Rebuild the parties?

That's what RealClearPolitics' Jay Cost argues we should do, at the end of a long analysis of the perversities of the Clinton-Obama race. The analysis is quite interesting in its own right, especially in his demonstration that the Democratic nomination process gives more weight to states that vote Republican, but I'm most interested in his concluding remarks:

We ask, why is Congress broken? Perhaps it is because the parties—the greatest mechanisms ever invented for managing governmental agents—have been stripped of their power. They have been given over to what scholars call "candidate control." Candidates are not responsible to the parties and the voters they represent. Instead, the parties are in service to the candidates. There is no doubt that the parties of the 19th and early 20th centuries were malfunctioning, corrupt, and irresponsible. But rather than reform them, we decimated them.

I think this nomination debacle is, in part, the fault of our disregard for the political parties. They are these hollowed-out husks that cannot handle the simple task of resolving a two-way dispute.

Here's a question for you. Take the presidents of the last 40 years: Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush 41, Clinton, Bush 43. Granted, Ford was never elected, but neither were folks like Chester Alan Arthur. On my read, ranking the presidents, that's one second-tier great president (Reagan) and a bunch of folks who are mediocre or worse. Now compare them to the presidents of the previous 170 years—a list which, yes, includes failures like James Buchanan, U. S. Grant, and Herbert Hoover, just as much as it does the likes of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. But still, taken all in all, compare the lists. Are we really better off for the primary/caucus system we have now for choosing presidential nominees than we were under the more party-dominated system of the past? And if you think we are, are we enough better off to justify the massive amounts of money spent on advertising for primaries and caucuses? (To say nothing of having to endure all that advertising, and all the rhetoric, and all the rest of it.) Our current setup is clearly more democratic than the way parties used to choose their nominees . . . but I'm starting to think we might actually be better off here with a little less democracy.

Henry Hyde, RIP

I've been meaning to post on this for several months now, and have kept getting sidetracked; which is unfortunate, because when Illinois Rep. Henry Hyde passed away on November 29 of last year, American politics lost both one of its most colorful and interesting characters, and one of its most profound conservative thinkers. Rep. Hyde was probably best known, and of greatest significance, for his long-running legislative advocacy of the pro-life movement, but his influence was felt across a great many subjects, perhaps most notably in his work as chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, and in his deep interest in foreign policy. He was a man of great gifts and great character, but what really made him a great American was his understanding of what his job required of him; as he once told a group of newly-elected members of Congress, “Permit me to suggest, on the basis of long experience, that if you don’t know what you’re prepared to lose your seat for, you’re going to do a lot of damage up here. You have to know what you’re willing to lose everything for if you’re going to be the kind of member of Congress this country needs.” Henry Hyde knew exactly what he was willing to lose everything for; and our country is by far the better for it. Requiescat in pace.

In defense of the church, part II: The institution

I had been intending to go a different direction with the second post in this series, but then Jared posted on "The Institution-less Church," and posted a chunk I'd forgotten about from the interview Eugene Peterson did a while back with Mark Galli in CT, "Spirituality for All the Wrong Reasons." Consider this, from Eugene:

What other church is there besides institutional? There's nobody who doesn't have problems with the church, because there's sin in the church. But there's no other place to be a Christian except the church. There's sin in the local bank. There's sin in the grocery stores. I really don't understand this naive criticism of the institution. I really don't get it.

Frederick von Hugel said the institution of the church is like the bark on the tree. There's no life in the bark. It's dead wood. But it protects the life of the tree within. And the tree grows and grows and grows and grows. If you take the bark off, it's prone to disease, dehydration, death.

So, yes, the church is dead but it protects something alive. And when you try to have a church without bark, it doesn't last long. It disappears, gets sick, and it's prone to all kinds of disease, heresy, and narcissism.

Then put that together with this comment from the Rev. Dr. Paul Detterman's sermon to our presbytery, on which I posted a couple days ago:

God's Word is also oblivious to cherished structures and institutions we have created in our own image and then attributed to God—like denominations, and presbyteries, and congregations, and sessions . . . These institutions seem very real to us. We even mistakenly call them "church." But not one of them exists with their own set of adjectives and attributes. There is no such thing as a "faithful" congregation or a "faithless" denomination. The structures that "organize" organized faith are simply that—organizing systems devoid of characteristics except what individual people bring in to them. This presbytery is only a gathering of individuals who are more or less committed to living as God's faithful children—working for God's shalom in God's world.

