Merry Christmas!

Jesus' Birth

Among those whom the edict of Augustus thus from afar drove forth to the highways were a humble pair in the Galilean village of Nazareth--Joseph, the carpenter of the village, and Mary, his espoused wife. They had to go a journey of nearly a hundred miles in order to inscribe themselves in the proper register; for, though peasants, they had the blood of kings in their veins, and belonged to the ancient and royal town of Bethlehem, in the far south of the country. Day by day the emperor's will, like an invisible hand, forced them southward along the weary road, till at last they climbed the rocky ascent that led to the gate of the town,--he terrified with anxiety, and she well-nigh dead with fatigue. They reached the inn, but found it crowded with strangers, who, bent on the same errand as themselves, had arrived before them. No friendly house opened its door to receive them, and they were fain to clear for their lodging a corner of the inn-yard, else occupied by the beasts of the numerous travelers. There, that very night, she brought forth her first-born Son; and, because there was neither womanly hand to assist her nor couch to receive Him, she wrapped Him in swaddling-clothes and laid Him in a manger.

James Stalker, The Life of Jesus Christ

We had our final class last night in the eastern religions course, and one of the presentations was on yoga. I mentioned that the practice had actually been banned in Malaysia by the Islamic ruling council there. Abdul Shukor, the Fatwa chairman, said “We are of the view that yoga, which originates from Hinduism, combines physical exercise, religious elements, chanting and worshipping for the purpose of achieving inner peace and ultimately to be one with god.”

The ruling has since been reversed, but it goes without saying that it still raises several interesting questions. First of all, were the Muslims right in their assessment of the essence of yoga? I realize that pragmatic Americans are efficient in picking out what seems to work for them and ignoring the rest. In this case, it means defining yoga strictly as exercise and nothing more. But non-religious yoga seems to be a recent invention. Historically, yoga fits the description above. Within Hinduism, there is no religiously-neutral yogic path. That’s why the Muslim council objected.

But the other question, of course, has to do with religious freedom. Who should make these decisions? The reason why the ruling tends to rub us the wrong way is because we believe in freedom of religion. During our first class session, we spend a lot of time talking about the implications of the First Amendment. Ultimately, it’s the individual who ought to decide which path to follow. It’s not a decision that should ever be left up to the government.

I’ve always been very proud of my two boys. Just lately, I’ve found even more reasons to be so. My youngest, Joe, spent all day with me on Wednesday at the rescue mission in Nampa, helping me with paperwork and redesigning some forms. After that, we went over to volunteer for the huge Thanksgiving feast at the First Church of the Nazarene. We stood outside in fairly cold weather for almost four hours, unpacking boxes and then stacking the contents on the sidewalk.

They feed somewhere around 3000 people annually at this event. Anyone who shows up is given the opportunity to pick up a food box, and they’ve got the distribution part down to a science. It’s basically a drive through, and cars go past the sidewalk while volunteers put the boxes in the trunks. I supposed it might have been a little disillusioning when it seemed that half the vehicles in the line were a lot nicer than what we drive, but there were enough very appreciative people who made us realize that at least some good was getting done that day.

Anyway, the Christian school that Joe attends requires him to put in 10 hours of community service every semester. I remember doing community service myself when I was in high school (painting racquetball courts at the YMCA), but that was “alternative sentencing” and another story altogether! Joe had already spent five hours helping at the harvest party in October, but apparently, it didn’t count. Even though it is intended to be a community outreach event, it was sponsored by our church, so it didn’t fit the school requirements. All of that it just to say that I never heard a word of complaint from Joe about having to start over. He jumped in with both feet and volunteered again. More reasons to be proud.

My oldest, Max, who is a freshman this year at Boise State, was getting frustrated because his ’76 MG would never pass the emissions test. Maybe that’s not too surprising given its vintage. What made it worse, though, is that no one in town would agree to work on it. The guys at one shop didn’t have a clue what Max was asking them to do to his car. We finally did find one guy, but even after he got done, the MG still would not pass.

