Monday, June 30, 2008

Trust me, you don't want Canadian health care

In the US, more and more people, upset by the rising cost of health care, want to turn the whole shooting match over to the government. "We want to be like Canada," they say.

I have to tell you, I lived in Canada for five years; I had surgery in Canada; I saw lots of specialists and the inside of five or six hospitals in Canada; my oldest daughter was born in Canada. America, you don't want to be like Canada.

That is not, incidentally, a slam on the people who make the Canadian health-care system go. For one thing, we were net beneficiaries, as a poor American student family living in Canada; we got a lot for not much, and I appreciated our host's generosity. For another, we had some truly brilliant doctors, and some wonderful nurses, and the staff at BC Children's Hospital were beyond superb; they cared deeply about their tiny patients and were past masters at making bricks without straw. The thing is, they had to be.

The equipment was junk—they finally gave up on the blood-oxygen monitor on my little baby and took it off when it reported a heart rate of 24 and a blood-oxygen level of 0 (or the other way around—it's been a few years now); while we were there, the provincial government tried to donate some of its used medical equipment, and no one would take it. The Sun quoted one veterinarian as saying the ultrasound they wanted to give him wasn't good enough to use on his horses. Meanwhile, the doctors kept taking "reduced activity days," or RADs (which is to say, they took scheduled one-day strikes without calling them strikes), to protest their contract. I was actually up at St. Paul's in Vancouver for a scan one of those days; the techs were there, obviously, but no doctors. A hospital with no doctors is a very strange place.

I could also tell you about the time we took our daughter to the ER (different hospital) at midnight; there were only a few patients there at the time, but it still took them three hours just to get us into a room, and another hour to see us. It was 5am before we walked out the front door. At that, we were the lucky ones—there were a couple folks still waiting to be seen who'd been waiting when we got there. Or I could tell you about friends who had other friends, or family members, die while on waiting lists for vital surgeries. Or I could tell you about doctors and nurses who got tired of it all and left for better jobs in the US. The list goes on.

In case you think I only think this way because I'm an American, I'll certainly grant you that many Canadians still loyally defend their health-care system; as I say, they have some wonderful people to defend. The fact of the matter is, though, there are many Canadians who don't, anymore—including, among others, the (liberal) Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Canada, Beverly McLachlin. The normal routine in Canada is, if you need a major procedure done, you get put on a waiting list. If you can afford to go south of the border and get it done in the US—or if you can get the government to pay for you to do so—you do that. If you can't, you wait. When this system was challenged in court—a resident of Québec teamed up with his doctor to sue the province over its law forbidding private medical insurance—the Canadian Supremes threw out the law, and came very close to declaring the entire national system unconstitutional. They didn't quite agree to do that, but they did indict the system in scathing terms; as the Wall Street Journal summed up the matter, their opinion essentially said that "Canada's vaunted public health-care system produces intolerable inequality."

Which it did. And does, as do similar government-run systems in Britain and elsewhere. In one Ontario town, for instance, people buy lottery tickets to win appointments with the local doctor. The system doesn't work. That's why more Canadians are opting to sue; it's why in Britain, seriously ill patients end up waiting in ambulances, not even admitted to the emergency room; and it's why "the father of Quebec medicare," Claude Castonguay, the man who started the ball rolling that produced Canada's government-run system, now says it's time to break it down and let the private sector take some of the load.

And why not? After all, that approach is working in Sweden.

Another false messiah

I don't usually link to the same blog back-to-back, but there's another post of Doug Hagler's I want to point you to, one he titled "Idolatry American style: Barak Obama"; obviously we have very different views of the Republican Party (though even most Republican voters aren't very happy with the Republican Party at the moment), but as I've written before, I think the idolatrous tendencies in American politics are a real problem, and I agree with Doug (and others) that they're particularly pronounced around Sen. Obama. (I don't think they're the senator's fault—rest assured, I'm not accusing him of having any sort of delusions in that regard—but I do think he's yielded to the temptation to take advantage of them, and I really wish he hadn't.)

Somehow or other, we need a countercampaign to bring the people of this country around to a critically important truth: Politics will not save us. We keep getting sucked in to the idea that if we can just win this vote or elect this candidate, that will take care of our problems, and it just isn't going to happen; Doug's dead on when he writes, "Nothing messianic is coming from either party any time soon." Nor any time later, either. Politics will not save us, government will not save us, no institution is going to save us; only God can save us, and he builds his people from the bottom up, one life at a time. If we want to work to address our problems in a way that will actually make a difference, it certainly helps to have a government (and other institutions likewise) that facilitates our efforts rather than making matters worse, but in the end, all we can do is follow God's example. One life at a time, one family at a time, one small group of people at a time. From the bottom up. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.

Calling all feminists for Zimbabwe

Doug Hagler has an important post up on the group Women of Zimbabwe Arise! (WOZA); like most Zimbabwean groups that care about anything other than keeping Robert Mugabe in power, they've been taking a pounding from the government and its affiliated thugs. In a pattern drearily familiar from corrupt and brutal tyrannies throughout history, the abuse of women to keep the opposition down is a real problem under Mugabe's misrule, which makes it particularly important, I think, to support WOZA's peaceful witness.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

No, the sky isn't falling—yet

I had a wonderful day today. We drove up to Lake Michigan to see one of our best friends from college (she was in our wedding party) and her family at their vacation cottage on the beach; she and her husband were there, and their three kids (generally the same ages as ours), and her dad, whom I also enjoy a great deal. I haven't seen her since her oldest was a newborn, and I haven't seen her husband (or her father, for that matter) since their wedding, so it was definitely too long. We had a great time talking church and family and work and other things, while the kids enjoyed themselves immensely playing together (mostly, though not only, down on the beach). I managed to burn myself in a few places due to misapplication of sunscreen—next time, I'll go back to using the lotion instead of the spray—but no big deal.

And then I got home to read the news from the PC(USA)'s General Assembly (GA): they voted to approve overtures to remove the 1978 Authoritative Interpretation, remove the chastity and fidelity clause from the Book of Order, and approve a new Authoritative Interpretation (AI) to allow officers to declare scruples with respect to ordination standards (which is to say, to declare that they're going to ignore them). And then I spent some time reading the reactions from a number of my fellow conservatives in the church: Presbyterians for Renewal essentially conceding defeat, the Rev. Jim Berkley calling it "a sad, sorry episode," the Rev. Dr. Alan Trafford declaring that "a line has been crossed" and that his congregation will no longer use the denominational seal, and perhaps most painfully, the Rev. Toby Brown shuttering his blog in grief. Clearly, there's the feeling on the part of many that the disaster has come; the sky has fallen in.

At the risk of making it sound like I think these folks are Chicken Littles—I don't, especially as I think Jim's exactly right that these actions "will precipitate much rancor and division within churches and presbyteries"—I don't think the sky is in fact falling. Not yet, at least. Yes, this was a liberal GA, as most GAs are, and yes, it did what liberal GAs do, as do most GAs; but the actual effect of their decisions should be slight. Though these three decisions felt like "three hammer blows to the head," I don't believe they'll turn out that way. To take them in order:

Voting to remove the 1978 Authoritative Interpretation that declared homosexual acts incompatible with the will of God was a real and significant blow. However, it was one that was inevitably going to happen, whenever the liberal wing of the denomination decided they actually wanted to do it; and as long as G-6.0106b, which mandates "fidelity in marriage or chastity in singleness" for all officers of the church, is still in force, then this is still the meaning of our denominational constitution, whether there's an AI to say so or not. Which leads to

Voting to remove the "chastity and fidelity clause," which would be a major change, if that clause were actually removed—but it won't be. That's an amendment to the Book of Order, which requires the support of over half the presbyteries, which isn't going to happen. This one, for all the noise it's stirring up, is merely sound and fury signifying nothing.

Voting to declare that the constitution permits officers to ignore behavioral standards is potentially the significant change, since this doesn't have to be approved by the presbyteries. However, I don't believe this one will stand either, though it will take longer to see for sure. The roots of this one go back a ways. The last GA, in 2006, voted to approve an AI that said this; when candidates for ordination actually stood up and announced their intention to ignore behavioral standards, however, and governing bodies decided to ordain them anyway, that action was challenged in the denominational courts (Permanent Judicial Commissions, or PJCs), and the denomination's highest court, the GA PJC, said, "You can't do that." On my read, their conclusion is that "'shall' actually means 'shall,' that if the church's constitution says you can't do something, then you actually aren't allowed to do it," and that "stealth amendments" that attempt to rewrite the constitution without needing the approval of the presbyteries (by simply declaring that the constitution doesn't mean what it plainly says) are not allowed. As I wrote in a letter I sent to Presbyweb a few months ago, "GAPJC has laid down the law that the only way to amend the Constitution is by actually amending it, and that it is not possible to interpret it to say what it does not in fact mean. Stealth amendments such as this 'Authoritative Interpretation, are in and of themselves unconstitutional."

I wrote on that occasion, and I still believe now, that we can and should expect GAPJC to say so, clearly, when they are given the opportunity to do so. If that happens, then the end result of these high-profile, high-angst votes will have been nothing of practical consequence. Should I prove wrong, then the disaster will indeed have come upon us, and it will be time for those of us who accept the authority of Scripture to pack our bags for final departure. I don't expect that to happen, but one never can tell for certain with committees.