Then let me add one other reference, this more of a personal one. My father grew up in the Church of God (Anderson, IN), which arose under the leadership of D. S. Warner out of the Holiness movement. Convinced that denominationalism was a source of bad things, he intentionally founded a "movement" rather than a denomination. Now, they have a college and a seminary, they have a headquarters, they have a structure—by any definition, they're a denomination. By any definition except their own, that is; they're still firmly "anti-denominational."

I think one problem in all this, and one reason for the criticism Eugene doesn't get, is that we expect too much of the institution, whether it be the local congregation, the denomination, or anything in between. We expect the institution to reflect God, to carry out the ministry of Jesus, to attract people, and so on and so forth, which is a set of expectations it just can't carry. Dr. Detterman has the right of it—the institution is just a structure to organize our activities to help us function. Eugene has the right of it—the institution is a dead thing that protects and gives form to the live thing underneath. But that points us to the reality that the structure isn't going to do the work of the church, because the structure isn't the church; we together are the church, and the structure is there to enable us as we do the work of the church. To avoid facing that, though, we tend to pile those expectations on the institution instead, and then when it fails, we blame it, and denounce it, and set off to find a better way.

But what better way is there? Jared got it right when he noted, "the dudes most passionate about killing 'church institution' aren't exactly institution-less . . . their institution is just sexier." The example of the Church of God (Anderson) shows, I think, that the best we can do is replace one institution with another, because true institution-less-ness would be anarchy, and anarchy doesn't work; as Eugene says, a church without an institution is like a tree without bark, soon to stop functioning properly due to disease.

I also suspect that we object to the "institutional church" because it gets in the way of us doing what we want; but in reality, that's part of its purpose. Yes, there is a tendency for institutions to become self-justifying and self-serving, and that's a bad thing; but is that the fault of institutions, or of the people in them? That's a human sin, and attacking institutions won't change it. If anything, doing that makes it worse, because the existence of the institution, for all its faults, reminds us that it has a purpose. We can still do all the touchy-feely "spirituality" stuff that's all about us without any kind of formal structure, but a congregation that never really goes beyond that is about as self-justifying and self-serving as anything can be; what we need the institution for is to do the things that take us beyond ourselves, the things that actually require work and effort and need organization and structure to support them and keep them going. You know, all the "go into the world and make disciples of all nations, teaching and baptizing" stuff that Jesus commands us to do that we don't always find wonderfully comfortable and congenial. The institutional church cannot be just about us. Maybe that's part of our objection to it, too.

Is Richard Dawkins really an atheist?

Or has he simply rejected a watered-down version of God that isn't the God of the Bible and Jewish/Christian tradition? After running across this joint interview Time conducted with him and Dr. Francis Collins in November 2006, I'm not so sure. Check out this exchange:

TIME: Could the answer be God?

DAWKINS: There could be something incredibly grand and incomprehensible and beyond our present understanding.

COLLINS: That's God.

DAWKINS: Yes. But it could be any of a billion Gods. It could be God of the Martians or of the inhabitants of Alpha Centauri. The chance of its being a particular God, Yahweh, the God of Jesus, is vanishingly small—at the least, the onus is on you to demonstrate why you think that's the case.

How about, for starters, that if one goes to Scripture and to the history of Christian thought—perhaps especially to the Augustinian stream out of which the Reformers arose, but not only—what one finds satisfies Dr. Dawkins' conditions? This makes me wonder if he is in fact rebelling, not against true Christianity, but against one of the debased, culturally comfortable forms of the sort that moved J. B. Phillips to declare, Your God Is Too Small. (Interesting that he addressed the subtitle “to believers and skeptics alike.”) Certainly in a lot of ways, Dr. Dawkins sounds a lot more like St. Augustine and John Calvin there than he does an atheist.

