek the wanderers
To bring them back, they know not how our when.
But this I know, that He was born of Mary
When Bethlehem's manger was His only home,
And that He lived at Nazareth and labored,
And so the Savior, Savior of the world, is come.

I cannot tell how silently He suffered
As with His peace He graced this place of tears,
Or how His heart upon the cross was broken,
The crown of pain to three and thirty years.
But this I know, He heals the broken-hearted
And stays our sin and calms our lurking fear,
And lifts the burden from the heavy-laden,
For yet the Savior, Savior of the world, is here.

I cannot tell how He will win the nations,
How He will claim His earthly heritage,
Or satisfy the needs and aspirations
Of East and West, of sinner and of sage.
But this I know, all flesh shall see His glory,
And He shall reap the harvest He has sown,
And some glad day His sun will shine in splendor
When He the Savior, Savior of the world, is known.

I cannot tell how all the lands shall worship
When at His bidding every storm is stilled,
Or who can say how great the jubilation
When all the hearts of men with love are filled.
But this I know, the skies will thrill with rapture,
And myriad, myriad voices sing,
And earth to heaven, and heaven to earth will answer:
"At last the Savior, Savior of the world, is King!"

Words: William Y. Fullerton
Music: Traditional Irish melody
LONDONDERRY AIR, 11.10.11.10.11.10.11.12

Let the little children come

Now they were bringing even infants to him that he might touch them. And when the disciples saw it, they rebuked them. But Jesus called them to him, saying, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.”

—Luke 18:15-17, ESV

Maybe it’s just me, but I think we find it easier to ding the disciples here than we ought to. After all, we know they shouldn’t have done this—Jesus tells us so—but too often, we don’t stop and think about why they did it. We don’t have to, because we don’t hear what they heard: babies crying (if not screaming) as their mothers struggle through the crowds to get to Jesus; bigger kids running around, shrieking, laughing, crying, throwing themselves on the ground; probably a few of them coming up to Jesus, climbing up in his lap, tugging on his robe, and asking him off-the-wall questions. We don’t hear the disruptions or see the distractions, because they’re between the lines—but kids being kids, you can bet this wasn’t a quiet, peaceful scene. If you stop to think about it, you can see where the disciples were coming from. No doubt they saw all these kids as interruptions, disruptions, distractions, interfering with the real work Jesus was doing—not as part of that work; and so they tried to push the kids out of the way so Jesus could get on with the important stuff.

Jesus, of course, rebukes them for that, and in the process he identifies the root problem underlying their attitude: pride. Children have no social status, so they can’t do anything for you; if Jesus is spending his time with children, that’s time taken away from teaching and ministering to adults who do have status in society, who can increase his social standing and the respect he receives as an important and influential teacher and scholar—and thus, not incidentally, raise the standing of his disciples, as well. Part of their concern, Jesus sees, is that they want people around Israel to respect them, to look up to them, to admire them—“See Thomas over there? He’s studying under Jesus.” “Oooh, impressive!”—and Jesus taking the time to bless and teach children does absolutely nothing for that, because children don’t really count. That’s not to say they weren’t valued, or that they weren’t loved—they were; but they had no legal standing, no social standing, no reputation, no right to their own opinions, indeed, no rights to be considered at all. As such, welcoming children just wasn’t a priority for the disciples.

You can see where they’re coming from, but Jesus will not let their resistance stand. “Let the children come,” he says, “and don’t hinder them.” Let them come, because the kingdom of God is for them, too; let them come, because as Matthew 18 tells us, whoever welcomes a child in Jesus’ name welcomes Jesus, while anyone who drives them away bears some of the responsibility for their sin, and thus is open to judgment. This isn't just a matter of bringing them to church and warehousing them in the basement doing crafts while the grownups are in worship, either. That kind of approach brings children to church but not to Christ; I’m convinced it’s much of the reason why we see so few people between the ages of 18 and 30 in our churches in this country, because they’ve grown up in a church that, from the only perspective they’ve been given, has no Christ in it.

No, letting the children come to Jesus is a two-part responsibility, I think. One, it means loving them the way Jesus does—which means the focus has to be on what’s best for them, not what’s most comfortable and convenient for the grownups. This is harder than it sounds, because we have a real pattern in this country of doing things in the name of children that aren’t really about them. It's all well and good to say that children are the future, but too often that comes with the unspoken corollary that we grownups are the present. We need to begin by acknowledging that our children count in the present, too; the kids in the church are our equals in the body of Christ, and “Love your neighbor as yourself” and “Consider others more significant than yourself” apply to them just as much as they do to anyone else.

The other part of letting the children come to Jesus is discipling them—and he himself told us what he expects from us there. Here’s the Great Commission as translated by Eugene Peterson in The Message:

“Go out and train everyone you meet, far and near, in this way of life, marking them by baptism in the threefold name: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then instruct them in the practice of all I have commanded you. I’ll be with you as you do this, day after day after day, right up to the end of the age.”

Children’s ministry is not about keeping children out of sight, out of earshot, and out from underfoot; it’s not even about teaching them to be nice to each other and quiet in church, though those things have their place in the process. It’s about training them in this way of life, instructing them in how to live out everything that Jesus has commanded us, teaching them what it means to follow Jesus, day after day after day, week after week after week, right up to the end of the age. It’s about, in other words, nothing less than discipleship, raising the children of the church to live as saints of God; it is, or should be, all of a piece with what we do in the rest of our ministry as the church. And there’s no clause in there to say, “Only the easy ones—only the ones who already know how to behave—only the ones you’re already comfortable having around.” Indeed, the ones who make us most uncomfortable, the ones who haven’t been taught how to behave, the ones full of anger they don’t know how to express against parents who have betrayed them and let them down, though they’re the hardest to reach, are the ones we have to try hardest to love; because if we don’t take them in, who will?

The adolescent atheism of the self-impressed

Atheism is a profitable subject these days, having launched a number of bestsellers—and not only by the likes of Christopher Hitchens and Dr. Richard Dawkins; the notoriety of their books has created corresponding interest in books by Dr. Alister McGrath (The Dawkins Delusion) and the Rev. Tim Keller (The Reason for God), among others. Indeed, the Rev. Keller's book currently stands at #18 on the New York Times bestseller list and #56 overall on Amazon.com, which wouldn't have happened without the conversation Dr. Dawkins et al. began. There is more of a market for serious apologetics in this country than there has been probably in decades, and we owe it all to enemies of the faith.