Max has a wooden plaque on his wall that says, “It can’t be that hard!” It’s a phrase he used to say all the time (still does, in fact). He decided to take matters into his own hands and fix it himself. Personally, I wouldn’t recognize carburetor jets if they bit me, but he ran down to the VW auto parts place and got a couple of them that were a smaller size (the fuel mixture had been too rich). OK, it didn’t hurt that the guy down the block was a mechanic and he was looking over his shoulder a little, but Max gets points for even daring to touch the carb when no one else seemed willing to. Apparently, it wasn’t that hard, after all, at least for him. The MG passed with flying colors. More reasons to be proud.

Writer's Block

Somehow I’ve managed to put off writing this book not just for weeks, not just for months, but literally for years. I have outlines for it that will turn five early in 2009. At the moment, I’m sitting in a coffee shop trying to make an anagram out of The Brothers Karmazov as a way to avoid figuring out why I have yet to commit pen to paper.

I can remember the exact moment the idea first came to me. I was standing in a checkout line before Easter one spring day, and I saw all the videos they had on the rack of Biblical films: The Ten Commandments, The Greatest Story Ever Told, etc. It struck me that, since I was on the faculty of a Bible college, I ought to teach a class that simply put those films in chronological order, to see what they might have to say by way of understanding the Scriptures a little more deeply.

What followed was a massive amount of research. I’ve got entire file boxes full of books, articles, and photocopies all related to the Bible on film. I guess it’s one of the things I’ve always been good at. I applied for the Westinghouse scholarship when I was in high school and I did the same thing. I ended up with extensive notes that went all the way back to the turn of the century, but not a single experiment by the time I was done. It happened again this year when I was looking up information on a high-frequency antenna for ham radio, and I convinced myself I should seek a patent. All I have to show for it now is a binder full of articles, but not one single prototype.

These experiences should probably tell me something but I’m still not quite sure what. I’ve thought that maybe it means my real calling is to become a librarian, and that way I’d be able to do research all the time (supposedly), but it just doesn’t seem to be the right fit for me.

More to the point, I seem to have “blockage” somewhere, sort of like a clogged artery. I was thinking that I can’t convince myself anyone would want to read what I write. But it’s worse than that – I’ve got myself completely convinced that no one ever would. Thus, no book.

Even more amazing is the fact that I have so many new tools at my disposal now. I’ve got a voice recorder much smaller than the palm of my hand, and I can play it back into a program that will instantly transcribe my words. I’ve got other software that will read back to me any text in an amazingly realistic human-sounding voice. The speed at which I can do online research now, and the databases I can access, was only a geek’s daydream when I first taught the Bible on film class. So what’s the problem?

Are there too many words out there already? Would the world really be a better place with one more book?

As far as the anagram goes, the best I could come up with is: Mark Voz Bothers Her Rat. Well, I’m bothered, too, I must say. I’ve got a bad case of writer’s block.

The other night, I sat down and watched the Marx Brothers in Go West. It’s one of those that I very rarely see – I usually go for Monkey Business or Duck Soup first. It was definitely good for a laugh (I knew there was a reason why I got the entire collection on DVD), but maybe it wasn’t quite as funny as some of the better known films. I owe a lot to the Marx Brothers, by the way. The week we moved to Tacoma (right in the middle of seventh grade) and I had to adjust to a new school, they were having a film fest on public TV. It was the first time I’d seen them and they helped me laugh at a time when I didn’t feel much like it.

Nat Perrin made some interesting observations about Go West in an interview once. Perrin contributed countless jokes to the Marx Brothers over the years, particularly for Groucho. In later years, he was the one who produced The Addams Family on TV. He said, “After [Irving] Thalberg died the people who produced other features for the team thought that because the Marxes were zany comedians that anything goes. Without that strong hand, you had three comedians who paid very little attention to the story line.” Thus Go West, even though it kept to the same formula as Monkey Business, was not nearly as hysterical nor as memorable.