Then there's this, the final word of the interview as printed:

DAWKINS: My mind is not closed, as you have occasionally suggested, Francis. My mind is open to the most wonderful range of future possibilities, which I cannot even dream about, nor can you, nor can anybody else. What I am skeptical about is the idea that whatever wonderful revelation does come in the science of the future, it will turn out to be one of the particular historical religions that people happen to have dreamed up. When we started out and we were talking about the origins of the universe and the physical constants, I provided what I thought were cogent arguments against a supernatural intelligent designer. But it does seem to me to be a worthy idea. Refutable—but nevertheless grand and big enough to be worthy of respect. I don't see the Olympian gods or Jesus coming down and dying on the Cross as worthy of that grandeur. They strike me as parochial. If there is a God, it's going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed.

Three thoughts on this. First, Dr. Dawkins sounds here a lot more respectful of religion in potential than he ever has of any particular religion; which suggests that his mind is rather more open on the point than I ever would have guessed, and also seems to me to further support the thought I voiced above. I strongly suspect that if anyone asked the right questions, we'd find that the god Richard Dawkins doesn't believe in is a god the church doesn't believe in either, and that his view of what Christianity actually is would prove to be more than a little out of whack.

Second, his lumping Jesus together with the Greek gods fits in with that; it shows real ignorance and failure to understand. If he sees the Incarnation as of a piece with Greek mythology, I hardly blame him for rejecting it.

And third, I think the root of that failure is to be found in the one thing that doesn't occur to him: that that God he has powerfully described might have acted to reveal himself, rather than waiting for us to get smart enough to reveal him for ourselves. I almost think the only thing that divides Dr. Dawkins and orthodox Christian faith—and of course it's a very large thing—is the absence of a doctrine of revelation.

In case anyone suspects this interview might not be representative of Dr. Dawkins' views in this regard, he sounded very similar in a fascinating interview with Ruth Gledhill of the Times; he even told Ms. Gledhill, a Christian, “I don’t think you and I disagree on anything very much but as a colleague of mine said, it’s just that you say it wrong.” (Check out her blog for more thoughts and material.)

Lenten Song of the Week

The longer I go on and the more I learn, the more convinced I become that one of the great holes in contemporary Western Protestant theology, of all stripes, is the absence of any real understanding, let alone doctrine, of the priesthood of Christ. It's one of the reasons Ascension is pretty much forgotten even in most churches that otherwise observe the liturgical year. This is not good for our spiritual health.

He Was Heard
(Hebrews 5:7)

In the days of old, the priest would come
With a lifeless sacrifice,
While the crowd in anxious silence would wait outside.
As he entered in the Temple,
They only hoped he would be heard,
God would give them a tomorrow,
And the priest would stay alive.

Their only chance, their only hope:
Would he be heard?
The only way they might be saved—
Would he be heard?

In the fullness of the promised time,
The final priest did come,
And he offered up a living sacrifice.
Now we his children wait for him
With hope and joyful praise,
For we know that God has heard him,
For we know that he was raised!

He offered tearful prayers
And he was heard;
He offered up his life
And he was heard.

So let us fix our eyes upon
The priest whom God did hear;
For the joy that was before him,
He overcame the fear.
For once and all he paid the cost,
Enduring all the shame,
Taking up the cruel cross,
Ignoring all the pain.

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

Blinded by the darkness

As I posted a few weeks ago, the Rev. Dr. Paul E. Detterman, past PC(USA) associate for worship and current executive director of Presbyterians for Renewal, preached an excellent sermon on 1 John 2:1-11 and Matthew 28:18-20 at our February presbytery meeting. His sermon has now been posted on PFR's website (note: it's a PDF), and I encourage you to read it. He's speaking in this message as a Presbyterian to Presbyterians, so it's addressed specifically to intra-Presbyterian issues, but it is by no means limited to them. There's a lot in this sermon, but I want to highlight a few things in particular.

You have invited me to preach the Word of God, and preaching God's Word can be a very dangerous thing. God's Word is liberal enough to make conservative people very nervous—but it is also conservative enough to make liberals squirm. And because most of us have our emotional/ideological feet far out in the aisle at any gathering like this, when God's Word rolls through, toes will be smashed. It happens.