As I stop to consider that fact, I can't help thinking that for all the outrage from some quarters directed at folks like Hitchens, Dr. Dawkins, Sam Harris and Dr. Daniel Dennett, the end result of their efforts may well be to boost the church rather than atheism. I've protested before the intellectual shoddiness of the "new atheists" in their engagement with theology, philosophy and history; what I hadn't noticed was how shoddy their atheism itself is. Georgetown's John F. Haught, writing in The Christian Century, points out that they essentially want to throw out God but keep all the trappings; Marx would have called them incurably bourgeois, and there's no doubt that they lack either the insight (into what they're really asking) or the courage (to face that insight) of older atheists like Friedrich Nietzsche and Jean-Paul Sartre. Hitchens and his confréres think their critique of religion is original and radical, and are quite impressed with themselves for it (as indeed they seem to be in general); but the truth is, compared to Nietzsche in particular, they're pikers. Their atheism, far from being the evidence of maturity they appear to believe it to be, is essentially adolescent in character, founded less on a serious engagement with the world than on a visceral rejection of things they don't like. On an intellectual level, it simply doesn't measure up to the wealth of Christian apologetics; and if reading God Is Not Great or The God Delusion spurs people to go on to read The Dawkins Delusion or The Reason for God, I can't help thinking that the church will come out best of it in the end.

In defense of the church, part I: Preaching

This post of Barry's, in response to a meme that's going around, got me thinking. Church-bashing is a popular thing, and with a fair bit of reason; even the best of churches are human institutions that screw things up and hurt people sometimes, and there are a lot of churches out there which are far from the best. I know there are a lot of folks out there who have been badly burned by churches; I was part of a congregation for several years that had been planted to minister to people who'd been hurt by the church and never wanted to go back. Even for me, remaining in the church is an act of faith; though most laypeople don't seem to realize it, any pastor will tell you that churches can abuse their pastors just as easily as they can abuse their members (or perhaps even more easily), and I've already been burned pretty good once. There were times I thought about leaving the ministry, and times I thought about leaving the church altogether; it was only the grace and the goodness of God that kept me from giving up on everything, so I have an idea where folks are coming from. 

I don't stay in the church because I have found it to be a wonderful place and a wonderful experience; taken all in all, I've found it quite uneven. Rather, I stay in the church as an act of faith that God meant what he said when he called us his people, his family, his body, and promised that not even the gates of Hell would prevail against us—and I say that as one who knows full well that those gates threaten us from within as well as from without. However ambivalent I may sometimes be, it remains true through all that Jesus loves the church, and died for her, and that we are called to follow his lead.

All of which is to say, as much as I understand the stones people throw at the church (having fired off a few myself at times), I do believe the church needs to be defended; and I say that not because I'm in the business, of the guild, as it were, but rather despite that fact. However badly we screw it up, as we often do, this is still something God has ordained, and it's still important that we gather together in worship and fellowship and ministry. Yes, that means friction, which is unpleasant; but that friction is one of the things God uses to sand away our rough edges and polish our strengths. True community—where, as Kurt Vonnegut beautifully said, "the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured"—is not an easy thing, which is why far too many churches don't try all that hard to create it; but for all that, it's important for our well-being, and if we will commit to it, it's a beautiful gift of God.

Unfortunately, we resist it—and this isn't just a fault of "the institutional church," it's also a fault of many of those who leave it—because it challenges us. I do not say this is the reason everyone leaves—not by a long shot—and I'm certainly not presuming to attribute motives to Barry or Erin or indeed any other specific person; but I do say that it's something I've seen (in past churches of which I've been a part, among others). Living in community challenges our selfishness, our certainty of our own ideas, and our particular ways of doing things, and a lot of people don't like that. We tend to want to hang around people who reinforce all those things (which is why the church-growth types advocate building churches out of people who're as much alike as possible); part of the job of the church is precisely that we challenge each other on such matters, but that's not something we find comfortable, and so we tend to shy away from it.

Which is where, oddly enough, I come from in defending preaching. I certainly agree with Barry's point on the value of discussion and conversation, and I believe that needs to be a major part of the teaching ministry of any church—including something many ministers do (and more have tried to do), discussion and conversation about the sermon. And yet, I do believe that the sermon also has an important place in that ministry. I will grant without argument that "sermons can be dangerous things"—but I will also say that it's neither my practice nor my experience that "you are only exposed to one point of view, and it is usually presented as the only valid one." Of course there are preachers who operate that way; I've sat under such preaching just like everyone else has. There are more preachers, though, who are so afraid of conflict that they go to the opposite extreme, leaving no punch unpulled and no thought unqualified. And there are a lot of us in the middle, too, who are careful in our preaching to lay out various points of view, to argue respectfully for our own, and to make the limits of our own understanding clear.

That said, as much as I agree there is no place for the dictatorship of the pulpit, there is a need for people who preach with real authority—authority which comes not from them, but from their total submission to the will of God. If we look at Jesus, we see that he consistently challenged people to see what they didn't want to see and understand what they didn't want to understand; and the great problem with a teaching ministry that relies solely on discussion and conversation is that it makes it too easy for us to avoid hearing what we don't want to hear. One of the roles of preaching—probably the most difficult—is to bring people face to face, lovingly and graciously, with where Jesus is challenging them. This isn't (and can't be) something we do by our own strength, it's something the Holy Spirit does through us, and it begins with letting him challenge us as we read the Scriptures; to try to manufacture that in our own strength is spiritual malpractice, pulpit abuse; it's simply our responsibility as preachers to open ourselves up for God to grab hold of us and challenge us, and then share that as faithfully as we can with the body of Christ, and let God use that as he will. For that kind of preaching, there is no true substitute. For any other kind of preaching, any substitute will do, but for that kind of preaching, there truly is no true substitute.

Missing the point on McCain?

So Bill Keller, executive editor of the New York Times, responded to criticism of the paper's recent piece on John McCain by . . . apologizing? Explaining that they have actual evidence for their contentions, and giving good reasons why they didn't print it? Retracting the story? No; he responded by blaming the readers.

Frankly, I was a little surprised by how few readers saw what was, to us, the larger point of the story. . . . [that] this man who prizes his honor above all things and who appreciates the importance of appearances, also has a history of being sometimes careless about the appearance of impropriety, about his reputation.

Now, leave aside for a moment whether you believe this defense or not, or indeed whether you believe it qualifies as a defense or not, and just look at what he's saying. First, Keller says that Sen. McCain "prizes his honor above all things," which isn't quite true but is certainly close enough for journalistic work. Then he says that Sen. McCain "appreciates the importance of appearances," and then that the point of the story is that the senator actually has a pattern of not appreciating the importance of appearances. It would seem, then, that the assertion that Sen. McCain "appreciates the importance of appearances" rests not on the senator's behavior, but on the preceding statement that he "prizes his honor."

In other words, if I'm parsing this correctly, Keller's defense of his paper's story rests on the assumption that caring about honor means caring about appearances—which is to say, that honor is the same thing as reputation. I'm not surprised to find the NYT thinking this way, but I very much doubt that Sen. McCain makes this mistake; indeed, if he did, he would never have ended up with the public persona he has. You don't earn the label of a straight-shooting maverick who'll offend your friends as soon as your enemies if you're concerned about appearances; that one is earned precisely by caring about the reality of honor so much that you're willing to let your reputation swing in the wind. As the sci-fi/fantasy author Lois McMaster Bujold has one of her characters say,

Reputation is what other people know about you. Honor is what you know about yourself. Guard your honor; let your reputation fall where it may.

I think Sen. McCain knows the truth of that; demonstrably, the New York Times doesn't. We'd be better off if they did.