At this point, however, I'm more concerned about the GA's decision to rubber-stamp the Stated Clerk Nominating Committee and elect Dmitri Medvedev—excuse me, the Rev. Gradye Parsons—the new GA Stated Clerk. Apparently, they decided that the Rev. Clifton Kirkpatrick's terms in office were so good that they should continue his administration by proxy. I cannot agree. I'm firmly convinced that one of this denomination's greatest problems is that the playing field is deliberately tilted, the process skewed in favor of those whose positions are favored by denominational staff, such that violations of constitutional process which produce results the denominational hierarchy likes (such as those which result in practicing homosexuals in ministry positions) are winked at, while those which don't (such as attempts by churches to leave the denomination with their property) are pursued to the fullest extent of the law. Those who hold liberal positions are given every hearing, while those who oppose those positions are squelched, silenced or overpowered by every means the hierarchy can use to do so. There is no attempt to make the process work equally for everybody, or to allow everyone's voice to be heard equally. The root of this problem, I'm firmly convinced, has been the practice of favoritism (which is a sin) by our denomination's highest administrative official, the GA Stated Clerk, the Rev. Clifton Kirkpatrick; I was hoping GA would have the integrity to elect someone who would have the integrity to change this. From what I can see, they didn't. The defections will continue.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Thought experiment

I had a session of our inquirers' class this evening—that's the class I do for those who want to join the church and those who're trying to figure out if they do—which left me, as I was driving back home, in a contemplative mood, just mulling over things with the church and praying a little; and as I was doing this, I'm not sure if it was merely my own thought or if perhaps it was God speaking, but I had this thought: Suppose God gave you a choice between two promises. Either you could ask that John McCain be elected president, and that would be granted (though Gov. Palin didn't figure in here); or you could ask for a breakthrough for this church in attracting young people and young families who aren't currently attending a church, such that we'd start drawing large numbers of younger folks, and that would be granted. The other might or might not happen, but whichever you chose, you could be sure would happen. Which would you choose?

—OK, so it sounds artificial; I don't dispute it. (That's probably the biggest argument for it just being my own random thought, and even then, I don't know where it came from.) Artificial or otherwise, though, the question came to mind; and while it will probably surprise some of you who've read my various political posts, I had no doubt of my answer: I'd choose for the church.

Part of that, I'm sure, is a matter of direct personal welfare: whether or not this congregation grows will have a more direct and immediate effect on my well-being (financial and otherwise) than who gets elected president. That's a consideration. It isn't, however, the main one. The main one is the limitations of my own knowledge. If, through whatever combination of programs, circumstances, and whatever else, a lot of people of my generation and younger in this community started attending the congregation I serve, I have a high degree of certainty that this would be a good thing for our congregation (and, yes, for me and my family as well); and as to whether it would be a good thing for those folks, and for our community, I believe it would be, and I would be able to do everything in my power to make sure that it was. I can look at that possibility as a clear good.

By contrast, while I truly believe that Sen. McCain would make a good president, and while I'm equally convinced that Sen. Obama would make a very bad one, I have far less ability to be certain of that. I don't know Sen. Obama at all, and my only personal knowledge of Sen. McCain is secondhand; there are a vast number of unknown variables (on multiple levels) which will play into the success or failure of our next president; and Sen. Obama has a short enough track record that it's more difficult than usual to predict how he would govern, making it unusually possible that he could surprise all of us. Then too, even if I'm absolutely right about what to expect from both of them (which is unlikely, no question), it's possible that for the long-term good of our country, we'd be better off with a worse president for the next four years. I'm not sure exactly how that would work, but I can't say that it couldn't be—the ironies of history won't let me.

All of which is to say that while I know which candidate will get my vote this November, I'm content to leave the overall outcome of the election to God's providence; indeed, I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to think I could do better. I'm just not confident enough that I truly know for certain what's best (nor should I be, nor should any of us be). On matters closer to home, within my purview and my circle of influence, I can be a lot more certain; and there, my responsibility is more direct, as well. (Which is why, if God actually did make me such a promise for my church, I would be thrilled.)

Song of the Week

Inside of You

You say the river's too far to go,
And the star's too high to reach;
In the shade it's much too cold,
And in the sun there's too much heat.

Ooh, would you say to me
The sky's too blue, the sea too green;
In the night there's too much dark,
And too much crying in your sleep?

Inside of you, how deep does the ocean go?
Inside of you, how loud does the lion roar?
Inside of you, do your feet know how to dance?
Inside of you, does heaven ever really have a chance?

You're telling me the chair's too soft;
You're telling me the bed's too hard.
You would like to cool your fever,
But the water's just too far.

So you sit staring at the door
Like something's gonna walk on in;
Tell me what are you waiting for?
Sitting still's your greatest sin.

Chorus

Words and music: Susan J. Paul
© 1989 Pupfish Music
From the album
Talk About Life, by Kim Hill

God language in a fog

One of the latest flaps sparked by the PC(USA)'s General Assembly this year (and why are there always so many? The one good side to cutting the number of assemblies in half is that it cuts down the number of fights they can start) comes out of the Committee on Interfaith and Ecumenical Relationships. The committee was considering a resolution which included the statement, “Jews, Christians, and Muslims worship a common God, although each understands that God differently”; when that raised objections, they rewrote it this way: “Though we hold differing understandings of how God has been revealed to humankind, the PC(USA) affirms our belief in one God, the God of Abraham, whom Jews and Muslims also worship.” As Viola Larson notes, that rewrite doesn't actually change anything—it's just the same thing in different words.

Here's my question. Some say that Jews, Christians, and Muslims “all worship the same God,” while others object, some vehemently—but what does that mean? What actually is the content and significance of that phrase, and what is it intended to communicate? I don't think we really have a common understanding of it; our attempts to discuss Christianity, Judaism and Islam are muddled and blurred by the imprecision of our language. I suggest a moratorium on this phrase and all equivalents as counterproductive; whatever we want to say about the relative beliefs of these three religions, we should look for better, clearer, more precise ways to say it. We have enough issues with these sorts of conversations as it is—we don't need a lack of clarity making things worse.

A bruised reed he will not break

and a smoldering wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice.

So it is said of the Servant of God in Isaiah 42:3; so it will be when he comes again. Right now, though, we live in a very different world. I was reflecting on this this morning, thinking about the state of affairs in Zimbabwe. If you've been following the news, you know that it looks like Robert Mugabe's succeeded in hanging on to power (though he said he's "open to discussion" with the opposition), since the opposition party pulled out of Friday's presidential runoff in the face of the Mugabe government's terror campaign, and opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai sought refuge at the Dutch embassy in Harare. Freedom and justice in Zimbabwe are smoldering wicks, indeed.

There is one small, very small, bright spot, though: at this year's meeting of the PC(USA)'s General Assembly, the Peacemaking and International Issues Committee approved a resolution in support of the church in Zimbabwe, and against the Mugabe government. I hope and firmly expect to see the whole GA approve it; and I further hope that this encourages the Uniting Presbyterian Church of Southern Africa (UPCSA), to which the Presbytery of Zimbabwe belongs, to take a similar stance at their General Assembly in September. I miss being a part of the relationship between Denver and Zimbabwe—it's perhaps the biggest thing I miss from having left that presbytery—and I wish I could have been there. I'll have to get on top of the schedule and see if I can at least watch the plenary session when this resolution comes to the floor; I suspect my friends from Zimbabwe won't speak then (since they'd be on video for the whole world, including Mugabe and his thugs, to see), but I'd at least be able to share the moment with them a little.

Please, keep praying for Zimbabwe.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Love beyond reason

Most Christians have probably heard the line that the Christian life is a marathon, not a sprint, and we sort of get the idea; but since it would never occur to most of us to actually want to run a marathon, I don’t think the point really sticks with us. We understand that, yes, the life of faith is more than just brief bursts of activity, that there’s a necessary element of endurance there; but we still think that when it gets to the point that we don’t think we can run anymore, it’s OK to stop. The thing about running a marathon is, when you get to that point, that's when you have to dig down and push through—and that’s the part of the parallel we lose. We basically believe that when it no longer makes any sense to us to keep trying, when we no longer seem to have any reason to do so, we can stop; but that's not what Jesus calls us to. That’s not the radical obedience and radical discipleship he wants from us. Jesus calls us to a whole ’nother level of endurance.

I got to thinking about that as I was reading Jared’s brilliant post, “Love Is Never a Waste.” It's a long, deep post, and I won't try to summarize it; but here's an excerpt or two:

We likely all recall the time Peter came up to Jesus and basically asked, “When I can I stop forgiving someone who keeps wronging me? After seven times?” (I can almost hear him hoping, “Please tell me after seven times.”) But Jesus responds to him, saying “No, not seven times. Seventy times seven times.” . . .

Now, Jesus is a smart guy. In fact, if we believe he is who he said he was, we know he has all the omniscience of the God of the Universe. So he knows this is a tall order. He knows it doesn’t “make sense” in our world of abuse and betrayal and pettiness and vindictiveness and pride and arrogance and egotism.