This was part of Dr. Detterman's opening paragraph; I appreciated the reminder as he began speaking that we should never open the Scriptures assuming they're only going to tell us what we're comfortable hearing. God isn't limited to what we like.

We forget basic theology so easily—like who God is and who we are and why we should care. Theological amnesia is not a liberal problem or a conservative problem—it is a human problem. It is the human problem, to be exact, and it is exactly where our passage from John's letter begins.

Indeed, it's all too easy to go about our normal lives in a very ungodly forgetfulness, rather than living out the reality of who we are in God in the cold, hard facts of our daily circumstances and situations and choices. Specifically, Dr. Detterman identifies the three great inhibitors of our call to carry out the Great Commission as the inverse of 1 Corinthians 13:13: we have forgotten biblical faith, hope, and love. That doesn't mean we've forgotten those words—but we've forgotten what they really mean, and replaced their biblical content with our own.

We really don't know how dark our present darkness really is until we see flashes of God's penetrating light—then we see how much of God's reality we are missing.

The problem is, as John notes, there is something in us that prefers darkness and resists the light, and so we let the darkness blind us, congratulating ourselves all the while on how well we see.

It's a great sermon, and there's a lot more to it than this; again, I encourage you to read it for yourself, especially if you're a part of the Presbyterian Church (USA)—no matter where you stand on the conflicts that wrack this denomination, Dr. Detterman's sermon will challenge you toward greater faithfulness.

Is there an echo in here . . . ?

Or is it just me?

Hap tagged me in another meme (or maybe I should call that a Hap zap), of which the rules are as follows:

1. List at least two posts (with links) that have resonated with you. Do not include your own posts!
2. Give a brief explanation why you like the post.
3. Tag four other people.

Resonated. What has echoed in my thoughts?

The Foolishness of Preaching: I especially value this one as a preacher myself. Whether at his own blog (as here) or on the Thinklings, I really appreciate Jared Wilson's insight; this one was one of those “Why didn't I think of that?” moments.

Lukewarm: Jake's a friend of Hap's, which in my book makes him a friend of mine, at least of sorts, even though I've never met the man. Anyway, we've all read the letter to the Laodiceans in Revelation 3, but how many of us have ever taken the next step to see lukewarmness as a trial and temptation, and something the Enemy consciously uses against us? I'm still absorbing this one.

Why No One Here Is Laughing at My Jokes: Dr. John Stackhouse is a brilliant theologian, a good and godly man, and in his acerbically witty style, one of the funniest people I've ever run across. I enjoyed being around him at Regent, and I think he's wonderful. I do know, though, that some folks were put off by his sense of humor. This is a powerful piece of self-reflection on that subject; maybe it will inspire you, as it did me, to some of your own.

Doctrine as the “constitution for a community”: Confessing Evangelical is the blog of a British Lutheran lawyer who's not only pretty deep theologically, but draws in some very interesting cross-currents. When (soon, I hope) I get around to “Defending the church, part II,” I'll be drawing seriously on this post.

Lent: Dancing in Shadows & Light: This is something of a stand-in (what's the term I want? Metanoia?) for the Anchoress' ongoing reflections on Lent; I chose it as the newest up and as one of my favorites. I love the image.

Genesis 12:1-4 Pastoral Prayer: I've already noted that Doug Hagler and I don't agree on all that much; but he has written some beautiful prayers. This one especially moves my soul.

An early New Year's resolution from my wife which I, in many ways, am still trying to catch up with. “How different would our interactions with each other be if in looking at each other, our first thought was ‘Here is the work of God’s hand’”?

So, tags . . .

Sara
Barry
Erin
Wayne (what the heck, he's got to do one of them sometime)

The Islamic world is turning on al'Qaeda

So reports the Financial Times—and one big reason is the war in Iraq. Major religious figures, significant theologians of the Islamic world, who previously supported al'Qaeda and its jihadist ideology are now turning against it and denouncing it; what's more, the "awakening" that began in Anbar province of Iraq, as the people of Anbar turned to side with the US against al'Qaeda, has spread. For all those on the left who have insisted that the invasion of Iraq has done nothing but turn the hearts of people in the Middle East against us, crucially, it is al'Qaeda that is "losing the war of minds"—and if we will stay the course, that could make all the difference.

