Madeleine L'Engle, RIP

One of the unfortunate things about real life is that you can't put it on pause while you do other things. It's been a crazy busy summer—the busiest in my nearly-five years in Grand Lake, which is saying something—and it's stayed busy rather longer than usual; on top of that, I have some major personal/professional things going on, taking up a lot of my time. All of which is to say, for the last several months, real life hasn't been leaving much room for any thought that isn't in some way work-related.

Which is a bummer.

Still, I'm getting back to this—for a while; there will be another hiatus coming in a month or two—and glad to be doing it. Truth to tell, I've had the time for a few weeks now; it's just been a matter of getting back on the bicycle. It always helps when you get a push . . .

Before I get to the push, though, I can't start blogging again without noting the death of Madeleine L'Engle. Late to the party, I know, as she died on September 6, but I can't let that go unremarked. As Heather McDougal of Cabinet of Wonders says, there was a great deal of power and beauty in her books, and for me, she was one of the writers (along with Tolkien, primarily) who taught me the connection between the two—how beauty is a far higher and deeper and more perilous thing than we realize. I know that, from a Christian perspective, L'Engle had some problematic aspects to her theology, and I acknowledge the points of criticism Sally Thomas raises in First Things (note: this article is subscriber-only until the end of 2007; just one of many excellent reasons to subscribe to FT); still, whatever may have been fuzzy around the edges of L'Engle's vision, the power of that vision came from the great truth at its core, and for that, she is worthy of all honor. In the end, I can give her much the same encomium as Thomas does:

I was captivated by the notion that there was such a thing as evil and, conversely, that there was such a thing as good. The idea, further, that even the weak and the flawed were called to the battle—that there even was a battle—roused something in my imagination that years of Sunday School had somehow failed to touch.

What these novels provided me with was something I cannot remember having possessed before I encountered them: a religious imagination. Perhaps I should have been reading them through the lens of the Bible; instead, as a teenager, I turned anew to the Bible with these stories alive in my mind.

The novels themselves were not the gospel, and I don’t think I ever mistook them as such. But they awakened my mind to the idea of a universe in which, even in distant galaxies, God is praised in the familiar words of the Psalms, as the creatures on Uriel sing: Sing unto the Lord a new song, and his praise from the end of the earth, ye that go down to the sea, and all that is therein. . . . Let the inhabitants of the rock sing, let them shout from the top of the mountains. Let them give glory unto the Lord.

1 Timothy and the misdirected conscience of the West

I'm preaching a series on 1 Timothy (yesterday was 1:12-20), and it's started me thinking about the whole concept of conscience, and how so many in the American church abuse it. Literally the word means “to know together with,” and it refers to the things we know together with God about the way the world is supposed to be and the way we’re supposed to live; it's the awareness God has placed within us of his character and will. We might almost call it a sixth sense, as it gives us the ability to perceive reality in its moral aspect. The problem is, it's only valuable as far as it accurately reports reality—in this case, moral reality, what is right and wrong in the eyes of God—but that's not how we want to use the idea of conscience; rather than recognizing it as something objective relating to real right and wrong and actual guilt, we want to take conscience as subjective, reflecting how we feel about something, whether we feel we've done right or not. We strive to unhook our conscience from God's character and will, so that far from challenging our own preferred standards of right and wrong, our sense of conscience merely reflects them.

As I was thinking last week about why this is, and reflecting on Paul's paean to the mercy of God, it hit me that at some level, we don’t want the conscience God gave us because we really don’t want what God is offering—we don’t want his solution, and we don’t even want to believe what he’s telling us about the problem. The word of God tells us we are sinners, rotten at the core, who need to accept his mercy, to be saved by his grace, through none of our own doing and none of our own merit, and we just don’t want to hear that. We want to believe we’re basically OK—and if we run up against something we can’t get around, that everyone agrees is bad behavior, we want to redefine it as a disease; that way, we’re not bad, we’re just sick.

When the Bible tells us that we do bad things just because we like to do bad things, and that the purpose of our conscience is to convict us of our sin, not to justify our behavior, we resist. As much as we call the gospel good news, it often doesn't come to us as good news. We don't consider it good news that we’re sinners saved—despite the fact that we do not and will not ever deserve it—solely by the loving grace of God through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. That kind of thinking is for losers, and we all want to think we’re winners, if there’s any way we possibly can; we want to believe that God saved us because we’re such all-fired wonderful people that we just had it coming. And the truth is, we aren’t, and we didn’t. The truth is, Christianity is for losers—and that means us. Even the best of us.

That's one reason 1 Timothy is so important for us. Paul was far more of a winner than most of us could ever hope to be, a man who would tower over the church of our day just as much as he did in his own time, and yet he gave all the credit for all his success to the power of God; for himself, he said this: “It is a true statement and worthy of acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the foremost.” He understood what folks like the Covenant Network don't, or at least don't seem to (any more than bad drivers in Dallas), that the good news of the gospel has nothing to do with lessening our sin and our guilt. Instead, it has everything to do with the marvelous, infinite, matchless grace of God, this spectacular gift we have been given, which overwhelms our sin and guilt, washing it all away through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and the power of his Holy Spirit. The good news of the gospel is that yes, we are sinners, yes, there really is a problem with us, and that God has fixed that problem, because Christ Jesus came into this world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost.

Song of the Week

Another long-time favorite of mine is Randy Stonehill; I still remember getting the chance to meet him and talk with him a bit in college (our Dean of the Chapel was an old friend of his, and he came out to do a chapel service and concert; I was on the setup/tear-down crew). I've been thinking about this song of his in particular for quite some time now, because it so powerfully expresses what I want my life to be, and in the midst of everything else, I've been hanging on to that for all I'm worth.

Every Heartbeat Is a Prayer

Mighty Father of creation, You who stand outside of time,
To Your beauty, no other can compare.
While I still cast a shadow in these precious days of grace,
Your countless tender mercies I'll declare.
Perhaps it is the wisdom only weariness can bring,
But I've come to distinguish what is real from what it seems;
I've danced just like a dervish to the symphony of liars,
But Your voice of love rose above that desolation choir,
Desolation choir . . .

Won't You take me as Your child of light—
Break me if You must, I won't despair—
'Til every breath I breathe is a song of praise,
Every heartbeat is a prayer;
'Til every breath I breathe is a song of praise,
Every heartbeat is a prayer.

Oh, speak to me in the silence; come to me in my dreams;
Call me through the clutter of these days.
If I should turn to blindness, oh, let the church bells ring—
Pull me back before I fall away.
For I have stumbled down many a dark and crooked mile
Where seduction and destruction have dogged me all the while,
And the very things that I've embraced to medicate my pain
Turned out to be imposters and poison in my veins;
They were poison in my veins . . .

Chorus

From the day we are born to the day they close our eyes,
We are aching for belonging . . .

Chorus

Words and music: Randy Stonehill
© 1998 Stonehillian Music
From the album thirst, by Randy Stonehill

Song of the Week

I remember this song from Sheila Walsh's heyday back in the '80s, but I've never been able to find a copy of it; I'm glad to have Phil Keaggy's version, but I don't like his musical interpretation as well. It may be more fitting, though, as it's certainly more mournful; and though he didn't write this, it attests to his eye for a good lyric. He is and always has been a lot more than just a brilliant guitarist, after all. Anyway, I've liked this song for a long time—especially in my more cynical moods, or on days when loving the church is hard.

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

Request for help

It's been a busy couple weeks. I was gone for several days, then came home to find that a young man in our community had been in a terrible motorcycle accident—apparently, a truck pulled out into the highway right in front of him. His name is Michael, and it looks like he'll recover fully, but his injuries are extensive and he has a long, long road of recovery ahead of him. Unfortunately, he's a major wage-earner for his family; he lives with his parents, who are getting on in years and have significant medical issues at the moment, so during the months he isn't able to work, things are going to be very, very tight for them. We're still doing an inventory on the family's needs, but it's clear that we need to make sure, somehow or other, that the mortgage gets paid, the lights stay on, and the family has enough food; I understand that our local electrical co-op is pitching in, and the mortgage company might, but they're still going to need a fair bit of financial help until Michael's back on his feet again.