I know there’s a moral there somewhere. Another name that I always associate with my junior high years is Kurt Vonnegut. One of the characters in his novel The Sirens of Titan summed up his existence by saying he was “a victim of a series of accidents. As are we all.” Vonnegut’s absurdist outlook had a certain appeal when I was 13 years old, and certainly Groucho’s did, too. Now, not so much. I find at this point in life I’m at least trying to pay more attention to the story line. The idea that there really is a plot underneath it all, and that it’s not just a series of unrelated sketches (no matter how funny) is what gives me hope.

Thank You, Nampa Police!

It seems as if there’s never a dull moment at a rescue mission, as I’ve said before. Yesterday, right after I got there, we heard yelling down the hall, and I mean, it was someone screaming at the top of their lungs. We started for the door but just as we did, a female police officer warned everybody to get back. One of the guys caught a glimpse of someone who had been forced down to the floor, and half a dozen cops had surrounded him, with guns drawn, as I understand.

It turns out the man was Pete Roberts, who was wanted for the murder of Bob and Idella Young five years ago. I remember the headlines: it was particularly grisly, and the elderly couple was well loved by the community, and especially by their church. Everyone was glad to hear they had finally made an arrest. My friend Roger even got his approximately 12 seconds of fame in front of the TV news crews, as he described how the suspect had run into the mission looking for a place to hide.

Of course, all of the excitement around the place pales in comparison with the sense that there may finally be justice done in this case. Cops tend to be under-appreciated for the most part, in my opinion. I got a verbal warning the other day for improperly changing lanes, and I wasn’t too happy about it at the time. This situation, though, reminds me that we owe them a lot more than we’re usually willing to admit.

Science and the Spiritual Quest

I just started teaching another class in Eastern Religions last night, and in my introductory essay I mention the following story. A few years ago, there was a conference in New York called “Science and the Spiritual Quest” during which evidence was presented that the awareness of a Creator may actually be innate to human beings.

A certain Professor Petrovich tested British and Japanese children to see if they would be able to tell the difference between physical and metaphysical explanations. In one experiment, she showed the children (between 4 and 14 years of age) a picture of a book on a table, and asked who put it there. “Mom!” came the answer. A picture of the sun followed, along with the question “Who placed the sun in the sky?” The British kids said “God.” Interestingly, so did the Japanese kids: “Kamisama [God]! He did it!”

Petrovich observed, “Japanese culture discourages speculation into the metaphysical because that’s something we never know. But the Japanese children did speculate, quite willingly, and in the same way as British children.” A former UPI religion correspondent, in writing about this conference, rightly points out that the Apostle Paul was way ahead of his time when he said “For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse.” (Romans 1:20)

A similar experiment was conducted with both groups of kids. They were shown a photo of a dog and asked, “How did the first dog ever come into being.” Once again, both groups said, “God did it.” In an interview, Petrovich said, “My Japanese research assistants kept telling me that thinking about God as creator is just not part of Japanese philosophy.”

I find this fascinating but I suppose there’s no reason to be surprised. We do have a conscience, in fact, everybody does. And it tells us that the universe didn’t just happen, and that we’re not an accident. For years, I’ve been meaning to get around to reading The Spiritual Life of Children by Robert Coles. I suppose I should finally get around to reading it.

Grave Matters

“Epitaph” literally means “over a tomb,” and if nothing else, reading them does tend to give us pause. Some of them were unintentionally funny:

She lived with her husband fifty years
And died in the confident hope of a better life

Here lies Peter Montgomery,
who was accidentally shot in his thirtieth year.
This monument was erected by grateful relatives.

Here lies the body of the Reverend T, Henry, M.A.,
who long labored as a Christian missionary amongst the Rajputs.
He was shot by his houseboy.
At the bottom, it read:
“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

A famous musical composer, it is said, had the following inscribed as his epitaph:

He has gone to the only place
Where his own works are excelled

And then there was pyrotechnics manufacturer who apparently had led a less than saintly life, and his read:

Erected by his spouse, to the memory of
A.B., maker of fireworks.
He has gone to the only place where
His own works are excelled.