Lenten Song of the Week

This hymn isn't one of the best-known cross hymns, but I've always been very fond of it.

In the Cross of Christ I Glory

In the cross of Christ I glory,
Towering o'er the wrecks of time.
All the light of sacred story
Gathers 'round its head sublime.

When the woes of life o'ertake me,
Hopes deceive, and fears annoy,
Never shall the cross forsake me.
Lo! it glows with peace and joy.

When the sun of bliss is beaming
Light and love upon my way,
From the cross the radiance streaming
Adds more luster to the day.

Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure
By the cross are sanctified.
Peace is there that knows no measure,
Joys that through all time abide.

Words: John Bowring
Music: Ithamar Conkey
RATHBUN, 8.7.8.7

The real uniter in the race?

Well, if you look at the record, of the three remaining candidates, who's produced the most bipartisan legislative solutions?

Sen. John McCain. As Charles Krauthammer concludes, "Yes, John McCain—intemperate and rough-edged, of sharp elbows and even sharper tongue. Turns out that uniting is not a matter of rhetoric or manner, but of character and courage."

Concerns about Obama beginning to arise

I'm not one for links posts, but between the flu and this other crud, I have very little energy for thought, and the articles that I thought I might comment on are piling up. So, thematic links post on the Obama worries and caveats that are starting to percolate. (Which doesn't mean, btw, that he's a bad guy or unworthy to be president; it just means he's human. In his domestic life, of course, his wife has never let us forget that. As a politician, though, his essential appeal has been the image that he's better than everyone else, that he can lead us into a new political age, and all that; which makes relatively small black marks look much worse than they would for everyone else, because a large part of his campaign has been that he doesn't have any.) The majority of these I found through RealClearPolitics.

Sen. Obama: all hat, no cattle?

Obama the Messiah of Generation Narcissism (Kathleen Parker)

Obama Lacks Reagan's Audacity (Blake Dvorak): To wit, where Reagan won by proudly raising the conservative banner his party scorned and carrying it all the way to the White House ("Reagan's response to the charge of being a conservative was, Yes, I am. And here's why you should be, too'"), Sen. Obama has refused to do that for liberalism, despite being more liberal than Reagan was conservative.

Would President Obama really help our image abroad?

Certainly that's one of the cases he's making for himself, that he would restore America's international popularity (something Sen. Clinton is also saying she would do). Would his pledged actions in fact accomplish that? Maybe not.

"A senior Latin American diplomat says, 'We might find ourselves nostalgic for Bush, who is brave on trade.'" This from Fareed Zakaria, one of those observers who should always be taken seriously. This one applies to both Democratic contenders, of course.

Obama's First 100 Days (Michael Gerson)

The Myth of America's Unpopularity (Michael Gerson): The fact is, as the Pew report shows, we really aren't that unpopular in most of the world. (As long as we don't send troops, anyway.) I can attest to this, at least for some countries, and I know others who would say the same about other parts of the world.

Is Sen. Obama just another Chicago pol?

I don't know, and I hope the answer is "no," but I suspect we'll know more than we want to before all's said and done.

Barack Obama and Me (Todd Spivak): The brief memoirs of a journalist who covered Sen. Obama during his days in the Illinois State Senate.

Beyond that, go here if you want to dive into the Rezko story. I had thought Sen. Obama a Democrat I could respect, even if he's far too liberal to vote for; I hope I wasn't wrong.

And . . . can he handle the scrutiny?

Folks in the media are starting to wonder.

A children's Bible for grownups, too

"No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally (and often far more) worth reading at the age of fifty—except, of course, books of information.
The only imaginative works we ought to grow out of
are those which it would have been better not to have read at all."