So why does he do this? If he knows our capacity for love and forgiveness is finite, how can he call us to persevere in these things toward others? The short answer, I think, is because God Himself perseveres in them toward us. . . .

Because God’s love toward us is a) despite sin worthy of eternal punishment, and b) relentlessly patient in its eternal perseverance, we have no Christian right to say to someone who has wronged us, even if they continue to wrong us, “You have reached your limit with me. My love for you stops now.” Doing so fails to truly see the depths of our sin in the light of God’s holiness. And if God, who is perfect and holy, will forgive and love we who are most certainly not, on what basis do we have to be unforgiving and unloving to others?

I am guessing most of us agree with this in theory. There’s not too many Christians who will say, despite Jesus’ instructions, that it’s okay to hate your enemies and curse those who persecute you.

I think the place where we really have trouble with this stuff is when it comes to people who are hurting us that we actually do really want to love. We really do want to keep forgiving them. But we are weary. They are wearing us out. We don’t know how much longer we can go on. We want to know if we can give up, but we’re scared what that might mean. Surely God does not want to us to keep enduring this pain. Surely he will understand if we just . . . give up. Things aren’t working. The results aren’t being seen. Efforts are not bearing fruit. I’ve changed, but he or she hasn’t.

Most of us know 1 Corinthians 13 really well, but let’s revisit a piece of it again:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres . . . Love never fails.

That’s some scary stuff right there. For we who are used to thinking of love as romance or warm-and-fuzzies or butterflies or sex, Paul has Jesus in mind as the model of love when he tells us, “Love is about sacrifice and service. And it keeps going. It never fails.” . . .

I don’t think “Love never fails” means “Love always gets the result the lover wants.” I think it means what it says: Love is not a failure.

Love is not a failure regardless of the results.

This is why: Because God is not a failure, and God is love. When we are loving someone with a persevering, sacrificial love, we are reflecting the eternal goodness and grace of God Himself. We are glorifying God, and there is no higher calling than that. None.

We love—not because it will “change the world” (although it may)—but because God loves us (1 John 4:19). . . .

Whatever happens, whenever it happens, your love is not in vain. You are not alone, for God loves you and has approved your love through the sacrifice of his Son. Cast off despair; cast all your cares on Him. Love never fails. Love is never a waste.

That’s powerful, true, and critically important; the problem is, we keep collapsing this to the limits of our own self-expectations. We know God says, “Never stop forgiving, never stop loving, rejoice in all things, love your enemies, turn the other cheek,” and the like, but we don’t believe he really means it; we get to a certain point where it just doesn’t make any sense to us to keep going, and we say to ourselves, “Surely God will understand if we quit now—surely he doesn’t want us to keep putting ourselves through this,” and then we quit. We quit because, as Jared says, we don’t see the results we want to see, and we’re quite sure we never will; we quit because it’s not reasonable to expect us to continue, forgetting that it wasn’t reasonable to expect Jesus to allow himself to be crucified for a bunch of smelly, vicious little ingrates, either. We quit because because it’s not fair to keep forgiving and forgiving someone who’s never going to change, forgetting that that’s pretty much what Jesus does for us; and we quit because the agony of loving someone who’s bound and determined to shipwreck themselves despite us is just too much to bear, forgetting that it’s in bearing precisely that agony that we are most truly sharing in the suffering of Christ.

In short, we quit because we turn to God and say, “What more can you expect of me? I’m only human”; and he looks at us and responds, “No, you’re not. I’ve put my Spirit within you, and in me, you’re more than you think you are. That’s why I’m calling you to go beyond what you think you can do, beyond where you think it makes sense to stop, and trust me that it will be worth it in the end; I’m making you like me, and this is part of that work.” Ultimately, like everything else, this is rooted in trust in God—trust that we really can do what he’s calling us to do, and that it really will be for our good.

At this point, someone’s probably asking, “Doesn’t this just open us up for abuse?”—to which the answer is, “No, but.” No, it doesn’t open us to abuse, because allowing people to abuse us isn’t actually a loving thing to do to them; that merely empowers them in their sin. But, avoiding being abused isn’t the highest good, either. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.” And you know what? He meant that, too. Our highest priority isn’t supposed to be self-protection; Jesus calls us to love and serve him by loving and serving others past the limits of what we think is safe, and trust that in truth, whatever happens, whenever it happens, indeed it won’t be in vain—because he who calls us is faithful.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The gospel according to Firefly

"Oh, but you did. You turn on any of my crew, you turn on me. But since that's a concept you can't seem to wrap your head around, then you got no place here.
You did it to me, Jayne. And that's a fact."

—Malcolm Reynolds to Jayne Cobb, "Ariel," Episode 9, Firefly

This is from the crowning scene of perhaps the best of the handful of episodes we got of Firefly, one of the best scenes I've ever been fortunate enough to watch on TV. To explain this line to those not familiar with the show: during the episode, during a raid on an Alliance hospital, Jayne tried to sell out Simon and River Tam, the ship's two fugitive passengers (Simon, a doctor, is also the ship's medic, and the one who inspired the raid), to the Alliance. Unfortunately for him, the Alliance officials don't honor the deal and he gets taken as well, at which point he starts fighting to save himself (and the Tams). They make it back to the ship, and Jayne thinks he's gotten away with his attempted betrayal; but Mal's too smart for him, resulting in this (note: there are a few errors in the captioning):



(For a transcript of the episode, go here.)

I've always been struck by two things in this scene. The first is Mal's statement to Jayne which I've quoted above, which is strikingly reminiscent of the words of Jesus in Matthew 25:40 (though Jayne did evil instead of good). The point is of course different, since Mal isn't (and doesn't claim to be) God—but it's related. From Mal's point of view, it isn't enough to show loyalty to him alone: you have to be loyal as well to all those to whom he's committed himself. Any violation of loyalty to any of them—any betrayal of the crew bond—is a betrayal which he takes personally, and which therefore brings inevitable judgment.

The other is what saves Jayne: repentance, as evidenced by the stirring of shame. Jayne's not much of one to be ashamed of anything—if you don't count his reaction at the end of "Jaynestown," the show's seventh episode, this might be the first time in his life he's felt shame—so this is a significant moment; and at that sign that Jayne is truly repentant, Mal spares his life (though he doesn't let him out of the airlock right away—perhaps to encourage further self-examination on Jayne's part). In the face of repentance, mercy triumphs over judgment.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Story

I don't know how many people have ever heard of Robert McKee; I imagine all true cinephiles and cineasts have, but I hadn't. For those as ignorant as me, here's some of the dust-jacket copy from his book Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting (which describes him as "the world's premier screenwriting teacher"):

For more than thirteen years, Robert McKee's students have been taking Hollywood's top honors. His Story Structure seminar is the ultimate class for screenwriters and filmmakers, playing to packed auditoriums across the world and boasting more than 25,000 graduates. . . .

Unlike other popular approaches to screenwriting, Story is about form, not formula.

I have to say, I'm honestly impressed. McKee shares my belief in the importance and power of story (if anything, he takes it too far; I get the sense that story has taken the place of religion for him), he's all about teaching people to write good stories, and he has a lot of helpful advice and examples. (I had originally been thinking to quote a passage or two, but there's too many good ones.) I don't think he gets all the examples right, but most of them, he does—he really understands what he's talking about; and while his book is focused strictly on screenwriting, so far, I think everything he says applies to anyone writing fiction in any form.

I should note that one of the reasons I appreciate McKee's work is that he doesn't buy the pretensions of the artistes. Here's what he has to say about the "art film":

The avant-garde notion of writing outside the genres is naive. No one writes in a vacuum. After thousands of years of storytelling no story is so different that it has no similarity to anything else ever written. The ART FILM has become a traditional genre, divisible into two subgenres, Minimalism and Antistructure, each with its own complex of formal conventions of structure and cosmology. Like Historical Drama, the ART FILM is a supra-genre that embraces other basic genres: Love Story, Political Drama, and the like.

Being more of a novel guy than a film guy, I tend to run into this more with the art film's prose cousin, literary fiction, where I'm regularly irritated by the pretensions of its practitioners and fans that lit fic isn't a genre and is therefore superior to "genre fiction." McKee's right, this is naive; unfortunately, as B. R. Myers has pointed out in his "Reader's Manifesto," it's a naivete that has led to some real distortions in people's understanding and appreciation of literature. It's good to have someone come out and say, "You know what? This kind of thing's a genre just like any other, with its own conventions and expectations, and some of it's good and some of it isn't, just like any other genre."

Anyway, coming back to the book: it's a very good book about writing stories, and I recommend it—especially to fellow aspiring writers, but not only.

Is it Barack Obama's time?

It certainly could be; he’s a gifted campaigner with a strong core of support running in a year when the opposing party is weak and unpopular. On the other hand, there are several good reasons to think it won't be.