Becoming like children

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

—Matthew 18:1-4, NIV

Over the centuries, people have taken Jesus’ words a lot of different ways; as the commentator Ulrich Luz has dryly noted, “every age to a great degree has read into the text its own understanding of what a child is. . . . For the most part the interpreters ask not what children are like; they ask instead what children should be. More often than not they read the text as if it said: ‘Become like good, well-behaved children.’ . . . Only infrequently do [they] remember that actual children can be quite different.”

Part of the problem is with that word translated “little.” When we see “little children,” we think “young children,” but that's not what’s in view here; what the word really means is “lowly”—one who is “insignificant, impotent, weak, and . . . in poor circumstances.” The point here is that children in that society had no social standing—nor for that matter legal standing; they were essentially property of their parents—and in fact weren’t quite regarded as fully human; they were seen as incomplete people, still unfinished. They were insigificant, physically weak, legally powerless, and utterly dependent on others. That’s why, elsewhere in the gospels, the disciples didn’t want Jesus “wasting” his time on them.

But Jesus, as he so often does, flips that on his disciples and says, essentially, “I’m not wasting my time at all—you are, because your focus is in the wrong place. You’re worried about what the rich and the powerful folk think of you, and wanting to be like them—wanting to be great in the world’s eyes—when you ought to be looking at these children and learning from their example. You want to be great in the kingdom of God? Become like them—choose to be lowly. Set aside the world’s standards of importance, love those who can’t do anything for you, stop seeking honor and significance in the world’s eyes, acknowledge that you are wholly dependent on God and place all your trust in him, and serve others. Come to God not because you think you’ve earned it, but simply in the confidence that you are loved even though you haven’t.” That’s the life Jesus calls us to live; that’s the life of a child of his kingdom.

“Louder doesn't make you right”

Kudos to Chris Rice for this one—one of his best, I think.

You Don't Have to Yell

So-called reality,
Right there on my TV;
If that's how life's supposed to be, well,
Somebody's lyin'.
The camera's on and we can tell,
To keep your fame, you have to yell,
'Cause tensions build, and products sell, and
We're all buyin'.
I hope we're smarter than this . . .

Everybody take a breath;
Why are all your faces red?
We're missin' all the words you said;
You don't have to yell.
Draw your lines and choose your side,
'Cause many things are worth the fight,
But louder doesn't make you right;
You don't have to yell.
Oh, you don't have to yell.

I tuned in to hear the news—
I don't want your point of view;
If that's the best that you can do, then
Something's missin'.
Experts on whatever side,
You plug your ears, you scream your lines;
You claim to have an open mind, but
Nobody's listenin'.
Don't you think we're smarter than this?

Chorus

Everybody take a breath;
Why are all your faces red?
We're missin' all the words you said;
You don't have to yell.
(If everyone will take the step,
Back away and count to ten,
Clear your mind and start again,
We won't have to yell.)
Draw your lines and choose your side,
'Cause many things are worth the fight,
But louder doesn't make you right;
You don't have to yell.
Oh, you don't have to yell.

Words and music: Chris Rice
© 2006 Clumsy Fly Music
From the album What a Heart Is Beating For, by Chris Rice

This is how you play the game

It's been interesting reading the avalanche of media commentary on the New York Times' would-be hatchet job on Senator John McCain; at bottom, they mostly seem to come down to the conclusion that the Grey Lady just didn't have the goods, and shouldn't have let itself be stampeded into running the story without them. At this point, it looks like little harm has been done to the senator's well-earned reputation as the most difficult man on Capitol Hill. Perhaps more interesting, though, has been watching the McCain campaign's response, and its sequelae. Almost immediately, they said they were "going to war with the New York Times," and they have, with deadly efficiency; he was sharp enough to hire Robert Bennett, a veteran of D.C.'s brutal infighting, to represent him, and Bennett has been particularly effective at dismantling the Times' case.

The campaign's goal has been not merely to defuse this story, but to use it to bring the senator's conservative critics on board. It's been working, because at the same time as the campaign has been using this to reel them in, conservative pundits like Rush Limbaugh have also been trying to use the NYT's attack—to pull Sen. McCain in a more conservative direction. The message is clear (and Limbaugh made it explicit): "Stop trying to be liberal enough to keep the media happy with you—if you're the Republican nominee, they're going to hate you and try to take you down regardless. Stand up and be a conservative—you might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a goat." I think it will work to some extent (I've argued before that conservatives can expect this, after all); the interesting thing will be to see to what extent, and how quickly. In any case, watching the maneuvering between the campaign and the conservative media establishment, each trying to leverage this story to shift the other, is a fascinating lesson in how you play the game of politics in this country. One more for the textbooks.

Update: David Brooks has an extremely interesting column in today's Times on a longstanding, deep, and bitter rift between Sen. McCain's two long-time chief advisors—his campaign manager, Rick Davis, and the one source mentioned by name in the original Times piece, John Weaver. Though it isn't clear how, it seems very likely that this vicious rivalry played some part in the story.

The value of experience

The president who came to office with the most glittering array of experiences had served 10 years in the House of Representatives, then became minister to Russia, then served 10 years in the Senate, then four years as secretary of state (during a war that enlarged the nation by 33 percent), then was minister to Britain. Then, in 1856, James Buchanan was elected president and in just one term secured a strong claim to the rank as America's worst president. Abraham Lincoln, the inexperienced former one-term congressman, had an easy act to follow.

Thank you, George Will. (Though it should be noted, of course, that Lincoln was an extraordinary individual; it need scarcely be said that not every former one-term congressman would have done quite so well.)

Inconvenient truth?

The conventional wisdom is that the earth is warming, that it's the fault of human activity, and that we need to make major changes to reduce CO2 emissions or we're heading for disaster. Certainly, that's the line pushed by the scientific and media establishments, and by much of the political establishment as well; as for the cultural elite, they showed their view of the matter when they gave Al Gore an Oscar for his film expounding that point of view, and then topped it off with the Nobel Peace Prize (in one of the stranger awards in the already strange history of the Nobel Prizes).

Which is a very good thing, if this is a real problem. But is it? Is the science really there? Maybe not. For all the worry about shrinking ice caps, for instance, the ice has come back under the Northern Hemisphere's coldest winter in decades, which has given it its greatest snow cover in over 40 years. For all the concern about polar bears, their population is up. And for all the insistence that global warming is caused by human CO2 emissions, the temperature data and the CO2 data don't correlate; that's why 30 years ago, the alarmists were proclaiming that human CO2 emissions were driving a cooling trend that would send us into another ice age.

The fact of the matter is, we know beyond a doubt that the climate has been heating and cooling all through human history; around the turn of the 17th century, we had a "little ice age" that saw the Thames and the Hudson freeze, while earlier, during the Viking period, Greenland was pleasant enough to warrant the name they gave it. We know that the sun's behavior varies, and it seems likely that fluctuations in solar activity is one of the major drivers in global temperature change; the fact that other planets of our solar system have also been experiencing “global warming” certainly suggests that this is the case. The driving force behind the global-warming argument appears to be not science, but the wisdom of Sir John Houghton, the first person to chair the UN's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change: “Unless we announce disasters, no one will listen.”