—C.S. Lewis

Given that, one would hope that children's Bibles would be books worth reading at the age of fifty; one would hope they would be a joy to read to our children. Unfortunately, however (at least from my experience), that isn't often the case. It's too bad, because our older two really enjoy the one we kept; it isn't great, but it's good enough. Still, you always want something better for your kids—and now, I think we may have found it. Ben Patterson, who was something of a mentor of mine during his time as Dean of the Chapel at Hope College, and whose judgment I trust implicitly, has a thoroughly positive review up on the Christianity Today website of The Jesus Storybook Bible: Every Story Whispers His Name; Sara and I got halfway through it and decided we want a copy. It's not just the review itself, either, because there's a link to The Jesus Storybook Bible's version of Genesis 3, which I think validates Ben's glowing comments.

Of all the things for which he praises this book, I think the most important is that it "manages to show again and again the presence of Christ in all the Old Testament Scriptures, and the presence of the Old Testament Scriptures in the life of Christ." That's something too many adults don't see—perhaps, in part, because they never learned it from their children's Bibles.

Adolescent atheism and the nihilistic impulse

When I put up my earlier post on atheism, I didn't expect the response I got (though perhaps that's only because I hadn't run across Samuel Skinner before; as much time as he spends on other people's blogs arguing his position, he really ought to start his own). I probably shouldn't have been surprised, however; what I described as the adolescent atheism of the self-impressed isn't an attitude conducive to taking criticism well, or to having one's heroic self-image challenged. Given that, I probably should have expected someone to take umbrage; after all, when you consider yourself the only rational person in the room, as Mr. Skinner evidently does, it's a little hard to have someone tell you your thinking is shoddy, adolescent, self-deluded and shallow.

Given that there was a response, however, the arrogant, dismissive, and hostile tone of that response was no surprise at all. As R. R. Reno notes, that sort of tone is becoming de rigeur from atheists these days.

The intemperate, even violent tone in recent criticisms of faith is quite striking. Dawkins, Dennett, Hitchens: They seem an agitated crew, quick to caricature, quick to denounce, quick to slash away at what they take to be the delusions and conceits of faith. And the phenomenon is not strictly literary. All of us know a friend or acquaintance who has surprised us in a dark moment of anger, making cutting comments about the life of faith.

This isn't how it used to be; atheists of past generations could be calmly superior, unconcerned in their certainty that religion was dying away. Voltaire, for instance, calmly predicted that Christianity would be extinct within fifty years of his death. (Of course, twenty years after his death, the Geneva Bible Society bought his house and started using it to print Bibles, but that's another matter.) Why the change?

I suspect the answer is to be found in part in this comment from historian Paul Johnson: “The outstanding event of modern times was the failure of religious belief to disappear.” The calm face of atheism past was founded on its smug certainty that religion was on its way out; that certainty no longer holds, so atheists must actually deal with religion, and as Dr. Reno concludes,

There is something about faith that agitates unbelief. . . . As Byron recognized, modern humanism can easily become cruelly jealous of the modest claims it stakes upon the noble but fragile human condition. To believe in something more—it can so easily seem a betrayal. And because the reality of faith cannot help but ignite a desire for God in others, it is not hard to see why our present-day crusaders against belief take up their rhetorical bludgeons. They fear the contagion of piety.

It seems to me, then, that the sheer persistence of religious faith is eroding the urbane face of atheism, exposing the violent impulse underneath; though Mr. Skinner tried to deny it in his comments, there is a link between atheism and nihilism, because atheism is ultimately a belief in nothing. It isn't alone in this, either; there are many who consider themselves religious believers who actually, at the core, share that faith in nothing; as the Orthodox theologian David Bentley Hart has written, the common religion of our culture “is one of very comfortable nihilism.”

As modern men and women—to the degree that we are modern—we believe in nothing. This is not to say, I hasten to add, that we do not believe in anything; I mean, rather, that we hold an unshakable, if often unconscious, faith in the nothing, or in nothingness as such. It is this in which we place our trust, upon which we venture our souls, and onto which we project the values by which we measure the meaningfulness of our lives.

This is, as Dr. Hart notes (in what is truly a brilliant article), the inevitable logical consequence of

an age whose chief moral value has been determined, by overwhelming consensus, to be the absolute liberty of personal volition, the power of each of us to choose what he or she believes, wants, needs, or must possess . . . a society that believes this must, at least implicitly, embrace and subtly advocate a very particular moral metaphysics: the unreality of any “value” higher than choice, or of any transcendent Good ordering desire towards a higher end. Desire is free to propose, seize, accept or reject, want or not want—but not to obey. Society must thus be secured against the intrusions of the Good, or of God, so that its citizens may determine their own lives by the choices they make from a universe of morally indifferent but variably desirable ends, unencumbered by any prior grammar of obligation or value.