First, the circumstances that made the GOP unpopular and led to the debacle of 2006 are shifting, and Sen. Obama isn’t shifting with them. For one, he continues to stick to the narrative that “Iraq is spiraling into civil war, we invaded unwisely and have botched things ever since, no good outcome is possible, and it is time to get out of there as fast as we can” (even though he only took that stance out of political expediency) when more and more people (including even the editorial board of the Washington Post) are noticing that the surge has changed all that. As Michael Barone writes, “It is beyond doubt now that the surge has been hugely successful, beyond even the hopes of its strongest advocates, like Frederick and Kimberly Kagan. Violence is down enormously, Anbar and Basra and Sadr City have been pacified, Prime Minister Maliki has led successful attempts to pacify Shiites as well as Sunnis, and the Iraqi parliament has passed almost all of the ‘benchmark’ legislation demanded by the Democratic Congress—all of which Barack Obama seems to have barely noticed or noticed not at all. He has not visited Iraq since January 2006 and did not seek a meeting with Gen. David Petraeus when he was in Washington.” This is particularly a problem for Sen. Obama given that John McCain can take a sizeable measure of credit for that success: he didn’t order the surge, but he’d been pushing for it since 2003, even when the whole idea was wildly unpopular—which means that he can legitimately associate himself with our current success in Iraq while avoiding any blame for the failure of the pre-surge approach, since he’d opposed that all along.

Another change from 2006 is that Congress is no more effective or popular now than it was then, but now the Democrats are running it; which is to say that running against “those incompetent do-nothings in Congress” is a strategy that should still have bite, but now it will be biting Democratic candidates rather than Republican ones. This is particularly true since, as both Barone and Dick Morris point out, the dramatic rise in gas prices has put the Democratic Congress over a barrel (so to speak). Sen. McCain can campaign against them hard on this issue, pushing for offshore drilling (where, as he’s taking care to tell voters, even Hurricane Katrina didn’t cause any spills), drilling in ANWR (especially if he has the wit to put Sarah Palin on the ticket), and even nuclear power (which has worked fine as a major power source in Europe for years now with no problems), and the Democrats will have a hard time countering him; as part of a broader argument that “you voted Democrat two years ago, and what have they done for you? Not much,” this could be devastating.

Second, Sen. Obama has a major demographic problem—and no, it’s not the one you think. (Taken all in all, I’d guess that racial prejudices will mostly balance each other out.) The problem, which Noemie Emery laid out in a piece in the Weekly Standard, is the cultural divide among white voters which Barone identified in the Democratic primaries. In Barone’s terms, the split is between Academicians and Jacksonians; Emery defines it this way:

Academicians traffic in words and abstractions, and admire those who do likewise. Jacksonians prefer men of action, whose achievements are tangible. Academicians love nuance, Jacksonians clarity; academicians love fairness, Jacksonians justice; academicians dislike force and think it is vulgar; Jacksonians admire it, when justly applied. Each side tends to look down on the other, though academicians do it with much more intensity: Jacksonians think academicians are inconsequential, while academicians think that Jacksonians are beneath their contempt. The academicians’ theme songs are “Kumbaya” and “Imagine,” while Jacksonians prefer Toby Keith . . . Academicians don't think “evil forces” exist, and if they did, they would want to talk to them. This, and not color, seems to be the divide.

This division in the electorate would be the reason that, even after the May 6 primaries turned out far below her hopes, Hillary Clinton was still able to crush Sen. Obama in Kentucky and West Virginia—an outcome RealClearPolitics’ Jay Cost predicted. Sen. Obama is an Academician to the bone, perhaps the most non-Jacksonian presidential candidate the Democrats have ever nominated (recall John Kerry’s emphasis on his military experience, and the powerful effect of the Republican attack on that experience); Sen. Clinton, through her toughness and tenacity, was able to keep her campaign going against him by recasting herself as a Jacksonian Democrat (something she certainly had never been before), and thus giving those voters someplace to go against Sen. Obama. Now, in the general election, we’ll see the quintessential Academician, a modern-day Adlai Stevenson, up against the quintessential Jacksonian, a warrior politician for the 21st century. Sen. Obama can certainly pull it off, if he can stop talking to Iowa farmers about arugula, but that’s a matchup which Jacksonians tend to win.

Third, just as the “bimbo eruptions” didn’t stop with Gennifer Flowers, so there’s no guarantee we won’t see more problems arise out of Sen. Obama’s friends and associates. We’ve already heard about a number of his unsavory connections, but every so often, a new one makes a scene (as Fr. Michael Pfleger recently did, driving Sen. Obama to finally remove his membership from Trinity UCC); and while it might be possible to defend him by saying, “these are all past connections—Jeremiah Wright, Bill Ayers, Tony Rezko, James Meeks, Bernadette Dohrn, Nadhmi Auchi, Michael Pfleger, they’re all past history, old stories, irrelevant to who he is now,” that doesn’t hold up very well when you look at the people he continues to associate with. How is it possible to dismiss his connections to the Chicago political machine, racist preachers, American terrorists, and international criminals as irrelevant when his first appointment as the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee was Eric Holder, to chair his effort to choose a VP candidate? At some point, you just have to say, this pattern of associations tells us something important about Sen. Obama—who he is, how he thinks, what he values, what matters to him; and at some point, you have to figure that the problems his associates have already given him aren’t likely to stop coming. Again, he could overcome this; but depending on what happens and when, he might not.

Taken all in all, I have to say, I don’t think he will; I think it will be close, but I think in the end, Sen. McCain will come out on top. Sen. Obama might steal a few states out of the GOP column, but between Minnesota, Michigan and Pennsylvania, I think he’ll lose a couple as well, and I think the end result will look a lot like 2004 at the presidential level—and at the lower levels, maybe not good, but not a worst-case scenario, either. (And maybe I’ll be wrong about all that; as I’ve already noted, nobody’s been right about much, this campaign season.)

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Cloud of belief

I took my first credo post and ran it through Wordle—this is pretty cool, I think. (Sorry it's so small; click on it to see it bigger.) I think I'll keep adding them in, and see how it all looks.













HT: Brian

Poem for the day

This is one of my favorites from one of my favorite poets, and one which really fits today. (Yes, I'm in a better mood this evening than I was yesterday evening—why do you ask?) Unfortunately, if there's a way to get the proper formatting through this site, it's beyond me, so apologies for the squared-off stanzas.

Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

—Gerard Manley Hopkins

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Skeptical conversations, part VII: The Holy Spirit and the Bible

Continuing the conversation . . . Parts I-VI here.

A: Now, the Father and the Son I understand, and I can see how you speak of them as personal; but I don’t understand the Spirit. For one thing, there is no personal image there—“Spirit” seems rather vague and impersonal, much like the Force in Star Wars. For another, “Father” and “Son” are both relational labels, defining one person in relationship to a second person, but there is nothing relational about “Spirit”; it doesn’t seem to fit.

R: The most common answer, at least in the Western churches, is that the Spirit is the love between the Father and the Son; this dates to Augustine, who wrote a book on the Trinity. I don’t like it, at least not phrased that way; I think that understanding of the Spirit tends to depersonalize him, for one thing, and it’s already far too easy to conceive of the Spirit merely as an impersonal force. I think it’s true that there’s a connection between the Spirit of God and the relationship between the Father and the Son—you might perhaps say that the Spirit is the Spirit of the Father and Son in relationship, or in some sense the Spirit of the relationship between them—but I wouldn’t want to collapse it any more than that, for fear of limiting the Spirit.

A: I can see that; and I don’t see that it makes any sense to call love, or a relationship, or anything of that sort a person.

R: Well, it has the advantage of explaining where exactly the Spirit came from, and why; something which, as you noted, is much clearer in the case of the Father and the Son.

A: I didn’t think you were all that fond of explaining those sorts of questions.

R: I’m in favor of explaining as much as possible, just not of forcing explanations. In any case, that the Spirit is a person and that he is God are clear from the biblical texts, and beyond that they are primarily concerned with his work; for the Spirit is the one who carries out the work of God in the world, and he is God’s empowering presence with his people. Basically, I would say the work of the Spirit is threefold: he bears witness to the Father and the Son; he mediates the work of Christ to us; and he lives in us, empowering us to follow Jesus and grow in holiness.

The first point is where the doctrine of revelation comes in, because it is the Spirit who reveals God to us, and it is only through his revelation that we can know God at all.

A: Since God is incomprehensible.

R: Right, but also because we are fallen creatures—our reason has been damaged no less than the rest of us. God is too much for us to come to know by unassisted reason, but there’s also the fact that we prefer gods made in our own image, rather than the other way around. In any case, theologians have typically divided revelation into two categories, general and special revelation. General revelation is God’s revelation of himself to everyone, in nature—through the physical world with its laws, through human nature with its laws, and through human history. Special revelation, on the other hand, is communicated supernaturally by God, either directly or through a human agent.

A: That would be the Bible.

R: Yes, and as far as God’s self-revelation, that is the end of it. Now, I don’t agree with the division of revelation into general and special revelation, though to be sure the Bible is not the same sort of thing as a scientific study or a history textbook; but fundamentally, as the German theologian Wolfhart Pannenberg has argued, the important point is that God reveals himself through his activity in creation and history. The Bible is of particular importance because it is a particular record, inspired by the Holy Spirit, of particular acts of God in history, but this is not truly a different kind of revelation, because it is all the work of the Spirit in and among us; it is, rather, a different depth of revelation, and it is necessary because without it, we cannot perceive God’s disclosure of himself in nature and human history.

A: Because of sin, I suppose?