That said, does it necessarily follow that we can ignore the question of CO2 emissions, or other forms of pollution? While I think it's inappropriate of the establishment to smear dissenters as “in the pay of the oil companies,” there are certainly those who oppose the global-warming argument not because it's bad science, but because they have their own agendas. As Christians, we should be very careful about that. Regardless of the scientific case one way or the other, we have powerful theological reasons to fight pollution; we know from Genesis that God has not given us this planet, but has rather entrusted it to our care as stewards under his authority, and we will most assuredly be called to account for how we have taken care of it. I believe the earth God has made is much more resilient than we often believe, and that our capacity to damage it permanently is quite a bit less impressive than we, in our twisted pride, tend to think—but that in no way frees us from our responsibility to enhance the earth by our labors rather than diminishing it. Will continuing to pump our pollutants into the air cause catastrophic warming that will kill billions of people? I rather doubt it; but if we continue to do so without doing everything we can to clean up our act (bearing in mind that today's solutions often produce tomorrow's problems), we'll still pay for it in the end.

(Update: here's an excellent column by Thomas Sowell on the subject of global warming.)

Lenten Song of the Week

Hallelujah! What a Savior!

"Man of Sorrows!"—what a name
For the Son of God who came
Ruined sinners to reclaim!
Hallelujah! what a Savior!

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,
In my place condemned He stood,
Sealed my pardon with His blood;
Hallelujah! what a Savior!

Guilty, vile, and helpless we,
Spotless Lamb of God was He;
Full atonement!—can it be?
Hallelujah! what a Savior!

Lifted up was He to die,
"It is finished!" was His cry;
Now in heaven exalted high,
Hallelujah! what a Savior!

When He comes, our glorious King,
All His ransomed home to bring,
Then anew this song we'll sing:
Hallelujah! what a Savior!

Words and music: Philip P. Bliss
HALLELUJAH! WHAT A SAVIOR, 7.7.7.8

Abiding in the light

On my post below on the PC(USA)'s recent church-court rulings, my wife's Uncle Ben left a comment in which he noted, among other things, that "we all have varying lists of issues A-Z that we consider essential that don't quite match what other people think are non-essential. Of course, one gets tangled up in that nasty charity stuff, too, even if we can codify essentials. Darn that I Cor 13." True statement, that, one which was echoed today by the Rev. Paul Detterman, executive director of Presbyterians for Renewal, in a powerful sermon to our presbytery assembly on 1 John 2:1-11. (Unfortunately, no one taped his message, but when I asked him for a copy, he said it would be posted on the website; when it is, I expect I'll have more to say on it.)

As the Rev. Detterman noted, sin is sin, and it's "not love but cultural capitulation" to tell people otherwise—and yet, when we let those who disagree with us become enemies and treat them as such, that's sin too. "By this we may know that we are in [Jesus]: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked. . . . Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness . . . and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes." We may disagree—in fact, we will disagree, there's nothing more certain than that; but how did Jesus treat those with whom he disagreed? He spoke to them quite sharply, to be sure, but he never stopped loving them; though their hard, cold hearts drove him to his death, that death was for them, too, just as surely as for any of the rest of us. May we also learn to love those who oppose us, even to the point of being willing to lay down our own good for theirs.

Two cheers for political polarization

I know I've lamented the polarization of American politics in this space before; but then, I've also argued at least once for the value of historical perspective, and with a dose of perspective, I may have to rethink my lament. In a brilliant essay in the Wilson Quarterly titled “In Praise of the Values Voter,” Jon A. Shields (an assistant professor of political science at the University of Colorado-Colorado Springs) makes a strong case that “political polarization has improved civic life”—a statement I would never have thought to read. Apparently, however, our current polarized state, with strong ideological divisions between the two parties, was deliberately induced by activists of the Left who believed, in the words of a special committee of the American Political Science Association, that “the ‘ailment’ of American parties was their absence of ideological cohesion, a condition that had dangerously slowed ‘the heartbeat of American democracy.’” The response to this was an effort to reform the system which was motivated, according to James Q. Wilson, by “a desire to moralize public life.” Such an effort was bound to increase controversy and partisanship, but people like Tom Hayden embraced that, saying it would “vivify” a political system they perceived as demoralized, paralyzed, and devoid of any real meaning.

The irony in all this, as Dr. Shields notes, is that now they and their heirs are “mounting a counterattack against their own revolution,” in large part because “‘values voters’ . . . turned out to have the wrong values.” In Dr. Shields’ analysis, the project launched by the New Left did indeed breathe new life into the American political system—but it did so in large part by strengthening the conservatives they despised; where liberal political scientists assumed that “liberal Democrats would benefit from the hardening of party differences,” the opposite has turned out to be the case, and so now they badly want to push the djinn back in the bottle. Unfortunately for them—but maybe, just maybe, fortunately for our country as a whole, however exhausting the current state of things often is—it ain’t going.

(My thanks to Fr. Richard John Neuhaus for his essay, also excellent, which pointed me to Dr. Shields’ piece.)

A clear-eyed view of the Middle East

courtesy of one of the best observers out there, Reuel Marc Gerecht. Short form: the world out there looks rather different than you've probably gathered from the media. The irony of the Democratic Party position on the GWOT (we supported Afghanistan, but not Iraq) is that it's led to all sorts of assertions that Bush lied to get us into Iraq, that it's a quagmire, etc., but given the administration a free pass on Afghanistan—and yet, we're over the hump in Iraq, clearly winning, and have dealt al'Qaeda a heavy body blow there, while we're losing in Afghanistan, may wind up losing Pakistan as a consequence, and will almost certainly be fighting an actual war up there long after Baghdad is no scarier a duty station than Pusan. Of perhaps greater significance, this administration has never faced up to the immense problem of Saudi Arabia. It may well be that they were hoping to get Iraq stabilized as a trustworthy ally first—an understandable strategy, if so, and a possibility Gerecht doesn't consider—but probably not; and even if it was, given the time Iraq has taken (and was always going to take), it still wasn't a good idea in the end.

It's a bit early yet for a post-mortem on this presidency's foreign policy, but as we begin to think about that question, the good news is that the grand move for which the administration has been pilloried, the invasion of Iraq, is ending up a great accomplishment. The bad news is, with regard to the Arab/Muslim world as a whole, it's been their only real accomplishment. Still, on the whole, I agree with Gerecht's take on this: "Iraq and the war on terror will likely save the president's legacy in the Middle East."

Rice for Veep

Condoleezza Rice, that is—just the thought has The Nation worried. They're thinking for Sen. McCain, but I think she'd be equally good for Gov. Huckabee in the (increasingly unlikely) event that he ends up with the nomination. On the symbolism front, her presence on the ticket would balance the Democrats; what's more, she would be an incredible campaigner, since she's charismatic, tough, and deadly in debate. For Gov. Huckabee, she would shore up his greatest weakness, the widespread distrust of his ability to handle foreign policy; for Sen. McCain, she would amplify his greatest strength. (She might also help address his greatest weakness, the distrust he's earned among the party's evangelical wing; though not known primarily for her views on domestic policy, she is herself an evangelical and is well regarded among evangelicals.) Plus, she's already a national figure with significant experience in the Executive Branch. Her presence on the ticket obviously wouldn't address charges that Sen. McCain (or for that matter, Gov. Huckabee) "isn't a real conservative," but I would think that those could be addressed in other ways. (My preferred thought at the moment would be to bring Gov. Romney aboard the campaign as presumptive nominee for Secretary of the Treasury.)