As Dr. Hart goes on to demonstrate, this is the logical consequence of Christianity, which strips away all other gods, leaving only one choice: Christ, and the paradoxical freedom of the gospel, or nothing, “the barren anonymity of spontaneous subjectivity.” As already noted, there are many who would say they worship Christ who in truth worship at the altar of their own freedom of choice; but they at least have another option before them, however imperfectly or confusedly they may understand it. For the atheist, there is no other option than “an abyss, over which presides the empty, inviolable authority of the individual will, whose impulses and decisions are their own moral index.” Indeed, atheism is a commitment to want no other option; and faith, even as confused as it often is, threatens that commitment. That, our “present-day crusaders against belief” simply cannot tolerate, and so they “take up their rhetorical bludgeons” to destroy “the contagion of piety” once and for all; and when they march, they march under the banner of Nothing to eradicate belief in Something—or rather, Someone.

(Snow) Monkey business

Apropos of nothing in particular, this is an interesting little story from Japan, courtesy of the San Francisco Chronicle; check it out, I'll bet it makes you grin.

Outsourcing memory

Have you ever thought about how little we remember for ourselves anymore? Scholars talk about how cultures move from being oral cultures, in which the stories are passed down by word of mouth and held in the collective memory of the tribe, to written cultures, in which they are preserved in books, and now to what they're calling "secondary orality," as we move away from the written word; but it isn't a move back toward a primary reliance on human memory. Instead, we're simply replacing written media with visual/aural ones—the reliance on technology continues, as we outsource our memories to books, pictures, video, computers, PDAs, and the like. Indeed, a PDA is basically a handheld prosthetic memory; if you have one, and you remember to use it and keep it with you, you don’t have to remember what you need to do, where and when you need to do it, who you’re going to do it with, or what their phone number is—just press the right button, or buttons, and the box remembers it all for you and tells you what you need to remember when you need to remember it.

The advantage to storing so much of our memory outside ourselves, I think, is that less of our brain is needed for that task, which means there’s more of it that we can use for other purposes, like inventing new things. I don’t know if anyone’s ever looked into this, but that might explain the accelerating pace of technological progress. After all, each new invention that frees up a little more of our brainpower from the work of memory gives us that much more brainpower to come up with new ideas and new ways of doing things—and gives us ways to record and store those increasingly more complex ideas, allowing us to interact with them more easily and quickly; and as these inventions enable us, more quickly, efficiently, and completely, to share those with others, that multiplies the effect. So in that sense, maybe the fact that we don’t remember as much ourselves, that we rely on other means to do it for us, is one cause of all the material benefits science and technology have given us.

There are downsides, too, though. Not only can all those things break, or get lost, or simply not be where we need them when we need them, there's also the fact that our memories tend to be less vivid and immediate, more distant from us—less real, we might even say. Rather than being part of our present reality, they come to us as shadows of another time. To be sure, this would be the fate of most of our memories regardless, and there will always be things we would rather let slide into oblivion—but what about the key moments in our lives, the ones that make us who we are? Consider that to a large part, memory is identity. The more distant our memories become from us—a problem worsened by the speed and busyness of life in the Western world, which leaves us little time to stop and reflect, and remember—the more distant we become from ourselves, and thus from others, and from God.

(Update: I first wrote this, for other purposes, back in the summer of 2006, so I may actually have gotten to this idea first, as I [probably naively] thought I had; but in the interim, David Brooks has gotten here too, from a quite different angle—neither fact of which is surprising.)

Larry Norman, RIP

Christian music legend Larry Norman died last Sunday morning at the age of 60. In one sense it wasn't surprising, as his health had been terrible for a long time; in another, though, it was a shock. This man rocked the world for Jesus Christ, casting a vision that all too few Christian musicians have had the wisdom (or the nerve) to follow; and if he was a difficult saint, that was true of many of those whose vision rose above the mediocrity of CCM (most notably Keith Green, Mark Heard, and Rich Mullins)—because they were the people who simply could not be comfortably at home in this world.