A cemetery in Indiana has a century old tombstone with this inscription:

Pause, stranger, when you pass me by:
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be.
So prepare for death and follow me.

Someone came along and scratched a post-script on the bottom:

To follow you I’m not content,
Until I know which way you went.

As far as I know, every culture, in every place in the world, during every period of history, has held out hope of life beyond this one. The sentiments expressed by the epitaphs are one indication, of course, but the fact that they felt a need to even put up some sort of monument in the first place is also significant. What does that say but life must have had a meaning, and that meaning must go beyond the brief length of years spent upon this earth?

I’ve always liked this one:

Here I take my final rest
Beneath this tombstone wall.
Say that I tried my best and
Was your friend, that’s all.

Life is in the Blood

I’m preaching on Sunday on John 6, about Jesus’ claim to be the “bread of life.” In the sermon, I’m going to discuss His unforgettable words in the latter part of the chapter, in verse 54: “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.”

Jesus spoke in very graphic terms of eating His flesh and drinking His blood. To say that was shocking would be an understatement. Human flesh was not exactly considered kosher! Consuming blood, any blood, was absolutely forbidden according to Mosaic Law. Leviticus 17:11 says “Life…is in the blood…It is the blood that makes atonement for one’s life.”

Some of you may recognize the name Anne Rice, one of the most popular novelists in recent times. She is perhaps most famous for a series of books on vampires and other supernatural characters. Her books have sold more than 75 million copies. She wrote her first novel in 1976, called Interview with the Vampire, and it has sold more than 8 million copies all by itself.

Her fans were stunned when, in 1998, she announced that she had abandoned atheism and was now returning to her Catholic roots. Not only that, but she also refused to write anymore about the “living dead.” "I would never go back, not even if they say, 'You will be financially ruined; you've got to write another vampire book.' I would say no. I have no choice. I would be a fool for all eternity to turn my back on God like that."

What Rice finally came to realize was that the novels she had been writing had essentially been metaphors for her own life. And it had certainly not been an easy one, either. When she was just 14, her mother died from alcoholism. Anne and her husband had a daughter together, but she died of leukemia when she was only 5. That may explain why she turned her back on God, and this was reflected in her writing. Undead characters, obsessed with the darkness, wandering about in a world with no hope and no God, literally sucking the life out of their innocent victims.

One of the most powerful motivators for her turnaround, according to her interview, was a desperate longing for communion. She most needed the body and blood of Jesus. "The Lord came looking for me," she remembers. "Everywhere I turned, I found images of the Lord and His love." I’ve never read any of her other novels, by the way, but I’ve started to read her fictionalized account of the life of Christ. Since her change of heart, she has actually become quite a scholar of the New Testament.

If you read John carefully, you may find indications that he assumed his readers were already familiar with Matthew, Mark, and Luke. If that’s the case, it may make sense why there’s one scene that we never find in his version. There’s no Last Supper! But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t told us something very important about what that supper meant. Our greatest need is to feast, spiritually, on the flesh and blood of Christ, as pictured here in this passage. Life truly is in the blood.

The Library

University of Washington Libraries, Special Collections

When I was in second grade, we moved to Centerville, Iowa, to a big, old house on Main Street. I'll never forget my first visit to the library there: I made my way up a cracked sidewalk to a tiny, somewhat dimly lit building where a nice older lady showed me around the rows and rows of books. I had recently discovered The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet by Eleanor Cameron at school, and I was about to find that there were countless more adventures to be had in books. I've loved libraries ever since.

I walked into the Graduate Reading Room at Suzzallo Library as a freshman at the University of Washington. It was absolutely silent. I looked up at the huge, arched ceilings and saw the globes hanging at each end. Across the red square at the other library, undergraduates like me could go listen to music, hang out with friends, or sleep even. Not here. Everyone in this place was learning, and surrounded by such a church-like atmosphere, reading books seemed practically sacred.