This is a great family, good people who are well-liked in our small community; as I'm sure you can understand, this has been taking a fair bit of my time, energy, and attention. I wanted to put up this post to let folks know what's going on up here—and especially in case anyone feels led to help this family out. I can guarantee they're truly in need and worth helping, and that any help anyone can give will really matter in getting them through this period. Please pray for Michael's recovery, first of all, that there would be no major setbacks, and that his parents will get through this without any major health problems of their own; and if you want to offer any other assistance, you can call the Mountain Family Center at (970) 725-3257 and ask for Mollie.

Thanks. May God bless you.

Tributes

The big news, of course, is the death of the Rev. Jerry Falwell; there's a nice reflection on the man and his work by Joseph Bottum over on the First Things blog. Really, by this time, the Rev. Falwell was about 20 years past his period of broad cultural relevance, though he continued to be important as the founder and patriarch of Thomas Road Baptist Church and Liberty University; but all in all, for all the points where I disagreed with him and the times when he made me cringe, I'd still have to say that our nation is better off because he lived, and that from where I stand, it looks like God used him in powerful ways. Rev. Jerry Falwell, RIP.

On another note, there's an equally good tribute to the philosopher Charles Taylor, written by Dinesh D'Souza, on the tothesource website, on the occasion of Dr. Taylor having been awarded the Templeton Prize. If you haven't read Taylor, and you're up for a good deep read, you ought to--probably starting with his magisterial Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity. Meaty stuff, and very, very important.

Musings on worship, illustrated by the Songs of the Week

The last week or so has been really rough; but God is good, and rough weeks end, the sun still shines after the rain, and that's as worthy a reason to give praise as any.

As I write this, I have "Thinking of You," a cut from the new/old band Future of Forestry, playing through my computer speakers, and that's a good reason to give praise, too. I say "new/old band" because this is the same group as the worship band Something Like Silas—they reinvented themselves and went off in a new musical direction, under a new name. Fortunately, from the first listen (I'm now on to "Sanctitatis"), they brought their musical and songwriting gifts with them.

Anyway, if you'll pardon the right turn—I'll come back to Something Like Silas in a minute—I've been thinking about a conversation I had with a friend of mine a week or two ago about worship. This friend is one of the worship leaders for a big-city megachurch/satellite church/pocket denomination/whatever you want to call it; they seem to be doing great work for the kingdom, but from some of the comments my friend has made, I'm wondering when the folks leading that congregation will hit their Dave Johnson moment. Right now, they seem to be on top of the elephant; but they're making some decisions that, from the outside (and a considerable distance—no churches that size up here), I wonder about.

For one, I understand they recently issued the dictum that in worship (which is to say, in the singing part of worship), 3/4 of the songs need to be songs addressed to God, not songs about God. Which, OK, I can see the reasoning on this, but (as my friend pointed out), there are a couple of problems here. First, if you're trying to lead a church across multiple campuses, you need to accept that those are in truth different congregations, different gatherings of people, with different needs, which thus must be led differently. Trying to centralize decision-making in worship planning really isn't a good idea—there needs to be some degree of freedom for the folks with leadership responsibilities at the individual sites to do what is appropriate and fitting for them, not just what someone halfway across the metro area thinks is a good idea.

And second, songs addressed to God are, logically, songs in the first person; and unfortunately, given the way folks write, they tend to be in the first person singular—"I" songs. Looking at the landscape of what is generally called contemporary worship music, the great majority of "I" songs tend to be focused on me and my experience and what I'm doing for God. As such, the dictum to give most of the time to songs addressed to God will likely tend to produce a shift toward songs that are actually more about me and myself—not about who God is, not about who we are as the body of Christ, but about what I'm doing and feeling. Doing and feeling about God, yes, but . . . well, just think of the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:9-14) if you don't see what I'm talking about.

That said, this shift is far from inevitable, even if it is the course of least resistance; and here's where Something Like Silas comes in. I only have their last album, Divine Invitation—as yet, I haven't picked up any of their indie releases—but while their songs are very personal expressions of worship, mostly "I" songs, they're also songs which are unquestionably focused on God; some are expressions of praise, while others are heartfelt prayers for God to act. So, since I missed posting a song for last week, I thought I'd post an example of each, two tracks off Divine Invitation.

Words That You Say

Speak in this close communion,
Though this hour seems timeless still,
I wait for your words that bid me come.
Breathe in me, Holy Spirit,
The will when my tomorrow comes
To follow when this song is gone.

So I await the words that you say—
I open my life;
I am longing just to hear these words
That you say, that you say.

Shape me with words of wisdom,
Free my torn heart from this world;
Renew my mind and form my will.
Teach me to wholly offer
More than words that I can sing,
So I become the song I bring.

Chorus

Can I be an instrument of praise
And here pursue your heart,
So my life will tell of who you are?
Can I be a channel of your love,
A reflection of your light,
And live to bring you praise and serve you, Lord?

Chorus

Words and music: Eric Owyoung
©2004 Birdwing Music
From the album Divine Invitation, by Something Like Silas



Infinite

Lord, a thousand years go by,
Just a moment in your eyes,
'Cause you alone are far beyond the infinite, O Lord.

Lord, all the heavens sing to you,
You're full of grace and truth,
And you alone are far beyond the infinite . . .

So I'll trust you when I cannot see;
So I'll trust you when the shadows hover over me
And I'll love you when the distance leaves me cold.
So I'll love you . . . I will still believe that you are sovereign, Lord.

Lord, your promises are true,
Your mercies always new,
Your love for us is far beyond the infinite, O Lord.

Though I fear I walk alone,
You reach into my soul;
Your love for me is far beyond the infinite . . .

Chorus

I'm learning to trust,
I'm learning to feel,
I'm learning to love you always . . .

Chorus

Words and music: Eric Owyoung and Steve Hindalong
©2004 Birdwing Music/New Spring Publishing, Inc./Never Say Never Songs
From the album Divine Invitation, by Something Like Silas

Robert E. Webber, RIP

Last week, the church visible lost one of its great leaders; Robert E. Webber died last Friday, April 27, at the age of 73, eight months after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I can't claim to have known him well, as some did; I did have the privilege of sitting under him for a session at the Symposium on Worship held by the Calvin Institute for Christian Worship, and of being on his e-mail list for a time after that. I learned a great deal from him, on that occasion and through many of his books (which are, I think, invaluable for anyone involved in any aspect of planning and/or leading worship); he was a wise and humble man whose focus was always on the God we worship, and who directed our attention to God as well.

Webber didn't only write about worship—indeed, at the beginning of his career, teaching theology at Wheaton College, he focused on existentialism—but it's as a theologian and teacher of worship that he's best known, and for good reason. His influence on worship practices in the American church was great in every sense of the word; it's overstating things, I think, to say that he "helped bring an end to the so-called 'worship wars'" (in my experience, they aren't over yet), but he certainly did a great deal to heal that wound in the American church, and to point many back to the critical truth that worship is about God, and for God, not us. He lived life to the glory of God, and helped many others of us do the same.

Requiescat in pace, Robert E. Webber; and to his wife Joanne, their four children, seven grandchildren, and all who knew and loved him, all the blessings and comfort of God in this time of mourning.

AI: Amnesty International, or Abortion International?

Apparently, Amnesty International has adopted a new policy in favor of abortion. They're trying to keep this change from the public's attention—I assume because they'd rather avoid the controversy that's bound to come—and they're preparing to deny that they've taken the position that abortion is a human right, once the controversy does hit; but practically speaking, that's exactly what they've done. They may say that they take no position on when life begins, but one thing is clear: an organization dedicated to the defense of human rights has decided that unborn children have no rights worth defending. And they don't even have the guts to admit that's what they've done. It's not just sad, it's pathetic.

Song of the Week

The other day, my friend Debbie Berkley put up a post on her blog, Taking the Ring, which reminded me of this song, and it's been stuck in my head since. So, since I wanted to get back to doing songs of the week anyway, here it is:

Small Graces

Sometimes they slip by without notice;
Sometimes they're very hard to see.
Other times it's all so clear
When they're happening to me.