R: Yes, for two reasons. One, our sin has blighted the order and beauty of God’s creation. To take the most obvious sort of example, if you go up into the mountains and come upon a valley that has been thoroughly logged, leaving the small river flowing through it brown and choked with soil because of erosion, what does that make you feel?

A: Revulsion for what we’ve done to the earth.

R: On the other hand, a logger might look at it and see a job well done, a job that fed their families and provided wood to build homes for other families. For my part, I don’t think logging is bad, but the way it’s done often is—which illustrates, I think, the way that human sin has disordered and damaged God’s self-revelation in nature. Then too, of course, you have the way that human sin has blighted our history; one might conclude from the study of history that there is a God, but one might also say with Baudelaire that if there is a God, he is the Devil. It all depends on what you look at, and on what eyes you have to see; which is the other point, that our sin blinds us to the truth present in the world around us, leaving us unable to see God’s revelation of himself. As John Calvin, the great Reformer, put it, we need the lenses of the gospel to enable us to see the truth of God.

A: In other words, without the Bible, the rest of the world is worthless for trying to understand God.

R: I don’t know if I’d say “worthless”; but between the effects of sin on the world we see and the effects of sin on us, I’d say that we cannot come to anything really close to a true picture without the Bible. Just look, after all, at all the different cultures that have existed in this world, and how different all their pictures of reality have been.

A: And how different mine is from yours, you are carefully not saying. Which supports either your case or mine, of course. But I have a question: aren’t you putting too much weight on what is, in the end, still a book written by human beings?

R: I don’t think so, for two reasons. One, I believe the Holy Spirit inspired the Bible. I believe he inspired every part of it, working with the minds of its human authors and guiding the writing process so that the texts carry the meaning God intended. I also believe that he guided the church in setting the canon, so that the books we have are the books he inspired. As a consequence, I believe the Bible is a completely faithful and true witness and without error on its own terms.

A: What do you mean, “without error on its own terms”?

R: I mean that I affirm the Bible as without error, when it is properly understood. To take the most obvious case, I affirm Genesis 1-2 as a biblical text without error.

A: So you believe the earth was created in a calendar week a little over 4000 years ago?

R: No, I don’t, because I don’t believe that interpretation is a proper one of that text. People have reached that conclusion because they insist on reading Genesis 1-2 as a scientific text—they take the words to mean what they would mean had they been written by someone writing today. But it’s a liturgical text, not a scientific text, and it doesn’t share our modern preoccupations; we need to understand it in light of its own concerns.

A: What about the inconsistencies in the gospels?

R: I affirm the gospels as true reports of events, again on their own terms, and so I would say of all the histories in the Bible. We do need to understand, though, that the biblical writers didn’t have our standards for writing history, and again that they didn’t share our modernist concerns in these matters; to assume that if they were writing history they must have done it the way we would do it is anachronistic, and quite frankly rather arrogant. So take, for example, the cleansing of the temple. John places that very early in Jesus’ ministry—it comes in chapter 2—while the other three gospels set the story at the end of his ministry, in the week before his crucifixion. If both are telling of the same event, which seems likely, then it seems we have a problem. The question is, though, would the biblical authors have thought so? Setting events down in chronological order doesn’t seem to have been as great a concern for them as it is for us; we even have a bit from an early Christian writer named Papias who tells us that Mark in his gospel wrote down what he heard from Peter, but not in order—and that doesn’t appear to have been a problem to him.

More generally, I tend to follow a critical principle I learned from Coleridge, who wrote something to this effect in one of his critical works: when I meet with an apparent error in a good author, I begin with the assumption that the error is not in the author but in me. After all, these authors were far, far closer than we are to the events about which they were writing, and they knew much more certainly than we do what they were trying to do; it seems to me that to take our limited knowledge of the former and our assumptions and conclusions about the latter and use those to declare that the biblical authors were in error—well, that we should attempt to do anything of the sort only with great humility. It’s a sure thing that more than a few historical details declared false by modern biblical scholars were later proved true by modern archaeology.

A: Such as?

R: The existence of the Hittites comes to mind. The point is, assuming that a biblical author doesn’t know what he’s talking about is, as it is for any author, a problematic assumption; and sometimes, at least, it’s a way of avoiding having to ask whether or not one actually understands what the author is trying to say. In any case, I believe that the Spirit of God inspired the texts, and that he watched over their transmission as well; errors have crept in, to be sure, but nothing has threatened the central meaning of the biblical text.

A: That’s a bold claim.

R: That’s not a claim, it’s a statement of fact. There are a lot of places in the Old and New Testaments where the reading of the text is disputed, and some of them are of significance in one theological dispute or another; but not one of them threatens any of the central doctrines of the historic Christian faith.

A: If God were really preserving the text, wouldn’t he have kept it free from any errors at all?

R: You could argue that, and certainly it would have been a remarkable testimony if he had; but it’s a tricky thing to argue on the basis of what God would have done or not done, because he’s really not that predictable. Let’s just say that it doesn’t challenge my faith any to find variant readings in Scripture.

In any case, the work of the Holy Spirit in inspiring the text is one major reason that I don’t think I’m putting too much weight on it. The other is that it isn’t the words themselves as such that are my authority, but the Spirit of God speaking through the biblical text. The Bible is a trustworthy record of what God has said and done, it testifies to and preserves God’s revelation of himself, and as such it is objectively his word to us; but it is only as the Spirit illumines our minds and hearts to understand it and respond to it, only as the Spirit speaks through the text, that it becomes the word of God to us in our own experience.

A: Do you believe the Spirit speaks to people in other ways?

R: Yes, I do; but I believe that the Devil speaks to people, too, and that we are more than capable of deluding ourselves. That’s why John says in 1 John 4 that we need to test every spirit, because no spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ was God incarnate can be from God. That’s why the Scriptures are key, because we know the Spirit inspired them and speaks through them; they are our sure and certain guide, the lamp that lights our way. I believe that many writers throughout the ages have written true and wise things, and the Spirit does speak to us through their writings, but we must always test these writings against the Bible. I believe the Spirit speaks to us through the people around us, and sometimes directly in one way or another; but again, we must always test what we hear against the Scriptures, which we know are from God.

A: You make it sound easy.

R: Sometimes it is, but of course not always. And to be sure, there are many disagreements over what the Bible teaches; many in the church would disagree with the ma­jority of my beliefs. But this is where the church as a whole comes into play. Yes, we need to test the writings of the church against the Scriptures, and yes, there are many disagreements among Christian thinkers throughout the ages; that is, after all, much of the reason why we have so many denominations.

A: You do indeed. Interpreting the Bible clearly is not as easy as it seemed you were making it sound.

R: On a lot of points, that’s true. At the same time, though, the general consensus on the acceptable range of interpretations is solid. The church very early on staked out the most basic doctrines, those which could not be compromised, and built a fence around them through the great creeds—and while those are still human doc­uments and not to be equated with Scripture, they are very important for us as we seek to understand what the Spirit is saying to us through his word. And in the years since, the arguments within the church have spurred many to write about the things of God, and in the writings of such as John Calvin, Martin Luther, John Owen, Abraham Kuyper, Karl Barth, and many others there is considerable insight and wisdom; and during the Reformation, when differences in belief brought war and the threat of war, Protestant communities in places such as Germany, the Netherlands and England wrote the great Protestant confessions so that no one would have any doubts what they were fighting and dying for. These, too, are valuable guides for us in our interpretation of Scripture.

I don’t make the mistake of setting the tradition of the church equal to Scripture, as Catholics do, but I don’t want to fall into the opposite trap, as do many Protestants, of throwing out tradition. Those who do so claim to be following Scripture alone, but in truth they are exalting not the Scripture but their own interpretation of it, and in the end their own wisdom and understanding. As a practical matter, they are moving the source of authority from the Spirit to themselves, and that is both foolish and arrogant. We need to remember always that the Spirit illumines everyone, not just us, that there are many Christians who are wiser than us, whether alive or dead, and that we need to learn what we can from them. Our theology must always be characterized by humility.

Memo to self: don't get cocky

"Let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall."

—1 Corinthians 10:12 (ESV)

The present is no guarantee of the future; the moment when we're surest we're standing firm is the moment we're least likely to notice the ground eroding out from under our feet. May we always, in humility, be on guard against the temptations of the Enemy, and the worse angels of our nature, remembering that the fact that we stand now is no promise that we'll still be standing five minutes from now.

"Be careful, little eyes, what you see . . .
"Be careful, little ears, what you hear . . .
"Be careful, little feet, where you go . . ."

Song of the Week

OK, so it isn't winter; but it's a grey, growling, blustery Midwest thunderstorm out there, and the song suits both the weather and my mood anyway.


Winter: A Dirge

The wintry wind extends his blast,
And hail and rain dost blow;
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snow;
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars from bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.

"The sweeping blast, the sky o'er cast,"
The joyless winter-day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!

Through the night, through the night,
Through the night and all,
Tho' all my strength be sorely spent
And stars do die and fall,
To Thee, my King, I gladly cling
When black winds howl and blow;
When all is done and battle won
Let Christ receive my soul.

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfill,
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want (Oh! do Thou grant
This one request of mine!),
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.