Rice for running mate. If she'll take it, who better?

It all depends on what the meaning of “shall” is

but the Permanent Judicial Commission of the General Assembly (hereafter GA PJC) of the Presbyterian Church (USA) has apparently decided that “shall” actually means “shall,” and that if the church's constitution says you can't do something, then you actually aren't allowed to do it. That might sound like a trivial exercise in logic, but not, alas, in this denomination, where there are many who insist their personal beliefs/preferences trump the decisions of the body, and thus that they don't have to play by the rules. We even had a task force composed of a lot of bright people suggest that we formalize that; on their recommendation (at least as widely understood), if you want to be a Presbyterian pastor without believing and doing what Presbyterian pastors are supposed to believe and do, all you should have to do is stand up and say, “I don't accept this part, that part, and the other part” (for instance, only have sex with a person of the opposite sex to whom you're married; the deity of Christ; and the belief that salvation is only through Jesus) and your presbytery should say, “Oh, OK, well, we have no right to object,” and approve you as a pastor anyway. Now, however, the denomination's top court has come along and said, “No, you can't do that.”

—At least, that's what they've said to the behavior part; as far as beliefs go, I'm not sure. On the one hand, when GA PJC told presbyteries they can't adopt resolutions declaring that they're going to hold candidates for ordination to the constitutional standards, their reason was as follows: “Adopting statements about mandatory provisions of the Book of Order for ordination and installation of officers falsely implies that other governing bodies might not be similarly bound; that is, that they might choose to restate or interpret the provisions differently, fail to adopt such statements, or possess some flexibility with respect to such provisions.” That would seem to imply that in fact other governing bodies are similarly bound. On the other hand, in the Pittsburgh case, they noted that the church requires candidates “to conform their actions, though not necessarily their beliefs or opinions, to certain standards” (emphasis mine); clearly, they're leaving room for dissent. Which is fine, as far as it goes, since we don't all agree on everything, and never have; the question is, how far does that go? Does that just apply to “manner of life standards”—you can disagree with the requirement to obey X, but you still have to obey it? Or does it apply to theological standards as well? Someone's going to try to argue that it does, you can be sure of that. Which would mean, if we ended up there, that you could deny the deity of Christ, the necessity of his saving work, and pretty much everything else that has historically defined what it means to be a Christian, as long as you don't have homosexual sex. If GA PJC has upheld the behavioral standards but not standards of belief, then at least we all have to play by some of the same rules; but how much have we really gained?

My greatest objection to all the toleration of defiance in this denomination, and to the task force recommendation which was clearly intended to institutionalize that, has always been that it's a deadly blow to what we understand by “church”; if we're truly to be in relationship with each other, then each of us has to honor and abide by whatever the body as a whole decides. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you”—if it does, then something is deeply, deeply wrong. We have every right to work to change policies and standards with which we disagree, but that doesn't give us the right to act now as if they didn't exist. To claim otherwise isn't a mark of spiritual maturity, but of the highest degree of spiritual pride. For us to be a part of this denomination is to be committed to each other, and to recognize that we really do need each other after all; and to do that, we need to stand down and accept that if the denomination—which is all of us together—says, “No,” that means “No.”

A shift in the US political scene?

So argues Michael Barone; and since there's no keener or more insightful observer of American politics, if this is what he sees, we'd best take a long, hard look. It's his explanation of what is otherwise a surprising and somewhat confusing fact: "every [presidential] candidate's strategy has failed." That's not something one would expect, given all the seasoned candidates and operatives out there, but it's the truth; Barone argues that the reason for it is that the ground has shifted out from under their feet.

For a decade from 1995 to 2005, we operated in a period of trench-warfare politics, with two approximately equal-sized armies waging a culture war in which very small amounts of ground made the difference between victory and defeat. It was pretty clear what the major issues were, what strategies were necessary to win a party's nomination, how to maximize your side's turnout on election day (and, increasingly, in early voting).

As more than a few people have noted, it was Karl Rove's mastery of this situation (which he intentionally exacerbated as a political strategy) which produced victories for Bush in 2000 and 2004.

But times change. Somewhere between Hurricane Katrina in August 2005 and the bombing of the Samarra mosque in February 2006, I believe we entered a period of open-field politics, in which voters and candidates are moving around—a field in which there are no familiar landmarks or new signposts. . . . The fact that every campaign's experts came up with losing strategies suggests that, in this year's open-field politics, all the old rules may be broken. It's been a wild ride in the 35 days since the Iowa caucuses, and it may be even wilder in the 271 days until the polls open in November.

It's an intriguing thesis, and a compelling one—especially coming from someone with Barone's track record for being right. It suggests that, far from the foregone Democratic coronation many have expected, that the '08 presidential election may belong to whoever figures the new rules out first.

Skeptical conversations, part I: Who is God?

As part of my ordination process some years ago, I was required to write a credo—a statement of my beliefs. I wound up, for various reasons, writing it as a conversation between myself and a friend of mine who was an avowed agnostic; some of it came out of actual exchanges we'd had, while the rest is my invention. I've decided to start posting it in chunks (it's fairly long); you can find the first section here.

Update: I've moved the first section here.

Now this is just shameful

J. R. R. Tolkien's estate is suing New Line Cinema for ripping them off: $6 billion for the studio, not one cent for the creator (well, his heirs). The more I see of New Line, the less I like them.

Lenten Song of the Week

Last year during Lent, I posted Isaac Watts' greatest hymn, "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross"; this year, I think I'll start off Lent with another of his great ones (minus the frankly execrable Ralph Hudson chorus).

Alas! and Did My Savior Bleed?

Alas! and did my Savior bleed
And did my Sov'reign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For sinners such as I?

Was it for sins that I have done
He suffered on the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide
And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the great Redeemer, died
For man the creature's sin.

But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe;
Here, Lord, I give myself away—
'Tis all that I can do.

Words: Isaac Watts
Music: Hugh Wilson
MARTYRDOM, CM

The idolatry of perfect parenthood

Jason Byassee has a review up on the First Things website of a book by Methodist theologian Amy Laura Hall titled Conceiving Parenthood: American Protestantism and the Spirit of Reproduction; the review is wonderful, and it sounds like the book is, too. I won’t try to summarize it, I’ll just encourage you to read the piece and mull over the ways in which “mainline churches have pursued a theology of ‘Justification by meticulously planned procreation’ (emphasis original), exemplified in a mid-century conference at which Methodists pronounced the Christian family ‘the hope of the world’”—and to let yourself be challenged and (I hope) energized by Dr. Hall’s final words: “The call to be a Christian has become, for me, a call to risk seeming like just the sort of backward, crazy, Holy Spirit-inspired white girl that my grandmothers hoped I would progress beyond.”