Bright penny on the sidewalk,
Can't buy nothin' by itself;
But when I hold it in my hand
It's a tiny piece of priceless wealth.

These are the small graces,
Little moments when the miracles come.
These are the small graces,
Small graces leading me to the larger ones.

A smile that is not automatic,
That lingers on a little more
Than the time it takes to count my change,
The time it takes to close the drawer.

Chorus

Small graces surely have a meaning
Beyond their merely passing by;
They are a reminder to the heart
There's more to life than meets the eye.

Cheerful greetings unexpected
Shared by strangers on the run,
For when the sky is clouded over
Still the promise of the sun

Is in the small graces,
The little moments when the miracles come.
These are the small graces,
Small graces pointing me to the larger ones.

Small graces,
Little glimpses of the Kingdom come
From unexpected places--
These are the small graces.

Words and music: Bob Bennett
©1997 Bright Avenue Songs
From the album Small Graces, by Bob Bennett

The coldest case of all

I'm a fan of mystery stories, going back a very long way. I remember as a kid sitting in my grandparents' home reading Grampa's collection—he had an omnibus edition of Sherlock Holmes, scads of Agatha Christie novels, and probably everything Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout ever wrote. He also had this big blue-dust-jacketed book of true crime stories—it seems to me it might have been a Reader's Digest book; in retrospect, I'm not sure a child as young as I was should have known who Sam Sheppard was, but at least I turned out OK. (Mostly. I think.)

Anyway, when it comes to reading mysteries, I tend to prefer the Great Detective sort of stories, authors like Christie, Dorothy Sayers, P. D. James, G. K. Chesterton, and (to name someone a bit more obscure these days) Melville Davisson Post; but on TV, I enjoy the current ascendancy of police procedurals quite a bit. (Though I would say that in my book, the CSI series are really more akin to R. Austin Freeman's Dr. Thorndyke stories than to the classic procedural.) One of my favorites—though I don't think it's lived up to the promise of its first season—is Cold Case, in part because the show's premise allows them to move throughout history, and in part because of a superb cast and generally good writing.

That said, I wasn't all that pleased with last Sunday's episode, "The Good Death." It was an agenda episode, pretty much intended as a commercial for euthanasia, and that posed two problems for me. First, it was pretty unsubtle about its agenda; I don't mind if a story tries to make a point, but I dislike being bludgeoned, even if I agree with the message. Second, in this case, I don't agree with the message, since I consider euthanasia a barbaric and anti-human practice, even if many who support it do so out of compassionate motives.

In this particular instance, I especially disliked the episode's subtext, which is that we should allow euthanasia because hospitals just let patients suffer. As a former hospital chaplain, that blindingly white TV hospital with nary a caregiver in sight (except for the nurse who'd been arrested for euthanizing patients, and the doctor whose only function was to give the diagnosis) doesn't look anything like any of the hospitals I know. In point of fact, the depiction was a shameful libel on our nation's caregivers. I don't say all hospitals are perfect, and I would imagine there are those out there that do fall down on the job, but by and large, the doctors and nurses in this country put a great deal of effort into caring for their patients—and in cases of extreme pain, that doesn't merely include pain control, it begins with it. Clearly, the writers of this episode know little or nothing about hospice care and comfort care—either that or they suppressed what they know in order to make the case for their agenda seem stronger.

The funny thing is, though, that they actually did a pretty good job of defeating their own argument—which is perhaps evidence of the grace of God working its way through the cracks in human intentions. There was, for instance, the closing song (Paul Westerberg's "Good Day"), which declares, "A good day is any day that you're alive"—a remarkable affirmation of the value of life in itself to conclude an episode which tried very hard to make a very different point. More significantly, though, the entire structure of the episode undermined its argument. The case for euthanasia rests, philosophically, on the assumption that suffering is an unmitigated evil, unrelievedly bad. Given that, if you aren't going to be able to live without significant suffering, life isn't worth living, and you should be allowed to kill yourself—or someone should be allowed to kill you. And yet, over the course of this episode, we were shown a very different reality, as the suffering of the deceased protagonist (whose death Lily Rush and the rest were investigating) proved in fact to be powerfully redemptive. The pain and other effects of a severe brain tumor transformed one of the most selfish and unpleasant characters I've ever run across—well, not to put too fine a point on it, back into a human being—bringing him to the point of reconciling with several people he'd hurt, most notably his wife.

It's not too much to say, looking at this episode, that the cancer was the best thing that ever happened to this guy. His suffering was redemptive; his life was better for the pain he had endured; and yet, from the perspective of the episode, better to kill him (at his request, it must be noted) than to let him suffer any longer. Never mind that had he lived, he might have fully reconciled with his son, thereby allowing the son to heal much sooner from the damage his father had done him through their lives; never mind any of that. Pain hurts, hurting is bad, anything is justified to end it. Except that in that case, wouldn't it have been better if he'd never gotten sick?

There are no Other People

I'm a fan of much of Neil Gaiman's work--for those of you not familiar with him, you could call him a science-fiction/fantasy/horror author/screenwriter/graphic novelist, if you don't mind pigeonholing him too much--and have been ever since Neverwhere. His view of the world is very different from mine, but he's a perceptive and thoughtful observer, a creative and powerful storyteller, and a gifted writer.

Anyway, it turns out Gaiman has a connection to the mass murder at Virginia Tech, which he noted in his blog last week, from which he drew one profoundly true and important point: "There are no Other People. It's just us."

Or, as the great poet/preacher John Donne put it in one of his sermons, "Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

What a week; what a world

This has been a week about violence and death. I believe it was D. L. Moody who declared that the world has never seen what God can do with one man wholly devoted to him; on Monday, we saw something rather more familiar--what the devil can do with one man who has given himself over to evil. Among the victims lie at least one hero, Dr. Liviu Lebrescu, and a good many people who were determined to do their part to make the world a better place. Most, I'm sure, imagined they had plenty of time to do so; and now, by the evil will of one cowardly human being, they have no more time. I appreciate those who have had something worthwhile to say about this; I particularly appreciate Blest with sons' call to us to appreciate the sheepdogs among us; for my part, all I've been able to do is say the Kyrie, over and over. Lord, have mercy upon us . . .

But he does. For all our evil, for all we do to mar the good he gives us, he shows us mercy, over and over; as broken and rebellious as we are, he loves us anyway. As obscene a thing as the VT massacre was--somehow worse, at least to me, for coming so close after Easter--yet death does not have the last word. God blesses us despite ourselves, and sometimes even despite our wishes.

In light of that, though I'm not drawing any parallels here, it seemed symbolic to me that two days later, the Supreme Court handed down a decision (Gonzales v. Carhart) upholding the federal Partial Birth Abortion Act. It was a much more limited decision than many (especially on the left) would have you believe--as Hadley Arkes expected, it upheld the law only against a facial challenge, with no repudiation of Roe v. Wade, leaving the door wide open for further challenges to the law as it's actually applied--but as limited as it is, it is still a significant moment. As Joseph Bottum points out, this appears to mean that abortion law no longer enjoys special, protected status--the door is open to treat abortion legislation in the same way as legislation in other areas. Ultimately, we cannot know whether this step will lead to another step in the same direction or will prove but a momentary turn--barring another change in the Court's membership, it will depend on Anthony Kennedy, who defies certain prediction--but as Fr. Richard John Neuhaus says, there is at least some reason for hope.

And if that comes through, if abortion on demand is no longer the law of the land by judicial fiat, then perhaps we can begin to build some sort of constructive consensus, along the lines Chicago Sun-Times columnist Neil Steinberg suggested a few years ago; even then, it would be a long way to legal recognition of the human rights of the unborn, but perhaps at least we can arrive at a general understanding that abortion is not a good choice, that there ought to be and are better choices, and that we all together need to do everything we can to make them available to and viable for women in need.

Hymn for Easter Sunday

--posted on Easter Monday, of course, as I was busy yesterday.

Christ the Lord Is Risen Today

Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing ye heavens, and earth reply, Alleluia!