Chorus

Verses: Robert Burns, 1781; chorus: Tony Krogh; music: Tony Krogh
Chorus and arrangement © 1991 Grrr Music
From the album
Dancing at the Crossroads, by The Crossing

Friday, June 20, 2008

Surprised by respect

Bishop N. T. Wright went on The Colbert Report last night, and the results weren't what I would have expected. Stephen Colbert (as some have complained) wasn't at his funniest, but it seems to me that that's because he was actually interested in having a serious discussion with Bishop Wright about his book, Surprised by Hope. It's probably just as well, since it seemed to me the good bishop got a bit testy as it was—I'm not at all sure he would have handled an all-out Stephen Colbert assault. Taken all in all, I think it's a pretty good discussion, with some of the trademark Colbert humor and a pretty good exposition of Bishop Wright's understanding of the concept of heaven (which I don't agree with, though I still appreciated the clip); seeing a little of Colbert's serious side as a man of faith, as I think we did, was a bonus.


Radicals & Pharisees

The quote heading the page today on The Thinklings is, "The radicals of one generation become the pharisees of the next." I don't know who said it (since they don't, and I hadn't heard it before), but whoever it was got the matter significantly wrong. The fact is, the Pharisees were the radicals of their own generation (or at least, they were one of the radical groups—there were certainly others); it was the Sadducees who were the Establishment. This isn't an isolated phenomenon, either, as the pharisaical spirit is far more often found among the radicals and other fringe groups of the day than it is among those who are established and in positions of authority; the Establishment rarely has the energy to be pharisaical, and it has any number of other concerns to distract it from such efforts and attitudes. Radicals, on the other hand, have both energy and reason for it, just as the original Pharisees did: if you're trying to build a movement to change society, that's the most efficient way to do it.

Our problem in understanding the Pharisees is that we only see them through the lens of the New Testament and their reaction to Jesus, who was, in essence, one of their own outflanking them from an even more radical position. Their faults are magnified, and their approach is interpreted in terms of centuries of subsequent Christian legalism; this is understandable, but does skew our picture somewhat. As a consequence, we miss the very real energy of their reform movement, and the hope it generated for some—and thus we interpret them as stick-in-the-mud never-change reactionary old-guard Establishment conservatives, when in reality they were anything but; when in reality, their problem was that they were leading change in the wrong direction, and not far enough.

There's a parable in here somewhere . . .

. . . but at the moment, it's beyond me to know what it is. This from Neil Gaiman (who is, as my wife notes, an unabashed pagan):

I wound up strangely out of sorts today, after my journey down to Dave's. The toilets on many trains in the UK have ridiculously unintuitive ways to open and close doors, with mystery buttons inside the toilet to close and lock the door that are hard to find, even for the sighted. I watched a blind man head into the train toilet. He couldn't find the door to close it, said "excuse me, can some[one] help me?" until a fat man in a suit sitting next to the toilet stopped pretending he wasn't there and pressed the close door button for him. Then I watched the fat man hurry down the aisle and past me and back into the next compartment for all the world as if he was embarrassed by what had just happened. Soon enough there came a frantic knocking on the toilet door as, obviously, the blind man couldn't get out (secret, randomly placed buttons would do it, but you have to find them first). And there was a carriage full of people between me and the toilet, so I waited for someone to get up, press the outside button and let him out. And nobody did. now the knocking started again, louder, and more panicked, and I looked out at a carriage filled with people who were pretending very hard they hadn't heard, and were all now gazing intently at their books or papers. So I got up and walked down to the toilet and let the man out, and showed him back to his seat, because it's the least I'd want if I was blind, and it's how you treat a fellow human being, and for heaven's sake. And then I went back to my seat, and everyone looked up at me and stared and smiled with relieved "thank god someone did that" smiles, and I sat down grumpy and puzzled and remain grumpy and puzzled about it still. I'm still trying to work out what on earth was going on there—I don't think I did anything good or clever or nice. I just did what I would have thought anyone would do. Except a train filled with people didn't, and in one case actively appeared to be running away in order not to. And I puzzle over, was this a carriage filled with particularly self-centred or embarrassed people, has something fundamental changed in the years I've been away from the UK (unlikely, and I don't believe in lost Golden Ages), did those other people really somehow blindly fail to notice that there was a blind man trapped in the toilet...? I have no idea and I write it down because, as I said, it puzzles and irritates me, and if it ever turns up in a short story you'll know why.

"It is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified. For when Gentiles, who do not have the law, by nature do what the law requires, they are a law to themselves, even though they do not have the law. They show that the work of the law is written on their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness, and their conflicting thoughts accuse or even excuse them on that day when, according to my gospel, God judges the secrets of men by Christ Jesus."

—Romans 2:13-16 (ESV)

HT: Sara

Thursday, June 19, 2008

In defense of the church, part IV: Jesus

I started doing these posts "in defense of the church" (as you can see from parts I, II and III) in large part because I think the church takes a lot of flak that really isn't fair; granted that there are a fair number of congregations out there which are truly poisonous (any pastor can tell you that), and a fair number more which are thoroughly dysfunctional (ditto), and another pile on top of that which are preaching something other than grace, to move beyond criticisms of specific congregations to dismissal of the church as a whole seems to me ungracious and unwarranted. Hence my three previous posts in this irregular series.

I have others of that sort I could add to them, and I may well, at some future point; but lately I've felt God poking me that there's something else I need to say first, something that comes out of a place where he's convicted me in the past. The most basic thing to say in defense of the church, the first thing that needs to be said, is that Jesus loves the church; in Ephesians 5, Paul describes the church as the bride of Christ (and says that we husbands are supposed to love our wives as much as Christ loves the church—remembering always that Christ was crucified for the church). We'd best be careful, I think, what we say about the church, because I've never met a groom yet who took kindly to people ripping on his bride; I don't imagine Jesus does, either.

Which is not to say that criticism of particular congregations (or denominations, for that matter) is out of line; as noted, there's a fair number of them that have gone fair wrong. I come out of the Reformed tradition, which makes a point of the three marks of the true church; from our perspective, just because something calls itself a church doesn't mean it is in any meaningful sense. (If anything, my theological forebears were probably a mite too willing to declare churches to be false churches.) And for that matter, fair, reasoned, gracious critique is important for all of us, as individuals and as the people of God, to grow, and so that's never out of place or inappropriate. But when we go so far as to denounce "the church" and suggest that God doesn't like "the church" any more than we do—no, that's too far. Jesus loves the church, and that isn't going to change.

Yes, this even means that he loves the people in it who hurt us and make us miserable—he died for them just as he died for the soldiers who crucified him, praying as he died, "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they're doing."  As brutal hard and painful as it is, he wants to bring us to the point where we can love them, too, even as he commands us to love all the rest of our enemies. The love and grace of God are hard things, because they go as much to the people we want cut off as they do to us; if we're going to accept them for ourselves, we have to be committed to showing them to others. (Which is not to say that we have to be able to do so right away; forgiveness takes time. There are people in my past that I can't forgive yet, so I know that full well. But we have to be committed to getting to that point, as we heal.) Jesus loves the church—and yes, that includes that pastor, that elder, that deacon, that member; which means we'd best be careful what we say about it, and about them, and in what spirit we say it.

I was going to link to this song, which I posted as song of the week over a year ago; but I think I'll just post it again here. I like this one a lot, in large part because it continues to convict me, and to call me back to a proper heart for ministry; and because it gives me hope that someday, we as the church will live up to the love Jesus has for us.


Jesus Loves the Church

You say that you believe in us—at times, I wonder why;
You say you see the Father in our eyes.
But I think if I were you, Lord, I'd wash my hands today,
And turn my back on all our alibis.

For we crucify each other, leaving a battered, wounded bride—
But Jesus loves the church;
So we'll walk the aisle of history, toward the marriage feast,
For Jesus loves the church.

We fight like selfish children vying for that special prize;
We struggle with our gifts before your face.
And I know you look with sorrow at the blindness in our eyes
As we trip each other halfway through the race.

Chorus

I want to learn to love like you; I don't know where to start.
I want to see them all but through your eyes.
For you believed enough to live amidst the madding crowd,
Enough to die before our very eyes.

Chorus

And as you hung in naked grief, bleeding for our crimes,
You saw our fickle hearts and cried,
"I love you—you are mine."

Words: Sheila Walsh; music: Phil Keaggy
© 1989 Word Music/Sebastian Music
From the album
philkeaggy, by Phil Keaggy

Praying on the front line

Something else I've been meaning to post is this passage from Tim Keller:

Biblically and historically, the one non-negotiable, universal ingredient in times of spiritual renewal is corporate, prevailing, intensive and kingdom-centered prayer. What is that?