Preliminary thoughts on the knowledge of God

I should begin by noting that while I intend this post to be able to stand on its own, it doesn’t exist in isolation; it’s part of my response to a couple of questions Erin posed me in the comments on this post on her blog, and to the overall discussion. In order to keep my comment there reasonably short, I thought it best to offer some of my thoughts here.

What sparked my original contribution there was this comment:

if the rules and standards we live by are God’s, then it would have to be true that love is the measuring stick for everything . . . including this ever elusive “holiness”. And maybe we can’t help but fly once we grasp the awesomeness of God’s love.

The last line there I agree with wholeheartedly—indeed, I think that’s a critically important truth for the church to grasp—and I regret not having said so earlier; but I raised the following objection to the first statement:

I would say that God is the measuring stick for everything. Yes, God is love, but God is not reducible to love—God is light without darkness, God is perfect good without flaw, God is life without death, God is the source of all good things . . . we have to be careful not to pick just one biblical affirmation about God, even one of the key ones (like “God is love”), and lose sight of the others; doing that makes it easier for us to reduce our view of God to the size of our definitions.

Now, it’s easy to say that, but (as Erin pointed out), what does that look like, and how do we do that? For that matter, since we already know what love is, what’s the problem with just collapsing it down and using love as our measuring stick? Ironically, however, that’s precisely the problem: we already know what love is—or rather, we think we do. The reason we need to “grasp the awesomeness of God’s love” is that, most of the time, we don’t, even though we have been grasped by it; most of the time, for most of us, our understanding of love doesn’t really get all that far beyond the one we’ve learned from the world, and the world’s idea of love is adulterated. It’s weak tea beside the real thing, nowhere near deep enough, high enough, strong enough, alive enough, selfless enough, committed enough . . . any of it.

This is why I would argue that we cannot simplify our view of God even to “God is love,” because when we say that by itself, we tend to shrink God down to our understanding of love. We need to hold on to all those other affirmations, not just because they’re all true, but because collectively, they reinforce each other; when we say that “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all,” it reminds us that when we say “God is love,” his love is a vastly greater thing than ours. Our love is too often sentimental, too often weak, too often prone to settle for comfortable half-truths and affirmations; we shrink back from challenging and confronting people, even when that would be the loving thing to do, perhaps because our love just isn’t strong enough to move us to do so, or perhaps because we don’t know how to do so as an act of love rather than as an act of anger driven by fear or hurt. We can’t really understand how a loving God could hate our sin as an act of love, and so either we keep our idea of love and soft-pedal the whole idea of sin, or else we keep the idea of sin and become loveless and merciless in judgment, because our understanding of love is too small. Because, as J. B. Phillips said, our God is too small.

The problem underlying all this is that in logical terms, there is very little we can positively know about God; most of our affirmations about God are negative—which is to say, they take the form of “God is not this,” and “God is not that.” We can say, for instance, that God is eternal—that he is not bound by time as we know it—but we can’t say very much about what that means. Even some of the positive affirmations we find in Scripture work this way. “God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all.” We know from this that “God is light” means that there is no darkness in God—no shameful thing hidden in secret, no dark motives, no shadow of any evil desires, nothing of that sort—but speaking positively, what does it mean? Does it mean that the speed of God is 186,000 miles per second, or that he can be refracted by a prism? Clearly, the idea is absurd. But what it does mean that God is light is mostly beyond our grasp; we simply affirm that there is no darkness in him, and hang on to that.

We run into similar problems trying to grasp everything the Bible says about God. We can understand that his life is undying, and that he gives us as his children undying life; we can even understand that his life is of a different quality from ours. But what that difference is, is much harder to grasp; we seek as Christians to live into that, to have his life more and more come alive in us, but we cannot define it, we can only experience it. It’s the same way, really, with his love. We can’t use it as a measuring stick, because a measuring stick is something we can pick up and hold and manipulate; it’s something which is useful precisely because we know its limits. We don’t know the limits of the love of God—if the cross should teach us anything at all (beyond that “God so loved the world that he sent his only Son so that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but shall have eternal life”), it should be that. We cannot hold it—rather, it holds us; and it is far too great a thing for us to manipulate.

So, then, the question: “If we can’t measure things by Love, how would you measure things by God?” To which my rather perverse answer: we can’t. To say that God is our measuring stick is to say that we have given up measuring. It doesn’t mean there are no measurements; it simply means that we don’t make them, and we don’t determine them. We simply follow where he leads. That’s what defines us as Christians—not where we’re standing right now, or what we have right or what we have wrong, or what rules we follow and what rules we don’t, or any of that; what defines us is which way we’re moving. Christians are those who, however imperfectly and however confusedly, are on the road together behind Jesus, following him in his mission in this world. This is how we know God: not by affirming certain things or upholding certain rules, though some affirmations and rules are important in helping keep us going the right direction, but by following him. We know him as we know anyone: in relationship. And this is how we measure things by God: do they truly contribute to our following him, and to others’ doing the same?

Which is to say, do they make us more like him? Or less? Because the way we know we’re truly following Jesus is that we’re becoming more like him, and thus doing the work he did: feeding the hungry; caring for the sick; welcoming the outsider; defending the oppressed; lifting up the downtrodden; loving the unlovable; breaking down the barriers between race and class and gender; and, when the opportunity arises, speaking the truth so clearly and unflinchingly that people want to kill us for it.

John McCain

With Mitt Romney's decision to suspend his campaign, the pundits would have you believe that John McCain is now guaranteed to be the Republican presidential nominee. He may well end up such, but I don't think it's anywhere near that certain; to this point, Sen. McCain has received less than half of the votes cast in Republican primaries, and if most of Gov. Romney's supporters go to Mike Huckabee, I think the convention could well end up deciding this race. (On the Democratic side, I think that's highly likely to happen. Heaven help Denver.) Still, the odds would seem to favor Sen. McCain at this point—which has a lot of the conservative talking heads completely apoplectic. "McCain's not a true conservative," etc., etc., etc., ad nauseum, combined with dark suspicions about his stability and the like.

Now, as a Navy brat, I know a lot of people who knew Sen. McCain back when he was still, say, LCDR McCain, and I trust them to have more of a perspective on the man than your typical pundit. Here's what one of them, as true-blue a conservative as anyone I know, had to say about him a while back (this is posted with permission):

Lt. John McCain was a flight instructor in VT-7 based at NAS Meridian, MS in the summer of 1964 while I was a student Naval Aviator there. Based on my observations and those of my best friend then and now, it is my opinion that the best thing that ever happened to him was doing hard time in the Hanoi "Hilton." He had a violent, hair trigger temper and was arrogant, self-serving and vindictive. Following his experience as “ground zero” of the Forestal fire (a lesser man would likely not even have survived that) he needed to find a way to get his now-denied combat experience to stay competitive for promotion. I have no doubt that he used his considerable political influence to immediately get a set of orders to CAG-16 deploying on the Oriskany.