Lives again our glorious King, Alleluia!
Where, O death, is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Dying once he all doth save, Alleluia!
Where thy victory, O grave? Alleluia!

Love's redeeming work is done, Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids Him rise, Alleluia!
Christ has opened Paradise, Alleluia!

Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like Him, like Him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!

Words: Charles Wesley
Music: from Lyra Davidica, London, 1708
EASTER HYMN, 7.7.7.7. with Alleluias

Hymn for Good Friday

I did think of more modern songs for this day, but the one that really came to mind ("The Killing," by The Violet Burning) depends as much on the music as on the lyrics; and in the end, what else for Good Friday but the other greatest hymn ever written? (The first being "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross," of course.)

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

O sacred Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns Thine only crown:
How pale Thou art with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn;
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered
Was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior;
'Tis I deserve Thy place.
Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this, Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever,
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to Thee.

Words: Paul Gerhardt, based on a Medieval Latin poem ascribed to Bernard of Clairvaux; translated by James W. Alexander
Music: Hans Leo Hassler; harmonized by Johann Sebastian Bach
PASSION CHORALE, 7.6.7.6.D

"In my end is my beginning. . . ."

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood--
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

--T. S. Eliot, from Four Quartets, "East Coker," IV.

Song for Maundy Thursday

Come to the Table

Come to the table and savor the sight,
The wine and the bread that was broken.
And all have been welcomed to come if they might,
And accept as their own these two tokens.
The bread is His body, the wine is the blood,
And the One who provides them is true.
He freely offers, we freely receive;
To accept and believe Him is all we must do.

Come to the table
And taste of the glory,
And savor the sorrow—
He's dying tomorrow;
The hand that is breaking the bread
Soon will be broken.
And here at the table
Sit those who have loved Him;
One is a traitor and one will deny,
Though he's lived his life for them all
And for all be crucified.

Come to the table:
He's prepared for you
The bread of forgiveness, the wine of release.
Come to the table and sit down beside him;
The Savior wants you to join in the feast.

Come to the table and see in His eyes
The love that the Father has spoken,
And know you are welcome whatever your crime,
Though every commandment you've broken.
For He's come to love you and not to condemn,
And He offers a pardon of peace.
If you'll come to the table, you'll feel in your heart
The greatest forgiveness, the greatest release.

Chorus

Words and music: Michael Card
© 1984 Whole Armour Publishing
From the album Known By the Scars, by Michael Card

Hymn for Palm Sunday (late)

It's been a crazy couple weeks. But this is an ancient and honorable hymn, and shouldn't be neglected just because I'm behind.

All Glory, Laud and Honor

All glory, laud and honor to Thee, Redeemer, King,
To whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring:
Thou art the king of Israel, Thou David's royal Son,
Who in the Lord's name comest, the King and blessed One!

The company of angels are praising Thee on high,
And mortal men and all things created make reply:
The people of the Hebrews with palms before Thee went;
Our praise and prayer and anthems before Thee we present.

To Thee, before Thy passion, they sang their hymns of praise;
To Thee, now high exalted, our melody we raise:
Thou didst accept their praises--Accept the praise we bring,
Who in all good delightest, Thou good and gracious King!

Words: Theodulph of Orléans, translated by John M. Neale
Music: Melchior Teschner
ST. THEODULPH, 7.6.7.6.D

Presumption, my dear sir; pure presumption

It's one of the interesting (and annoying) things about scientists these days--well, to be precise, about the high-profile ones who write heavily-publicized books attacking Christianity--that they refuse to hear of anyone without a Ph.D. in science writing anything at all bearing in any way on science, and treat anyone who tries with utter contempt, but don't hesitate to wade into the fields of the humanities, of which they know nothing at all, with the serene assurance that since they're scientists, they must be experts here, too. Watching the likes of Richard Dawkins and Steven Weinberg dress up as philosophers, theologians and historians would be hysterically funny were it not so embarrassingly cringe-inducing, at least for those who actually know something about practicing the disciplines of philosophy, theology and history; it's amateur hour to the nth power, rather as if someone stepped out of America's Funniest Home Videos and into the finals of American Idol. Watching the noted philosopher Alvin Plantinga dismantle Dawkins' book The God Delusion, however, is a very different experience, one in which Dawkins' work plays the role of carrot to Plantinga's Cuisinart; for his part, Weinberg's smug, self-satisfied theory of historical development doesn't fare much better against Barton Swaim.

I'll concede, it would be unreasonable to expect these folks to stop trying to refute Christianity; but I would appreciate it if they would at least set aside their disciplinary arrogance and treat the humanities with the same academic respect they demand for the sciences.

Edit: as noted in the comments, including Daniel Dennett with Dawkins and Weinberg was inappropriate in more than one respect; he has therefore been removed. Mea culpa; mea maxima culpa. That said, I would still appreciate it if he would "treat the humanities with the same academic respect [he] demands for the sciences," even if he's formally a philosopher himself, as he treats even his own ostensible discipline with public disdain.

Song for St. Patrick's Day

According to Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, in New York City, Lenten disciplines are suspended by special dispensation on St. Patrick's Day; so I thought I'd put a song up in honor of that great (and much-misappreciated) saint. He probably didn't write the caim (encircling prayer) that's often called "St. Patrick's Breastplate," but I don't know that it matters much--I expect he would have approved. This is the Kuno Meyer translation, which has its own title.

The Deer's Cry

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of the Cherubim,
In the obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In the hope of the resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In prediction of prophets,
In preaching of apostles,
In faith of confessors,
In innocence of holy virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.

I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak to me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in a multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts body and soul.

Christ to shield me today
Against poisoning, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding
So there come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye of everyone who sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

Lenten Song of the Week

Back to the hymns this week, and specifically to one of the greatest ever written, by one of the greatest hymnwriters ever. You might not know that Watts wrote five verses to this song, not four; the fourth verse was dropped during the period of the Wesleyan revival, and pretty much stayed buried.

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the cross of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most—
I sacrifice them to his blood.

See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o'er his body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Words: Isaac Watts
Music based on a Gregorian chant, standard arr. Lowell Mason
HAMBURG, LM

Conversation on Calvinism

The question has come in, what does it mean to be Reformed? . . . OK, so it means to be Calvinist, but then, what's that? So, to kick things off and provide a logical place for discussion, here's a brief summary, cribbed straight from our membership class at church.

Central themes of Reformed doctrine

Total depravity (Romans 3:9-11, 8:7-8)

• not “total corruption”—not that we’re as bad as we could possibly be, incapable of any good at all
• but that there is nothing we do which is untainted by sin—our motives and desires are never pure, always mixed
• also called “total inability”—in and of ourselves, we are not able to turn away from sin and toward God, because we are born in slavery to sin; left to our own devices, we would be without hope

Irresistible grace (John 6:43-44, Romans 9:14-18, Ephesians 2:1-10)

• therefore it is only by God’s grace that we are saved, through his gift of faith to us
• his grace breaks the shackles of sin on our lives
• the Spirit can make himself irresistible—if he so chooses, we cannot resist his work any more than the prisoner can resist the key that unlocks his chains

Unconditional election (Romans 9:14-18, Ephesians 1:3-6, 2:1-10)

• therefore our salvation cannot depend on our own effort and initiative, because those are not and cannot be sufficient
• God chooses whom he will save
• we do not know and will never know on what basis; all we know is that it is his free gift
  ––his choice and his love have no conditions and no strings attached

Limited atonement (Mark 10:45, John 10:14-15, Romans 8:31-32, Ephesians 5:25-27)

• the death of Christ on the cross was immediately effective to save all those whom God chose (the elect)
• it was sufficient to save all, but only efficient to save the elect
• not made available for people to choose or not, but powerful in and of itself

Perseverance of the saints (Romans 8, Philippians 1:6, 1 John 2:1-6, Jude 24-25)

• therefore, since our salvation is God’s work in our lives, and since it is a work of transformation, it is not something we can undo
• we have been justified (our relationship with God has been restored—the penalty for our sin has been paid and his wrath at our sin has been satisfied), and we are being sanctified (made holy—we are being changed into the people God wants us to be, so that we live lives that are in accordance with his will)
• this means we are in process; we are saints, because we are in right relationship with God, but we are also sinners, because we’re still being changed
  ––Lutheran language: simul iustus et peccator, “at once justified and a sinner”
• the fact that we still sin doesn’t mean that we have fallen away from God, nor does it mean that we risk losing our salvation--it just means we aren’t perfected yet; our sin cannot be so big or awful that it undoes what God did

Note: the standard acronym for these five points (in slightly different order) is TULIP. It's an effective mnemonic, especially since this particular summary of Calvinist doctrine was first developed in the Netherlands.