  1. It is focused on God's presence and kingdom. Jack Miller talks about the difference between "maintenance prayer" and "frontline" prayer meetings. Maintenance prayer meetings are short, mechanical and totally focused on physical needs inside the church or on personal needs of the people present. But frontline prayer has three basic traits:
    a. a request for grace to confess sins and humble ourselves

    b. a compassion and zeal for the flourishing of the church

    c. a yearning to know God, to see his face, to see his glory. . . .
  2. It is bold and specific. The characteristics of this kind of prayer include:
    a. Pacesetters in prayer spend time in self-examination. . . .

    b. They then begin to make the big request—a sight of the glory of God. That includes asking: 1) for a personal experience of the glory/presence of God ("that I may know you"—Exod. 33:13); 2) for the people's experience of the glory of God (v. 15); and 3) that the world might see the glory of God through his people (v. 16). Moses asks that God's presence would be obvious to all: "What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?" This is a prayer that the world be awed and amazed by a show of God's power and radiance in the church, that it would become truly the new humanity that is a sign of the future kingdom.
  3. It is prevailing, corporate. By this we mean simply that prayer should be constant, not sporadic and brief. . . . Sporadic, brief prayer shows a lack of dependence, a self-sufficiency, and thus we have not built an altar that God can honor with his fire. We must pray without ceasing, pray long, pray hard, and we will find that the very process is bringing about that which we are asking for—to have our hard hearts melted, to tear down barriers, to have the glory of God break through.

This is the kind of prayer the church needs to practice, and the kind of prayer meeting it really needs to hold (not that there isn't value to maintenance prayer meetings as well, as part of the pastoral care of the church); it's the kind of prayer which I'm working to encourage in the congregation I serve, which means first of all in myself. It's hard; it takes faithfulness and commitment and attention; but I do believe the fruit is more than worth it.

HT: Joyce

This week's sign that the Apocalypse is upon us

(to borrow from Sports Illustrated, since it's an old SI writer)

I'd call this unbelievable, but that's not strong enough; it's been a long time, even in this culture, since I've seen anything this despicably dishonorable. In this year's Georgia Class AAA high school baseball championship game, the pitcher and catcher of the losing team (Cody Martin and Matt Hill, respectively) colluded to bean the plate ump with a four-seam fastball (this just a few minutes after said ump called strike three on the pitcher's brother, Dodgers first-round pick Ethan Martin).

I agree with Rick Reilly: What are we turning into in this country, anyway?

Sarah Palin for VP

So far during this craziest of presidential-election seasons, I haven't been right about much of anything yet (though I take solace in the fact that neither have many other people). Still, I keep hoping that will change; and in that spirit, I'm officially hopping on the Sarah Palin bandwagon. Gov. Palin isn't all that well known as yet, since she's the governor of Alaska, which isn't exactly a media hub, and an Alaska native to boot; that's the one argument against John McCain choosing her as his running mate. The rest of the arguments all line up in her favor. Ann Althouse points out a few, Jack Kelly of RealClearPolitics adds some of his own, while Fred Barnes' piece in The Weekly Standard, though written last year, lays out a few more, and they're compelling; aside from the fact that she's not from a populous, media-heavy state, she's about as perfect a fit for Sen. McCain as one could imagine. (Update: Beldar thinks so too, as does Jonah Goldberg.)

One, she's young, just 44; she would balance out Sen. McCain's age.

Two, she has proven herself as an able executive and administrator, serving as mayor, head of the state's Oil and Gas Conservation Commission, and now as governor; she would balance out Sen. McCain's legislative experience (though he does have command experience in the Navy).

Three, she has strong conservative credentials, both socially (she's strongly pro-life, politically and personally) and fiscally (as her use of the line-item veto has shown); she would assuage concerns about Sen. McCain's conservatism.

Four, she's independent, having risen to power against the Alaska GOP machine, not through it; she's worked hard against the corruption in both her party and her state's government. She would reinforce Sen. McCain's maverick image, which is one of his greatest strengths in this election, but in a more conservative direction.

Five, for the reasons listed above, she's incredibly popular in Alaska. That might seem a minor factor to some, but it's indicative of her abilities as a politician.

Six, she has a remarkable personal story, of the sort the media would love. She's a former beauty-pageant winner, the mother of five children (the oldest serving in the Army, preparing to deploy to Iraq, the youngest a Down Syndrome baby), an outdoorsy figure who rides snowmobiles and eats mooseburgers—and a tough, take-no-prisoners competitor who was known as "Sarah Barracuda" when she led her underdog high-school basketball team to the state championship, and who now has accomplished a similar feat in cutting her way to the governor's office. No one now in American politics can match Sen. McCain's life story (no, not even Barack Obama), but she comes as close as anyone can (including Sen. Obama); she fits his image.

Seven, she would give the McCain campaign the "Wow!" factor it can really use in a vice-presidential nominee. As a young, attractive, tough, successful, independent-minded, appealing female politician, though not well known yet, she would make American voters sit up and take notice; and given her past history, there could be no doubt that she would be a strong, independent voice in a McCain administration, should there be one.

Eight, choosing Gov. Palin as his running mate, especially if coupled with actions like giving Louisiana Governor Bobby Jindal the keynote slot at the GOP convention, would help the party going forward. The GOP needs to rebuild its bench of plausible strong future presidential candidates, and perhaps the best thing Sen. McCain can do for the party is to help with this. The party needs Gov. Jindal to stay where he is for another term or two (as, I believe, does the state of Louisiana), but in giving him the convention slot that launched Sen. Obama to prominence four years ago and putting Gov. Palin on the ticket, Sen. McCain would put two of the GOP's best people and brightest hopes for the future in a perfect position to claim the White House themselves; in so doing, he would make them the face of the GOP for the future.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

"Preach grace, brothers"

Some time ago, I listened to a colleague in ministry give his testimony, and came away amazed that he had ended up a pastor—and in fact, amazed that he was even a Christian. He had come to Christ when he was six, but the church he attended was extremely legalistic, so much so that by the age of ten, they had him firmly convinced (and completely terrified) that he was going to Hell. He described his adolescence and early adulthood as a process of holding God as far away as he possibly could while still holding on enough to keep from going to Hell, which was his overriding concern; at one point as he was talking, he wondered if he might not have been better off "just going prodigal for a while," though he knew he'd been too afraid to do so.

In the midst of all this, though, God was at work on him, reaching out with his grace by his Spirit, slowly peeling away the layers of fear around his soul "like an onion" which that church had left there, calling him first back into the church, and then into the ministry; gradually, gradually, God has been setting him free from that fear, teaching him to trust—and teaching him to share that healing with others, to preach the good news of Jesus Christ so that people may live.

I'll never forget him looking at us and saying, almost pleading, "Preach grace, brothers. Preach grace." I do, or at least that's my intent and desire, and I think I can say that's true for all the others there; but I don't think I've ever been reminded so powerfully, or had it sink in quite so deeply, just how crucial that is. I'll never forget it.

China as an island

Check this out from Strange Maps:


If you're at all interested in geopolitics and the future of our nation's relationship with China (and if you aren't, you should read a few of James Fallows' articles in The Atlantic), it's worth diving into the analysis that accompanies the map; it's a summary of a longer article, "The Geopolitics of China," which I haven't yet read but definitely intend to read. Since the fall of the Berlin Wall, too many Americans have grown accustomed to thinking of this as a unipolar world with America the only superpower; leaving aside whether that's ever really been true (Vladimir Putin might well disagree), the rise of China will be changing that before too long, if it hasn't already. China's large, powerful, and—to most Westerners—mysterious; the more we come to understand them, the better.

HT: my wife

Morning prayer

For the first showings of the morning light
and the emerging outline of the day
thanks be to you, O God.
For earth's colours drawn forth by the sun
its brilliance piercing clouds of darkness
and shimmering through leaves and flowing waters
thanks be to you.
Show to me this day
amidst life's dark streaks of wrong and suffering
the light that endures in every person.
Dispel the confusions that cling close to my soul
that I may see with eyes washed by your grace
that I may see myself and all people
with eyes cleansed by the freshness of the new day's light.

—J. Philip Newell, Celtic Benediction: Morning and Night Prayer, 40

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Out of the past, in the present, toward the future

Joyce over at tallgrassworship has a post up that I've been meaning to comment on, asking the question, "How Can An Older Congregation Live Into Christ's Future?" (In her case, she's talking about one service in her congregation, rather than the congregation as a whole, but as she notes, it's all the same issue in the end.) I appreciated her post, and especially this quote she pulled from Bishop Will Willimon's blog:

No existing, older churches can be revitalized without risk, commitment, and a determination to be faithful to the mission of Christ no matter what.

If your church is in decline and not growing, it is because your congregation has decided to die rather than to live (alas, there is no in between when it comes to churches). The majority of our churches are not growing, thus we have a huge challenge before us. Still, our major challenge is not to find good resources for helping a church grow and live into the future; our challenge is to have pastors and churches who want to do what is necessary to live into Christ's future.

Bishop Willimon's dead right in his analysis: revitalizing churches isn't primarily about programs, skills, or doing this or that; at the core, it's about the willingness of the congregation to choose life over comfort, "to be faithful to the mission of Christ no matter what," even though the one we follow is the one who had no place to lay his head. That's why Joyce is right to emphasize "a deeply felt and theologically sound spirituality, lived out in an outward focus, a welcoming and inviting atmosphere, flexibility, and willingness to embrace change for the purpose of reaching and assimilating newcomers" as the signs of a church that has chosen life, because those are marks of a church that's primarily about its mission rather than about itself. (Incidentally, from this angle we can see that it isn't only older churches that need revitalizing, nor only smaller churches; I've known a few large congregations with plenty of money and plenty of younger folks that weren't in very good shape spiritually. It may be harder to get churches full of older folks to embrace change—but I'm not sure that's necessarily so.)