Larry Norman helped a lot of people see Jesus who might not have otherwise, and he helped many more see the vast world of possibility in Christ beyond the conventional wisdom. I include myself in that category; his great albums were fifteen years old and more when I first heard them, and they still blew me away. Indeed, they still do, another fifteen years on. Michael Spencer is right: "Almost thirty years later, the word masterpiece is not wasted on the entire endeavor." The church is richer because of Larry Norman, and would be richer yet if more of its artists had emulated his unflinching integrity and high sense of mission. I'm glad for him that he's been released to the peace for which he longed.

John McCain, supply-side conservative?

Maybe so—he's letting Phil Gramm develop his economic policy. (Actually, it sounds like Sen. Gramm has effectively become not just his chief economic advisor, but his chief political advisor.) Apparently, though I hadn't known it, the two have been close friends for a long time, and Sen. Gramm considers Sen. McCain a strong ally as well; certainly he endorsed Sen. McCain in ringing terms. It sounds, further, like a McCain administration might well resurrect the old conservative dream of Phil Gramm as Treasury Secretary; so far, Sen. Gramm is saying he wouldn't want to do that, but I suspect that one way or another, he'd end up the primary influence on economic policy—Sen. McCain admits it isn't his strong suit, and it's clear that he's identified Sen. Gramm as the person whose advice he should follow in that area. (Given Sen. McCain's strong record of opposition to special interests and pork-barrel spending, the real allegiance between these two men should be clear; this is no marriage of convenience.) If that doesn't allay the concerns of fiscal conservatives, I'm not sure what could. It certainly allays mine.

C. S. Lewis and the untameable God

This month's mailing for the InterVarsity Press Book Club arrived with two familiar names on the cover: the featured Main Selection this month (there's another one as well) is Is Your Lord Large Enough?: How C. S. Lewis Expands Our View of God, by Dr. Peter Schakel. Lewis' name, of course, is familiar to many; Dr. Schakel's name is less so, but in the world of C. S. Lewis scholarship, he's an important contributor. Walter Hooper, in a blurb on this book, calls him "the wisest and humblest of C. S. Lewis's commentators," and I think that's a fair assessment. Of course, I'm biased in this matter. I majored in English at Hope College, where Dr. Schakel is Cook Professor of English (and chaired the department during my time there), and in addition had him as my Sunday school teacher for a while; in that time, I came to have a very high opinion of him, both as a professor and as a godly man, and to hold him in great affection and esteem. That said, I think my opinion is accurate; I've valued other things he's written (a list which includes Imagination and the Arts in C. S. Lewis: Journeying to Narnia and Other Worlds, Reason and Imagination in C. S. Lewis: A Study of Till We Have Faces, The Way into Narnia: A Reader's Guide, and, among other textbooks, Approaching Poetry: Perspectives and Responses, co-written with Jack Ridl), and I look forward to reading this one. It's certainly a worthwhile topic; most of us have the tendency to let our view of God shrink, and there are few people better than C. S. Lewis to help us correct that tendency.

Bill Simmons for Sportsman of the Year

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

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

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

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

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

Skeptical conversations, part II: What is God like?

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

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

William F. Buckley, RIP

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

Lenten Song of the Week

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

I Cannot Tell

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

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

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

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

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

Let the little children come

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

—Luke 18:15-17, ESV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The adolescent atheism of the self-impressed

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

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

In defense of the church, part I: Preaching

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

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

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

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

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

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

Missing the point on McCain?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Becoming like children

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

—Matthew 18:1-4, NIV

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

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

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

“Louder doesn't make you right”

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

You Don't Have to Yell

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

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

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

Chorus

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

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

This is how you play the game

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

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

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

The value of experience

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

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

Inconvenient truth?

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

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

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

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

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

Lenten Song of the Week

Hallelujah! What a Savior!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Abiding in the light

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

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

Two cheers for political polarization

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

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

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

A clear-eyed view of the Middle East

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

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

Rice for Veep

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

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

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

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

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

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