Overarching theme: the sovereignty (lordship) of God

• it’s all about what God does
• this doesn’t mean it’s not about what we do; but it does mean that what we do is a response to what he has done, is doing and will do
• we don’t carry the responsibility on our shoulders, whether for our own salvation or anything else—he does

Lenten Song of the Week

I like Michael Card's explanation of how this song came to be (from his book Immanuel): "I had been playing with these questions for quite some time, trying to make them sound lyrical, which is to say, trying to make them sound pretty. But they aren't pretty questions.

"The three questions which make up the verses of the song were all finished. I had planned to write one chorus, which would answer all three. That proved to be as impossible as the questions themselves. So I did the only thing a committed seeker of the Truth could do: I gave up and put them away in a drawer!

"Weeks later I was awakened in the night with the three separate choruses going through my mind, something that had never happened before--and has never happened since. To my trilogy of vain, cynical questions the Lord gave three unexpected answers . . .

"Each time I listen to the song, I hear two separate voices. My own pessimistic voice, asking the meaningless 'why' questions, and another gentler Voice, speaking the wonderful answers."

Why

Why did it have to be a friend who chose to betray the Lord?
And why did he use a kiss to show them? That's not what a kiss is for.

Only a friend can betray a friend; a stranger has nothing to gain.
And only a friend comes close enough to ever cause so much pain.

And why did there have to be a thorny crown pressed upon his head?
It should have been a royal one made of jewels and gold instead.

It had to be a crown of thorns because in this life that we live,
For all who would seek to love, a thorn is all the world has to give.

And why did it have to be a heavy cross he was made to bear?
And why did they nail his feet and hands? His love would have held him there.

It was a cross, for on a cross a thief was supposed to pay,
And Jesus had come into the world to steal every heart away.
Yes, Jesus had come into the world to steal every heart away.

Words and music: Michael Card
© 1984 Whole Armour Publishing
From the album Known By the Scars, by Michael Card

Elizabeth Fox-Genovese, RIP

The world of scholarship, and particularly of historical scholarship, lost one of its great figures recently, as did the American church; as the Salvation Army would put it, on January 2, 2007, Dr. Elizabeth Fox-Genovese was promoted to glory. I envy her eulogists, who knew her as a friend; I only knew her through her writings, which were wide-ranging and often brilliant, but by all accounts she was as remarkable a human being as she was a scholar. Her account of her conversion to Catholicism (she had been a convinced Marxist) is a marvelous piece; while she will probably be remembered best for her scholarly works (such as the magnum opus she co-wrote with her husband and fellow historian, Dr. Eugene Genovese, on the psychology and ideology of Southern American slaveholders, The Mind of the Master Class), I'm probably not the only one who will remember her conversion story with the most gratitude. A great scholar and a great Christian, she is and will be greatly missed.

Lenten Song of the Week

This isn't the most lyrically deep or complex hymn, to be sure, but in its simplicity it's an excellent one for reflection and prayer--rather like many of the Psalms in that respect. I have a deep fondness for Appalachian folk hymnody, both texts and music, and this is one of my favorites. If you're not familiar with the tune, the link is below.

What Wondrous Love Is This

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul,
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul!

When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down, sinking down;
When I was sinking down beneath God's righteous frown,
Christ laid aside his crown for my soul, for my soul,
Christ laid aside his crown for my soul!

To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing,
To God and to the Lamb I will sing!
To God and to the Lamb, who is the great "I AM,"
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing,
While millions join the theme, I will sing!

And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on, I'll sing on,
And when from death I'm free, I'll sing on!
And when from death I'm free, I'll sing and joyful be,
And through eternity I'll sing on, I'll sing on,
And through eternity I'll sing on!

Words: Appalachian folk hymn
Music: Southern Harmony, 1835
WONDROUS LOVE, 12.9.12.12.9

Simply Wright

One of my frustrations as a pastor is that with everything else I need to do, I can't do the reading I wish I could do. As Ecclesiastes says, "Of the making of many books there is no end," and while many that come out each year are of great value, I have neither the time nor the energy to read as many as I'd like to read--or indeed, arguably, as many as I need to read.

It's not a problem unique to me, of course; which is why, I think, God invented journals and review essays. There are a number of periodicals to which I subscribe, and a handful in particular which I find critically important in keeping up with things and highlighting the books I need to make time to read. The most important are First Things and Books & Culture, which you'll find linked over on the left side of the page; not far below them is Touchstone, which describes itself as "a Christian journal, conservative in doctrine and eclectic in content, with editors and readers from each of the three great divisions of Christendom — Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox . . . [designed to] provide a place where Christians of various backgrounds can speak with one another on the basis of shared belief in the fundamental doctrines of the faith as revealed in Holy Scripture and summarized in the ancient creeds of the Church."

Personally, I find Touchstone a bit more erratic than First Things (and also shorter), but the editors find (or write) and publish some wonderful pieces. In the latest issue, perhaps the best is a review essay on C. S. Lewis' Mere Christianity by the Anglican Bishop of Durham, England, the incomparable N. T. Wright. Bishop Wright might just be the perfect person to do this, since like Lewis he's an Englishman, an Anglican, a scholar (though his field is New Testament rather than Renaissance literature) and a writer who recently wrote a small work of popular apologetics, Simply Christian, which can be profitably compared with Lewis' book. (I know this because it's been done.) What's more, Bishop Wright also happens to be extremely good at what he does, and a man of real grace and humility. (I know that from people I know who are friends of his.)

As one would expect, then, he offers an excellent and quite thorough appraisal of Lewis' work, pointing out its great strengths and not sparing its weaknesses. There's no need to recapitulate his points here--go read the article (and give Touchstone some page hits); but I do want to call attention to Bishop Wright's closing paragraphs:

[Despite the book's flaws,] the bee flies, and gets the honey. Credit where credit is due. Lewis himself would have been the first to say that of course his book was neither perfect nor complete, and that what mattered was that, if it brought people into the company, and under the influence (or “infection”) of Jesus Christ, Jesus himself would happily take over—indeed, that Jesus had been operating through the process all along, albeit through the imperfect medium of the apologist.

And, as another imperfect apologist, I salute a great master, and can only hope that in sixty years’ time children yet unborn will say of me that, despite all my obvious and embarrassing failings, I too was used, in however small a way, to bring people under the influence and power, and to the love and kingdom, of the same Jesus Christ.

In a mirror, darkly

Since I don't get HBO, I haven't seen Alexandra Pelosi's documentary Friends of God, though I'd be interested to watch it; at this point, though, I don't know much more than what I read in Michael Linton's post on the First Things blog, On the Square. Linton's post, though, is plenty and enough to spark reflection—mostly grieved reflection, unfortunately. I'm in no position to pass judgment on Pelosi's work one way or the other, but it seems that those of us who call ourselves evangelicals (and really, any serious Christian) ought to take a long, hard look at what she shows us of ourselves. The parking-lot scene Linton cites, in which Pelosi is talking with Ted Haggard and two of his church members about their sex lives, looks particularly painful, and not just because of the subsequent revelations of Haggard's gay infidelity. As Linton puts it,

The possibility that it might be deeply indecent for a Christian minister ever to ask a man to reveal the most intimate nature of his relationship with his wife in front of anyone else—let alone in front of a camera—is apparently not within his ken. And the idea that these men should protect their wives’ privacy and refuse to answer isn’t in their ken either. They boast about their . . . well, you fill in the blank (we’ve all been in locker rooms). It feels so great. It’s all for the Lord. High fives, everybody.