It's interesting to me that Bishop Willimon describes this in terms of "living into Christ's future," because it seems to me that it requires us to take a different attitude toward time, past, present, and future, than we often do. First, I think, for a church to be revitalized, it must live out of its past—neither living in the past, as so many dying churches do, nor cutting itself off from its past, but rooting itself in the successes and lessons of the past in order to meet the challenges it faces. Second, in doing so it must live in the present—which is to say, in the present reality as it actually is, not as we wish it were. In order to be faithful to carry out the mission of Christ in our world, we have to understand where the needs are, and how to make our message heard clearly and faithfully. Third, it must live toward the future—not simply seeking to maintain itself, but working toward the goal Christ has set before it, reaching out to draw in new people and address new ministry needs. There must be roots; there must be an understanding of the environment; and there must be a clear sense of purpose.

Pillow diplomacy

So, the State Department, which under Bush 43 has made the fight against international sex trafficking a major part of our foreign policy, has now had to issue a formal directive telling its employees not to hire prostitutes. Who knew? It sounds like somebody needs to clue some of our foreign-service folks in that this isn't what the US means by "international relations" . . .

Monday, June 16, 2008

Reflection on Amos 5 worship, for a thoughtful friend

“Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord!
Why would you have the day of the Lord?
It is darkness, and not light,
as if a man fled from a lion,
and a bear met him,
or went into the house and leaned his hand against the wall,
and a serpent bit him.
Is not the day of the Lord darkness, and not light,
and gloom with no brightness in it?
“I hate, I despise your feasts,
and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them;
and the peace offerings of your fattened animals,
I will not look upon them.
Take away from me the noise of your songs;
to the melody of your harps I will not listen.
But let justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like a
wadi that never dries up.”

—Amos 5:18-24 (ESV, alteration mine)

Thus says the Lord:
“For three transgressions of Israel
and for four, I will not revoke the punishment,
because they sell the righteous for silver,
and the needy for a pair of sandals—
those who trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth
and turn aside the way of the afflicted;
a man and his father go in to the same girl,
so that my holy name is profaned;
they lay themselves down beside every altar
on garments taken in pledge,
and in the house of their God they drink
the wine of those who have been fined.”

—Amos 2:6-8 (ESV)

It can be tempting to take verses like Amos 5:21—“I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies”—as if we can just lift them right out of Amos and apply them to the church today, or to parts of the church we don’t like. Certainly, we may feel, there are an awful lot of churches whose worship can’t possibly be pleasing to God—and this is the word of God, so it applies to us just as it did to Amos’ neighbors in Tekoa; it’s tempting to rise up in the prophet’s place and pronounce the damnation of God on all that we see is wrong in the church. It is, however, a temptation which must be resisted, for our own sakes; it must be resisted because it's an abuse of the Scripture, and it's abuse of the Scripture that opens the door to all the other abuses we see in the church. It must also be resisted because it leads us away from humility, and into the trap of spiritual pride.

Amos 5 does indeed say something very important about worship, something which clearly applies to us today—but it doesn’t say that God hates all the worship offered him by the Western church, or that all the services and conferences and organizations and rallies are despicable to him. Some of them no doubt are; but this is not a blanket condemnation, except for those who are guilty of the sins of which Amos condemned his contemporaries. To understand why he denounces their worship so powerfully, we need to understand what he’s denouncing. We need to understand the real problem.

First off, to be clear, the problem wasn’t that Israel wasn’t worshiping God, or that they weren’t doing so correctly. It’s not that they weren’t a religious people—by any standard, they were considerably more religious than we are. God doesn’t complain that they weren’t showing up to church. They were keeping up their duties, showing up to the temple on the great holy days, offering their sacrifices, playing their music, and so on; they knew the stuff they were supposed to be doing, and they were doing it—all the right words at all the right times, all the right sacrifices done all the right ways, all down pat.

The problem wasn’t what they were doing—the problem was why. Their worship may have been directed to God, but it wasn’t about God, it was about them; specifically, it was about dotting all the “i”s and crossing all the “t”s necessary to get what they wanted from God, keeping up their end of the bargain so that God would have to keep up his. That’s why, just to make sure they had all their bases covered, they didn’t just worship the one true God, they worshiped a number of other gods, too—being quite sure, no doubt, to get all those forms just right as well. Of course, the Bible calls that idolatry, and makes it quite clear that God won’t stand for it; but his people just didn’t see the problem. After all, wasn’t it all about getting their needs met? If worshiping another god or two on the side helped them get their needs met, why should God mind?

This attitude bore all kinds of bad fruit. God is just, and his law set high standards for how the rich and powerful were to treat the poor and vulnerable, and yet his people felt free to come to worship with the blood of injustice on their hands, as we see both in Amos 5 and in Amos 2 (and in fact in lots of places throughout the prophets). The people of Israel thought they could buy God’s favor by showing up at the temple at the scheduled time and going through the motions, then go back into the “real world” and do business however they pleased. They didn’t understand that real worship begins with surrender—with giving over to God our plans, our ideas, our desires, our fears, our dreams, our visions, our conceptions of justice, our expectations of mercy, our wants, even our needs, and saying, “This is what I would do, but your will be done”; they just wanted to show up on Saturday morning, go through the motions, and walk off with the assurance that God was happy with them for showing up and would, in consequence, give them whatever they might happen to ask for.

And that, God says, is false worship, and I loathe it. “I hate, I despise your festivals; I take no delight in your church services. Take away your sacrifices—it makes me sick to look at them. Stop singing and put down your instruments—I can’t stand to listen to your noise.” All their worship was just an empty, cynical production; they were keeping up the shell of their religion, the ritual and the outward conformity, but without any reality at the center—and it made God madder than if they’d never bothered to show up at all. They shouldn’t have bothered, because they were essentially committing religious fraud, and God can’t and won’t tolerate that. Instead of all their show, what he wanted, and what he wants from us, is what he’s wanted all along: for his people to live lives of worship, for what we say in church on Sunday to be reflected at work on Monday.

He declares this in one of the most powerful and striking verses in the Bible: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a wadi that never dries up.” “Stream” doesn’t really capture the point here; as one commentator put it, “A wadi in the Middle East is a narrow valley, often a deep channel, through which rapid torrents of water gush during the rainy season, but which may have only a trickle of water or be completely dry in the summer.” When it flows, it brings life and color to the land, which then returns to desert when it dries up. But where a real wadi would flow only sometimes, God calls for justice and righteousness to be like a wadi that never stops flowing, but pours out ceaselessly in a mighty, thunderous flood, bringing life to the nation.

Now, in tying true worship to justice and righteousness, is Amos saying that the purpose of worship is to change our behavior? No; but true worship will, nonetheless. Worship brings us into the presence of God to focus on his character, on his beauty, and on all that he has done in creating this world and in saving us as his people—and the more time we spend looking at God, the more we will desire God, and thus desire his holiness. Worshiping God transforms us; spending time focusing our attention on God changes our priorities, our preferences, and our outlook on the world. It’s a gradual change, to be sure, not something that happens overnight, but no less real for all that; the proof of the pudding, so to speak, is whether our daily life, as individuals and as a community of believers, demonstrates and reflects the justice and righteousness of God. When that isn’t in evidence—as it wasn’t among Amos’ fellow Israelites—it’s a sign that however highly we might think of it, there’s something wrong with our worship.

Unfortunately, we don’t look at our worship the same way God does. We don’t judge our worship by whether or not our lives are characterized by justice and righteousness, or whether they look like the picture Paul paints in Colossians 3; we don’t examine our hearts to see if we, like the Israelites, are guilty of idolatry, worshiping our false gods of money, pleasure, ambition, and self-fulfillment right alongside the one true God. Instead, we ask, did we have a meaningful worship experience?—Did we enjoy the music?—Did we get something out of it?—Did it move us?—as if whether we found it meaningful was all that mattered, as if this is all about us. When those are the only questions we ask—when our only concerns about our worship are for ourselves and our own opinions and desires—we’ve gone off the rails. Our worship is about God, and what matters first and foremost is whether he is pleased, whether we’ve been focused on praising him, giving him glory, doing him honor; if not, if our concern is more for ourselves and what we think and feel than for God, then we aren’t really worshiping him at all.

The bottom line of our worship is this: God calls us to gather together as his people to praise his name, to honor him as our God, to hear him speak to us through his word, to confess our sins and affirm our faith, to lay our needs before him in prayer—and to go out again resolved and empowered to live out his justice and righteousness in a lost and broken world so loved by God. He calls us to take everything we have—yes, even our pain, even our struggles, even our anger, even our grief, just as much as our joy and our faith, our money and our talents—and give it to him, give it completely to him, as our offering. He calls us to give up trying to bless ourselves—let him take care of that!—and instead to bless his name with everything we have, with our words and with our lives, because he is worth it. He’s worth everything we have, and everything we are, and far, far more. If we understand worship in this way, if we seek to worship God in this way, it will change us, and it will change how we live; and so the proof of our worship, if you will, is in the fruit.

When are we justified in applying Amos 5:21 to the worship of the church? When the life of the church looks like Amos 2.