During his tenure as a POW he demonstrated immense courage and resourcefulness. He was tough and I admire him greatly for the way he handled himself and I think that experience took the edge off of his most negative qualities. Just a side note here for those younger folks who may read this and for whom the Viet Nam war is little more than a few pages in a dusty history book, the gutty conduct of most of our POWs in that war was nothing short of incredible. And Senator McCain was right near the top.

I had the privilege of quaffing a couple of beers with him and a few of his pilots in Yuma following his repatriation while he was CO of VA-174 (the East coast A-7 RAG). He was mellow and gracious and a pleasure to be with then.

I was a big fan of his until he started his first run for president and I became aware of his inconsistent positions on several issues that I held dear. In short, he didn’t appear to have a coherent conservative worldview. I also think he blew his chance for the nomination in 2000 because he didn’t understand and embrace the evangelical grassroots. He had that block for the taking early on when they were still skeptical of W. Instead, he thumbed his nose at them (us) and lost the nomination. Most of the grassroots energy in the party comes from the so-called “Christian right” and McCain missed his chance (although he may never have been any more able to connect with them than, say, Hillary).

The problem with the entire Republican field is that there is no “Reagan conservative” anywhere to be seen so we are back to asking, “which one will we settle for?”

On the plus side: McCain is pro life, anti spending and spot-on on the WoT. Negatives are: Soft on immigration, voted against tax cuts and McCain-Feingold was a disaster that gave us Soros, Lewis et al. Also, have to give him credit—though I was unhappy with him at the time—for getting our Supreme Court nominees through.

Senator McCain may end being my man though I think the governor from Arkansas is the best of the bunch in debate and thinking on his feet.

Now, this is far from pure adoration of the "he's the ideal candidate" type. Clearly, he isn't. However, while there are certainly reservations here about McCain (reservations which I share), I don't think there's reason for hysterical opposition, either. Yes, he's a man of great pride and greater temper who can be a bit short in the fusebox; no, that doesn't make him "unstable" (the kindest insinuation I've heard). And yes, he's spent too much time poking conservatives in the eye, and yes, he needs to give up the adulation of the NY Times and come back to his conservative roots on some things; but I agree with John Weidner: once he's no longer a thorn in Bush's side, but instead the guy standing between the MSM's favored candidate and the White House, the NYT's gloves will come off, and that will solve the problem.

The bottom line: if Sen. McCain is the nominee, I think folks like Rush who are suggesting conservatives are better off if he loses have gone clean 'round the bend. As Dan Lehr says, if he isn't the nominee we wanted, we need to grow up and get over it. Two reasons: one, we will get far better judges out of Sen. McCain than out of Hillarack Oblinton (two peas, one pod). Even if you don't trust him on nominations, anyone he'll come up with will be much, much better than anyone either of those two would put forward. And two, he will prosecute the GWOT, and probably far more effectively than the current administration; the Democrats will concede our gains. We have turned the corner in Iraq; we can't afford to be in thrall to those who want us to turn back around it. I'm still voting Huckabee in Indiana, but if it's McCain in November, then my vote is McCain all the way.

Again, credit where credit is due

I didn't give Mitt Romney enough credit: today he suspended his campaign. It will be interesting to see how this plays out. Does this, as the pundits are saying, seal the deal for John McCain? Or does Gov. Romney's support go to Mike Huckabee and make this a national two-person race?

Either way, it will probably mean one more lesson for the political-science curricula that are sure to be written off this screwball presidential campaign.

The cross at the center

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

—T. S. Eliot, "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets, II.

Ashes

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Today is also the first day of the rest of Mitt Romney's political life. I hope he's honest enough with himself to face that fact; and if Mormons celebrate Lent and Ash Wednesday (I don't actually know if they do), I hope this day's observance means more to him than its political significance. (Update: apparently they don't—see #329.)

I have to say, I've been rather disappointed in Gov. Romney over the course of this campaign. I pulled for him for a long time. Originally, I had expected Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist would be the GOP's nominee this year, and I looked forward to that; when Sen. Frist failed to do his job to get the President's judicial nominees through, however, I decided I could not support him. (I even sent an e-mail to him to that effect; I got a canned e-mail back.) Having done so, I looked around for someone to support, and Gov. Romney seemed far and away the best choice on the horizon. Given his record and his gifts, I thought he'd be a strong candidate and a good president.

Eventually, of course, I changed my mind and started supporting Mike Huckabee (not that that means much—my endorsement means nothing and I have no money to contribute). Some of that was because of Gov. Huckabee's own strengths; a lot of it, though, was that Gov. Romney had actually proven himself quite a poor candidate, spending lots of money to very little result. (Gov. Huckabee, in this respect, has been the anti-Romney.) Unfortunately, he hasn't handled that very well, and neither has his team, leading to this rather unbecoming sequence, caught by BigJolly at the Lone Star Times. First, Gov. Romney scolded Gov. Huckabee:

“First a couple of rules in politics,” he said. “One: no whining. And number two: you get them to vote for you and so I want them not to vote for Mike Huckabee and not to vote for John McCain and to vote for me . . . that’s not voter suppression. That’s known as politics.”

Good and noble words, but they didn't last very long; following his loss in the West Virginia caucuses when John McCain's supporters switched en bloc to Gov. Huckabee, Gov. Romney's campaign manager had this to say:

Unfortunately, this is what Senator McCain's inside Washington ways look like: he cut a backroom deal with the tax-and-spend candidate he thought could best stop Governor Romney's campaign of conservative change.

Governor Romney had enough respect for the Republican voters of West Virginia to make an appeal to them about the future of the party based on issues. This is why he led on today's first ballot. Sadly, Senator McCain cut a Washington backroom deal in a way that once again underscores his legacy of working against Republicans who are interested in championing conservative policies and rebuilding the party.

At this point, if he's really all that interested in stopping “Senator McCain's inside Washington ways,” the best thing Gov. Romney could do would be to cut his own deal with Gov. Huckabee: throw his support behind the real “man from Hope” (Bill Clinton mostly grew up in Hot Springs, AR) in exchange for policy promises, which he could then widely publicize as satisfying his own concerns. Somehow, though, I don't think that's going to happen. But at this point, Gov. Romney has it backwards: a vote for Mitt Romney is a vote for John McCain. Which might not, in the end, prove to be all that bad a thing; I'm pulling for Gov. Huckabee, but I'll be content to vote for Sen. McCain in November as well. I don't know the future, so as far as I know, we might all be better off if Sen. McCain wins the nomination. But if Gov. Romney thinks otherwise, he should take a deep breath and a long hard look at the situation, and act accordingly.

HT: Bill

Keeping faith in mind

John Stackhouse has a series of posts up on his blog addressing the question, "Do you have to choose between your brains and your beliefs?" His answer, succinctly summarized: No, no, and sort of, but no.

Expanded somewhat, his basic points are these:

• "Obviously, obviously, you don’t. Many, many manifestly smart people don’t."
• Faith is both grounded in what we know and important to our ability to know.