Yeah. For all the fuss many evangelicals make about our country's moral decline, we too often accept the same assumptions and impulses that have driven that decline; as someone put it, instead of being in the world but not of it, too often we manage instead to be of the world but not in it, creating our own little subculture with "Christianized" versions of everything the world has—including, all too often, its misdirected desires. As such, there's all too much truth to Linton's charge that

We, "us," the Evangelicals with the capital E, have become thoughtless, sensualistic braggarts. . . . What doctrinal rigor we might have had has been progressively smothered by sensuality draped with arrogant irresponsibility. We don’t think; we feel. If it feels right, it’s the Lord’s working, and if it’s the Lord’s working, we can be proud of it.

I don't want to beat up on evangelicals; I am one, and I make no bones about it. But we have enmeshed ourselves far too deeply in the culture and system of this world, this present age, and we have come to think far too highly of ourselves. To quote Linton again,

We’ve forgotten the Scriptures and allowed ignorance to characterize our preaching, and delirium our worship. In our confidence in God’s grace, we have become presumptuous in our salvation. And we’ve too often confused salvation in heaven with right voting on earth. We need to change. We need to repent.

We need, I would say, to remember that the true gospel is countercultural and costly; we need to set aside the idea that we can, or should, be comfortable with God. We need to go back to Isaiah 6 and remember the reaction of that great prophet when he really saw the glory and holiness of God: he cried out in terror, for he saw his sinfulness for what it really was. And maybe, just maybe, we need to stop singing "worship" songs about how wonderful we are and put the worms back in our hymnody. May God have mercy on us for our presumption.

Lenten Song of the Week

This being Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, it seemed appropriate to move this to a Lenten theme; and given that, the logical place to start seemed to be with the first hymn we sang at our Ash Wednesday service this evening. (If you aren't familiar with this hymn, check out the Oremus Hymnal website; the link is below.)

Lord, Who Throughout These Forty Days

Lord, who throughout these forty days
For us didst fast and pray,
Teach us with thee to mourn our sins,
And close by thee to stay.

As thou with Satan didst contend
And didst the victory win,
O give us strength in thee to fight,
In thee to conquer sin.

As thou didst hunger bear and thirst,
So teach us, gracious Lord,
To die to self, and chiefly live
By thy most holy word.

And through these days of penitence,
And through thy Passiontide,
Yea, evermore, in life and death,
Jesus! with us abide.

Abide with us, that so, this life
Of suffering over-past,
An Easter of unending joy
We may attain at last!

Words: Claudia F. Hernaman, 1873
Music: Day's Psalter, 1563
ST. FLAVIAN, CM

An insurgency divided against itself cannot stand

From the "Things the US Media Won't Tell You" Dept.:

Our Islamicist opponents in Iraq are turning on each other, and their "premier jihadist propaganda tool" has now launched an all-out attack on al-Qaeda. This shouldn't surprise us--one of the best arguments for standing firm in Iraq is that the uneasy alliances among our enemies there can't hold together if we keep the pressure on--but unfortunately, it also shouldn't surprise us that no one in the West is interested in reporting this. Kudos to Nibras Kazimi, a visiting scholar at the Hudson Institute, for breaking this story on his blog Talisman Gate; this is the sort of thing we need to know if we're going to have any chance at all to evaluate the situation in Iraq rationally and helpfully.

Wretchard at The Belmont Club picked up on this, via a thread on Small Wars Council in which it's noted that al-Qaeda's actions on the ground have outraged not only fellow jihadists but at least some of the tribes on whose cooperation they have depended. The key for us in Iraq, it seems to me, is to use a sort of large-scale judo on al-Qaeda and on other groups involved in the insurgency, to do everything possible to use their strength against them and assist them in defeating themselves; and if Wretchard's right, that might be just what we're doing. Now might not be a bad time at all to significantly reduce our troop presence, but it's definitely not the time to pull out and abandon the field to our enemies. Stay the course, but sneakily.

Atheism and its discontents

Interesting meditation over on the First Things website by one of their junior fellows, Ryan Anderson, on the question, "Are Atheists Victims of Discrimination?" He concludes that in some ways, yes, they are, but that much of it is self-inflicted (and much of the rest is in reaction to the public bloviations of folks like Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, and Peter Singer); and he ends with this:

Atheist discontent still bears a seed of redemption, though, as it points to the fundamental human longing for community, shared values, and shared lives. That they feel this need goes unfulfilled isn’t surprising, since it’s a large element of what religion is all about. Far from unjustly discriminating, then, believers ought to water that seed by charity and prayers so that its seedling might one day be grafted onto the one true Vine.

Amen.

Song of the Week

Andrew Osenga is probably best known as the guy who replaced Derek Webb with Caedmon's Call; others might recognize his name from his work with Andrew Peterson. To an unfortunately small number of us, though, he is first of all the frontman for The Normals, who released three albums between 1998 and 2002 before breaking up; with strong lyrics and a sound all their own, they naturally weren't a big hit. After all, what do you expect a DJ to do with a song titled "We Are the Beggars at the Foot of God's Door," anyway?

We Are the Beggars at the Foot of God's
Door

We are gathered in cathedrals on a Sunday;
We are shrouded in our pride and lust's despair.
We have heard that You said, go to where your hearts once were,
Trusting we'd arrive to find You there.

We have known the empty senses of a funeral;
We are haunted by the promises of death.
We have asked to see Your face and noticed nothing
But a well-timed honest smile from a friend.

O we of little faith, O You of stubborn grace . . .
We are the beggars, we are the beggars,
We are the beggars at the foot of God's door.

We have grown cold to the kisses of our lovers;
We have rolled the windows up and driven through
The forests of the autumn, the innocence of snow,
The metaphor of Jesus in the dew.

We have known the heated passion of the cold night;
We have sold ourselves to everything we hate.
We're hypocrites and politicians running from a fight;
We've cheated on a very jealous mate.

Chorus

We have known the pain of loving in a dying world,
And our lies have made us angry at the truth--
But Cinderella's slipper fits us perfectly,
And somehow we're made royalty with You.

Chorus

And You have welcomed us in.

Words and music: Andrew Osenga and The Normals
© 2000 Starstruck Music/BMG Songs/Northern Shore Music
From the album Coming to Life, by The Normals

Not a bad appetizer

One of our elders here at Trinity has asked me several times over the last number of months if I'd read David Gregory's book Dinner with a Perfect Stranger. I hadn't, nor did I want to (though I didn't say that--no need to be rude, after all); it struck me as something of a Christian parallel to Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet in Heaven, just a piece of well-intentioned schlock.

Well, it seems Steve finally decided I'd had long enough, or something, and loaned me his copy. At least, he gave me his copy with the expectation that I would read and return it; can you really call it a loan when the other person doesn't want to borrow it? Whatever you want to call it, though, the book was on my desk, and it's short enough (100 small pages) that I didn't have any real excuse not to read it; so I did. I was pleasantly surprised--quite surprised, in fact. It's not great literature by any means, nor is it likely to be mistaken over the long haul for one of
C. S. Lewis' works (though Gregory clearly admires Lewis--I caught a couple nods to Mere Christianity over the course of the book); for that matter, I wouldn't even put it with Peter Kreeft's work. Still, it's clearly and cleanly written, and far shorter than I feared on the preciousness one so often finds in Christian fiction. More importantly, the book goes far beyond the sophomoric popular theology I expected to find; Gregory manages consistently to be simple without being simplistic, which is an important and difficult line to walk, and his apologetic is wide-ranging and thoughtful--and deeper than most contemporary Christian nonfiction. On several points (such as the discussion of heaven), his book can even serve (and will, I hope) as a useful corrective to the poor theology served up in many places around the American church.

All in all, I was pleased and impressed: Dinner with a Perfect Stranger is indeed an "invitation worth considering," for non-Christians and immature Christians alike. It's not great fiction, but it's probably good enough writing and storytelling to please most non-academics these days, and it's not just milk (or chicken soup), either--there's a lot of good, solid food for the soul here. Recommended.

Note: fans of Dinner with a Perfect Stranger might be interested to know that there's a sequel, focused on Nick's wife Mattie, called A Day with a Perfect Stranger.

Knocking on Heaven's Door

For the last few weeks, I've been working my way through David Crump's book Knocking on Heaven's Door: A New Testament Theology of Petitionary Prayer. Dr. Crump's a religion professor at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, MI, and he's written a truly superb book; there's more meat in the introduction alone than you'll find in many books on prayer. I picked it up after reading Lauren Winner's review, thinking it could give me a useful frame for a sermon series, and that's been one of the better decisions I've made lately. I will indeed be leaning on this book in my preaching this summer, but it's done me a lot more good than just that; I can honestly say my prayer life is stronger and deeper as a result of the reading I've done so far, and I look forward to seeing what Dr. Crump draws out of the rest of the New Testament. Highly recommended.

Song of the Week

Another favorite of mine is fellow member of the Regent College community Carolyn Arends. There's a lot of good songwriters up there in Canada, and she's one of the best. She's way under the radar at the moment because she went indie and stopped touring a few years ago to give herself time and space to raise her kids, but she's still writing and singing and putting out albums (which are available through her website); her recent albums are more uneven than her studio work, but still well worth listening to, and better than a lot of the material out there. After all, to say that an album isn't as good as Feel Free or This Much I Understand isn't exactly an insult. Here, for instance, is my favorite lyric off Arends' second album, Feel Free (a cut which reminds me of the late, much-lamented Rich Mullins):

Do We Dare?

The prayers that we pray in foxholes and funerals,
The songs that we sing in delivery rooms,
The questions we ask when nobody's listening
But the man in the moon . . .
The way our hearts beat--faced with a sunrise,
Like maybe they know something we don't;
But it's all in code, and we can't decode it--
Or maybe we won't.

Do we dare pay attention, dare even mention
The mystery we find ourselves caught in?
And do we dare to remember
All that we have forgotten?

Each breath that we take, we take for granted,
So if there are clues, we remain unaware.
All the days of our lives burn down like matches--
Vanish into thin air.
But there are dreams that we dream when we least expect them,
And memories that come like unbidden tears,
All the things we believed when we were still children--
It's been so many years . . .

Chorus

Bridge:
We are battered and torn from the day we are born
In a world that has blinded and bound us;
Is it any surprise we don't open our eyes
To the truth that's disguised all around us

Like the secrets we keep we don't know we're keeping
From before there was time, before there were lies;
Can we find you again, this far from the garden?
Do we dare even try?

Chorus

Words and music: Carolyn Arends
© 1997 Running Arends Music/New Spring Publishing (a division of Brentwood Music Publishing, Inc.)
From the album Feel Free, by Carolyn Arends

Washington politics at their oddest

No, I don't mean D.C., I mean my home state; which tends, politically speaking, to be strange, but not as strange as Oregon to the south or British Columbia to the north. This gambit, though, is the sort of thing you might expect to see come out of Oregon:

New initiative: No children? Then no marriage
'Absurd' idea aims to start discussion

I may comment on this later; right now . . . I'm speechless.

Song of the Week

These days, I think my favorite active solo artist (with all due apologies to Sufjan Stevens, who was a couple years behind me at Hope College) is Andrew Peterson; I enjoy his music, and I appreciate the depth and thoughtfulness of his lyrics. His second album, Clear to Venus, is still his best, I think, with several songs that are as good as anything he's written; here's my favorite, which opens the album.

No More Faith
1 Corinthians 13:13

This is not another song about the mountains,
Except about how hard they are to move;
Have you ever stood before them
Like a mustard seed who's waiting for some proof?

I say faith is a burden—
It's a weight to bear;
It's brave and bittersweet.
And hope is hard to hold to;
Lord, I believe,
Only help my unbelief

Till there's no more faith,
No more hope;
I'll see Your face and Lord, I'll know
There's no more faith,
No more hope.
I'll sing Your praise and let them go,
'Cause only love,
Only love remains.

Have you ever heard that Jesus is the answer
And thought about the many doubts you hide?
Have you wondered how he loves you
If he really knows how dark you are inside?

I say faith is a burden—
It's a weight to bear;
It's brave and bittersweet.
And hope is hard to hold to;
Lord, I believe,
Only help my unbelief

Chorus

So I will drive these roads in thunder and in rain,
I will sing Your song at the top of my lungs,
And I will praise You, Lord, in glory and in pain
And I will follow You till this race is won.
And I will drive these roads till this motor won't run
And I will sing Your song from sea to shining sea,
And I will praise You, Lord, till Your kingdom come
And I will follow where you lead

Till there's no more faith,
No more hope;
I'll see Your face and Lord, I'll know
There's no more faith,
No more hope.
I'll sing Your praise and let them go,
'Cause only love,
Only Your love remains.
Hallelujah!

Words and music: Andrew Peterson
© 2001 New Spring Publishing (a division of Brentwood-Benson Music Publishing)
From the album Clear to Venus, by Andrew Peterson

Musings on the missional church

The latest issue, Winter 2007, of Leadership magazine showed up last week bearing a big close-up of a green cinder-block wall with a hole sledgehammered through it into the outside world--lots of open space with a city skyline in the distance; superimposed on the picture was the headline, "Going Missional: Break free of the box and touch your world." In one way, this was confirmation of a wry remark I ran across recently about all the trendy adjectives floating around the church these days, including "emerging/emergent" and "missional"; yes indeed, Leadership is on it, and "missional" is a hip thing to be. In another way, though, this was very encouraging, because it's an excellent issue with some truly valuable articles. Tim Conder's piece, "Missional Buzz," and the article by Wade Hodges and Greg Taylor, "We Can't Do Megachurch Anymore," are the only ones up on the Web so far, leaving several excellent pieces still only available in print; I'd encourage you to keep an eye out for them (or just go buy the magazine).

The reason this is so encouraging is precisely because "missional" is a hip thing to be, fashionable but ill-understood. The fact of the matter is, as Alan Roxburgh observed in the September/October 2004 issue of Theology Matters, while "almost everywhere one goes today the word missional or the phrase missional church is used to describe everything from evangelism to reorganization plans for denominations, to how we make coffee in church basements and denominational meeting rooms . . . [this language] is still not understood by the vast majority of people in either leadership or the pew. This is a stunning accomplishment: from obscurity to banality in eight short years and people still don’t know what it means."

Dr. Roxburgh should know, since he was one of the people, along with Darrell Guder, Craig Van Gelder, and George Hunsberger, who collectively wrote the book Missional Church: A Vision for the Sending of the Church in North America, which kicked off the whole discussion back in 1998. The book was the product of a network of missiologists and theologians called the Gospel and Our Culture Network, or GOCN, who sought to build on the seminal work of Bishop Lesslie Newbigin. Their aim was to address "issues of Gospel faithfulness in North American culture," and it was in this process that the term "missional church" was born, to define the way the church needs to operate if it is indeed to be faithful to the gospel message in the context of Western (not merely North American) culture.

The problem, as Dr. Roxburgh notes in his article, is that until recently, this work has largely "remained a relatively theoretic and abstract academic conversation about the church. Its books and ideas have been shaped more by internal conversations within the missiological academy than attentiveness to the needs of the churches." Missional Church, for instance, is easily among the small number of truly essential Christian books of the last decade--but it's also very dense, not easily absorbed or understood, and primarily theoretical in its orientation, short on practical application. It's to this problem that the September/October 2004 issue of Theology Matters is addressed, as it features Dr. Roxburgh's article--a concise explanation of what it means for the church to be missional--followed by two pieces arising out of the efforts of College Hill Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati to remake itself into a truly missional congregation. The unfortunate thing is that Theology Matters, while an excellent publication, is little known outside the PC(USA)--or within it, for that matter. That's why it's so encouraging to see Leadership step up to address the same problem, and particularly to see it do the job so well. As College Hill's associate pastor, the Rev. Stephen Eyre, put it, “The missional process is the shift from the church as an institution in a Christian culture, to a community in mission in a non-Christian culture”--and that's a shift the American church badly needs to make.