  Everyday life, however, constantly presses us beyond what we know (or think we know) and requires us to exercise faith. We frequently find ourselves compelled to trust beyond what we’re sure of, to make commitments that go outside our sense of safety. And yet these moments of trust and commitment—these acts of faith—are intrinsically and importantly related to knowledge. . . . Faith relies on knowledge even as it moves out from knowledge into the unknown.
  

• Faith is ultimately necessary to be a Christian—we cannot get to Christianity by our own efforts (of reason or anything else), but ultimately only through God's gift of faith by grace. However, we can't get to anything else truly meaningful without faith, either.

As he sums it up, "So the question isn’t whether to have faith or not. The question is, In what or whom will I place faith, and on what grounds?"

Decaf non-fat latté with a shot of God

Stand at a coffee bar long enough, you'll eventually hear someone order a decaf latté made with skim milk. Whenever I hear that, I'm reminded of the coffee bar we used to frequent (even though I'm not a coffee drinker; you may have guessed that my wife is, though) that had gotten that order often enough, they'd put it on the menu. I think this may have been JP's, in Holland, where Sara, Hap, Wayne and I went to college, since they were fond of naming their drinks; in any case, whichever establishment it was, in putting the decaf non-fat latté on the menu, had named it "What's the Point?" For some reason, none of the patrons ever actually used the name—but you can bet the baristas did . . . :)

I was reminded of this recently in visiting another church for a funeral. It was a UCC congregation, and clearly in step with the liberalism of that denomination; I was out in the hall on kid duty, since our younger ones lack the patience or understanding to sit through a service, so I had plenty of time to read the various materials they had up on the walls. One big eye-catching display was of the graduates of their most recent confirmation class, with "CONGRATULATIONS CONFIRMANDS!" in big letters, life-size head shots of the teens, and copies of brief essays they had written. It made me rather sad, because from the essays, the only thing these students had been confirmed in was what they already believed; there was little gospel there, and little sense of God challenging their comfortable conclusions. It was all much more about them creating their own idea of Christianity than it was about God creating and recreating them.

The most extreme example of this, and the one that really caught my eye, was one young woman who declared in her essay, "I am an atheist." I looked at that and I thought, "Why bother? What's the point?" And what's the point of a church that can teach its children about God, have one of them come out declaring herself an atheist, and consider that a good thing and something to be celebrated? She has every right to her atheism, certainly, but I can't help thinking, that's an awfully thin-blooded version of the gospel; in the end, in the coffee bar of life, that's little more than a decaf non-fat latté with a shot of God (or maybe even a half shot). What really is the point, anyway?

The idolatry of American politics

Someone with sharp eyes may have noticed that I added the Anchoress to the blogroll. Why it hadn't occurred to me quite a while ago that she wasn't on there, I'm not sure, but that oversight is now rectified. At least it was good timing; I checked in just in time to catch her asking the question, "Are Our Ideologies Our Idols?" Some might disagree with me, but I'm pretty sure (and have been for a while) that the answer is "yes," and she provides some good evidence for the proposition.

The truth is, I've been convinced for a while that our politics is idolatrous, ever since God convicted me about some of my habits. For instance, I've tried (and I think succeeded) to stop saying, "I'm a Republican." I most often vote Republican, and to say that is a simple statement of fact; but to say "I am a Republican" (which I was—I paid dues to the Republican National Committee and kept my membership card in my wallet, for a while) was to define myself in terms of the Republican party. It was to say that the Republican platform was a defining part of my identity, and that the leaders of that party were my leaders. As a Christian, I have no right to do that, nor do any of us.

We're called to be in the world, yes, but not of the world; to vote, to participate in our government, is to be in the world, but to attach ourselves to a political party and adopt it as our own is to be of the world. Our Christian faith—the content of our beliefs, our commitment to each other, and above all our commitment to follow Jesus the Messiah—must be the source and control of all our political beliefs and actions, and that cannot be the case if we have a pre-existing commitment to the positions or the political success of any political party. Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,” and it’s equally true that where your goals are, where your sense of identity is, there you will find your heart as well; and when we let that happen, when our politics shapes our faith rather than the other way around—when our identity is defined even in part by a political party or a political cause—then our political commitments have claimed a place that belongs only to God, and we are guilty of idolatry. We are to find our identity in Christ and him only.

It’s worth noting that the same applies to patriotism. I’m not saying that love of country is always or necessarily idolatrous, because it isn’t; but it can be, very easily. After all, America is a concrete reality which has benefited us in concrete ways, and which needs improvement in concrete ways; the kingdom of God, by contrast, can be a little harder to see, and easier to forget about. Plus, we all get to pledge allegiance to our own concept of what America ought to be, and to define our patriotism accordingly; which makes America a very flexible idol indeed. We need to be careful of ourselves.

Testing, testing, 123 . . .

Thanks, Erin. :)

Herewith, the rules:
Pick up the nearest book of 123 pages or more. (No cheating!)
Find Page 123.
Find the first 5 sentences.
Post the next 3 sentences.
Tag 5 people.

My wife happened to be walking up to me with a book just as I caught the tag, so the book is Camp's Unfamiliar Quotations from 2000 B. C. to the Present (which should be a fruitful source for this sort of thing).

(Our topic is "Greed," btw; the book is arranged thematically.)

"Yuppies' creed: 'I want it all and I want it now.'"

—Russell Baker, New York Times, February 6, 1988

"I think the enemy is here before us. . . . I think the enemy is simple selfishness and compulsive greed. . . . I think he stole our earth from us, destroyed our wealth, and ravaged and despoiled our land."

—Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again, 1949

Weird meme. :) So, tags:

Sara
Wayne
Ruth
Doug
Bill

Another idea of a good Christian woman

So there's a discussion going on elsewhere regarding a conservative Christian stereotype known as the Better Christian Woman, or BCW—the label comes from Erin, who may well have coined it (as a sardonic label, anyway), and I know Hap and my wife have joined in, as have others; Barry contributed a post or two addressing the fact that men in the church deal with these sorts of expectations as well, which seems to have surprised some (female) folks.

I'll be honest and admit that while I see the effects of this in the lives of people I know and love, it's all a little alien to me. I grew up in a conservative family and a conservative church, but apparently a somewhat different kind of conservative; after all, one of my grandmothers was a career pastor (specifically, she and Grampa were officers in the Salvation Army), and my mother was an ICU nurse who got her start in the Navy. The women in my family show a distinct tendency toward the helping professions (add in a couple social workers, for instance), but then, so do the men (ditto, plus a couple more ministers, including me). I guess I just grew up with the idea that God calls people on an individual basis, depending on who he made each of us to be and what particular set of gifts he's given us, rather than a categorical one.

It might be in light of that, and it's certainly in light of the ongoing discussion, that I was interested to read this piece by the Rev. Dr. Linda Schwab, a chemistry professor turned Methodist pastor, on her career path and choices. Her situation is a little different, but ultimately I think her piece raises and deals with the same basic set of questions: who am I, and who am I supposed to be? One of the things I value about her essay is that she understands where the answer to those questions is to be found: not in human expectations, but in God.