Note: Theology Matters is a publication of Presbyterians for Faith, Family and Ministry; its website is http://www.theologymatters.com. I mentioned, a few posts back, the Covenant Network and their newsletter; PFFM is another affinity group within the PC(USA), in this case working the orthodox side of the aisle, and Theology Matters is another of those publications which is sent to every pastor in the denomination (and probably only appreciated by those who agree with it). In this case, it's a publication which I consider one of the real benefits of ministering in the PC(USA). I would note that a free subscription is available to anyone who's interested; just go here to sign up.

Inaugural Song of the Week

I decided to take a page from others around the blogosphere and start doing a Song of the Week. I figure it will keep me active, and there are a lot of great songs out there. I'm kicking it off this week with a lyric off the great Charlie Peacock's next-most-recent album, Kingdom Come (his most recent, Love Press Ex-Curio, is instrumental jazz)--it's an uneven album, imho, but with a few great moments, of which this is perhaps the best.

Wouldn't It Be Strange?

I’ve got a question for your consideration;
I’ll make you privy to my contemplation.
Let me say in my defense, I know it goes against all common sense . . .
It’s not our nature, nothing we’ve been taught,
Flies in the face of every line we’ve bought.
It’s hard to see it, harder to explain;
I know it cuts against the grain:

Wouldn’t it be strange if riches made you poor,
If everything you earned left you wanting more;
Wouldn’t it be strange to question what it’s for?
Wouldn’t it be strange?

I know we’ve got some interests to protect,
A set of dots we’re committed to connect.
It makes us nervous in light of how it’s been
To play a little game of pretend:

Wouldn’t it be strange if power made you weak,
Victory came to those who turned the other cheek;
Wouldn’t it be strange to welcome your defeat?
Wouldn’t it be strange?

Wouldn’t it be strange to find out in the end
The first will be the last and all the losers win?
Wouldn’t it be strange if Jesus came again?
Wouldn’t it be strange?

Words and music: Charlie Peacock and Douglas Kaine McKelvey
©1999 Sparrow Song/Andi Beat Goes On Music/Songs Only Dogs Can Hear
From the album Kingdom Come, by Charlie Peacock

The parable of the three little pigs

The day of the Lord is like three little pigs who went out into the world to make their fortunes. Knowing the stories, they traveled until they found a place where no wolf had been seen for hundreds of years; then they settled down to build homes and earn their living.

The first pig just wanted to enjoy life, so he wasn’t interested in spending too much time building his house. “What’s the fastest way to get my house built?” he asked himself, and quickly settled on a straw house with no real foundation. In a short time, his house was finished; it was a little flimsy, but that didn’t bother him—he was rarely there, except to sleep.

The second pig sniffed with disapproval when he saw the first pig’s house of straw. “That’s simply not appropriate,” he said to himself. “Granted, there’s no need to go overboard—you shouldn’t take your house too seriously—but it’s important to have a nice, solid, respectable house, as befits a nice, solid, respectable member of society.” So the second pig built himself a house of wood, with which he was very pleased. “It’s no flimsy, disreputable shack like the first pig built, nor is it overbuilt like the third pig’s house; it’s just a good, practical house, enough and not too much.”

The third pig, meanwhile, wanted to build the best house he possibly could; he made sure he had the best possible foundation, then built his house of solid stone—top-quality granite, in fact—doing everything he could to ensure that his house would stand no matter what happened. He knew the other two pigs thought he was taking this whole house-building thing much too seriously, but he didn’t care; he wanted a house worthy of honor.

The three little pigs lived for some years in contentment, each pleased with the choices he had made, until one day a great wildfire swept unexpectedly through the area. The first little pig ran to his house of straw to save his valuables; but while he was in the house, the fire swept over it and it immediately burned to the ground, killing the little pig. The second little pig ran to his house of wood to save his valuables; but while he was in the house, the fire swept over it and it began to burn. The little pig dropped everything and ran; he escaped alive, but with everything he owned lost in the fire. He ran to the house of stone, where the third little pig let him in; while they were in the house, the fire swept over it—and passed on by. The house was scorched by the flames and smelled of fire and smoke, but was otherwise undamaged, because stone doesn’t burn.

For those who have ears to hear, let them hear.

(1 Corinthians 3:10-20, 6:19-20)

The butterfly effect and the providence of God

You've probably heard of the butterfly effect—the idea that a butterfly flapping its wings in Asia can cause a hurricane in the Caribbean—which is an illustration of one of the key elements in chaos theory, that of sensitive dependence on initial conditions. The idea is that a small change, such as a butterfly's wingbeat, can produce large results. This sort of sensitivity to initial conditions is one of the things which makes a chaotic system chaotic. (Chaos is not in fact disordered or random, merely highly complex and unpredictable.)

Now, I don't know much about chaos theory, not being the mathematical type—I leave that to my brother-in-law the chemical engineer. Theology is more my line; and in that line, what I do know is that God works his will through chaotic systems as well as through obvious order, using small events at one point to bring about significant results at another point.

I was reminded of this, in a small way, over the course of the last several days. Last week, as I was sitting in my office planning the Sunday service, I wanted to doublecheck the lyrics to Charlie Peacock's song "The Harvest Is the End of the World" (from which I had pulled the title for that week's sermon). I didn't feel like going home to grab the album (strangelanguage), so I figured I'd look it up on the Internet. I found it, in the archives of two blogs I'd never heard of before, one called Mysterium Tremendum (scroll down to November 12, 2003), and its parent blog (for lack of a better word), The Thinklings. You'll notice the latter blog heading the links list over on the left; it's a great blog, and was a completely unexpected and equally welcome discovery.

In the course of exploring The Thinklings, I noticed a post headed "Pachelbel Is Haunting Me," with the YouTube video of an incredibly funny rant on Pachelbel's Canon in D, courtesy of a comedian/musician named Rob Paravonian. (If you check the January 2007 archives, it was posted on January 5.) I finally got around to watching it today, laughed hysterically, and played it for my wife, who did the same. She also suggested sending the link to a friend of ours. Said friend called us maybe 20 minutes later, declaring that it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, that she'd had a terrible day which was now "a zillion times better." She's been having a rough couple of weeks, of which today was worse than average, and needed a boost; clearly, this was God's provision for her to lift her spirits. And it all began last week when I didn't feel like walking back to the house to grab a tape.

OK, so maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal—but it was to my friend, and it was to me; and it's an illustration of how God weaves everything together to bring about the good of those who love him and are called according to his purposes, even in the little things. To Him be the glory.

Umm, what was that about grace?

I just got the latest Covenant Network newsletter yesterday, which included the note that they will no longer be sending their publication to every pastor in the PC(USA), but only to those who pay for it. (For those not familiar with the Presbyterian Church (USA) and its internecine strife, the Covenant Network is one of the affinity groups working for the ordination of self-affirmed practicing homosexuals.) I can't say as I'll miss it all that much; maybe I should, for a number of reasons, but I won't. The smug "we're on the right side of history" tone annoys me no end, especially when married to the low-quality theology and exegesis I so often find in their work.

Now, some might read that and think I fault them primarily because of their advocacy of homosexuality, but that's really not the case. There are much deeper issues here, a point signaled by the slogan printed across the front of every CovNet publication: Toward a Church as Generous and Just as God's Grace. Anyone see a problem with that? For my part, I see two. The first is minor: while we want the church to look as much like God as possible, it is simply beyond human capacity for the church to be as generous as God's grace. Aim high, sure, but the fact that they so blithely take aim at an impossibility suggests to me that they don't realize it's impossible. That in turn suggests that their doctrine of God isn't high enough by a long shot.

The greater problem is that word "just." Who in the world ever said, or thought, that God's grace is just? The very idea is ludicrous. Justice is all about what we earn; God's grace is all about what he gives us that we have not earned and could never even begin to hope to earn. Confusing the two, as CovNet evidently does, is a major theological error, a fundamental misunderstanding of who God is and who we are (and pretty much everything in between). Attempts to set aside the Scriptural witness on homosexuality are symptoms; this kind of thinking is the true disease. Christianity isn't about our rights, or what we deserve; it's about the fact that all we deserve is Hell, and God gives us his kingdom anyway. Maranatha--come, Lord Jesus!