I still love books, but I also realize that times have changed. Perhaps more accurately, I have changed. I don't have four years to devote full-time to studying at a great institution like UW, but I sincerely want to be a "life long learner." I think I'm very fortunate to live in a time when so much information is available now in so many different formats. I remember reading through some of the Post-Nicene Fathers in order to write a ten-page paper during my sophomore year. I had to check out an ancient, oversize volume the "old fashioned way." Now, I can not only read all of those texts online, it's an easy matter to listen to them while I'm walking or driving. It's a tremendous advantage that opens up all kinds of possibilities.

Still, I'll never get over the feeling of opening up a dusty old hardback to unlock whatever treasures are inside. As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't have to be either/or: either old-school "book learnin'" or "reading" plugged into my iPod. I'm content to live in both worlds.

A "Free Ride" at M.I.T.

Somewhere amidst all the junk in my attic there are file boxes with what’s left of notes and handouts from my undergraduate years at the University of Washington. I’m sure I’ve still got some typed (I can’t remember the last time I actually had to use a typewriter) papers from a medieval history class I took as a sophomore, and I think I must even still have mimeographed (with the familiar blue font) course outlines from a class I had on Judaism during my senior year. What if, instead of decades-old relics, you had access to current resources and lecture notes? And what if they were just a few clicks away, rather than gathering dust in storage? Amazingly enough, M.I.T. has made all of their courses available to anyone, anywhere, and it’s all absolutely free!

It’s part of what’s called the “open education” movement, and M.I.T. is at the forefront. The following quote is from a book on their site called Opening Up Education: The Collective Advancement of Education through Open Technology, Open Content and Open Knowledge, edited by Toru Iiyoshi and M.S. Vijay Kumar. There’s good news and bad news, according to the introduction:

“Today, a confluence of events is creating the perfect storm for significantly advancing education. With a growing inventory of openly available educational tools and resources, and with an increasingly engaged and connected community, transformative opportunities for education abound. We see a proliferation of new initiatives, many with the potential to radically change the ecology and the economics of education. However, to date, many innovative educational endeavors still remain in isolated and closed domains, rarely shared across classrooms, disciplines, or institutions. Thus, educators find it difficult to advance their pedagogical practice and knowledge as a community.”

This is one storm in the middle of which we can all be glad to get caught! Maybe I ought to start with a refresher course in English grammar…

Time spent browsing through the OpenCourseWare at M.I.T. site is definitely time well spent:

http://ocw.mit.edu/OcwWeb/web/home/home/index.htm

Young@Heart

Put Young@Heart on your must-see list. You’ll love watching this documentary of a group of senior citizens singing everything from “Should I Stay or Should I Go” to “Purple Haze.” There’s not the slightest hint of mockery or condescension – chorus director Bob Cilman takes his job seriously and passionately, and it is amazing to hear these folks sing, both in rehearsals and on stage.

At times, it is as funny as Trekkies (definitely my all-time favorite documentary), but unlike that one, Young@Heart has moments of genuine poignancy, such as when more than one of the members (some of whom are in their nineties) pass away, and the survivors struggle to deal with the loss while on the tour bus. I doubt you’ll forget Dylan’s "Forever Young" performed in a prison yard. The looks of both regret and hope on their faces as the young men there listen to the words are worth the price of admission all by itself.

I have to admit that the first time I’d ever heard “Fix You” by Coldplay was while watching this film. An elderly man sits on stage, and it takes a few moments before you realize that the steady clicking sound is coming from his oxygen machine. He sings these words beautifully:

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house, and that goes for my house, too. It’s definitely worth a look.

The God Of All Comfort

I’ve been struck by one particular New Testament phrase ever since I read it for the first time. Paul writes of “the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort” in 2 Corinthians 1:3. That description came to be so meaningful to me that I finally preached a sermon on it this summer. It still helps when I get depressed. This is some of what I had to say:

You may already be familiar with the story of William Cowper from 18th century England. He wrote some incredibly beautiful poetry and some great hymns. A couple of famous ones are:

GOD moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Olney Hymns (1779)--'Light Shining out of Darkness'

There is a fountain fill'd with blood

Drawn from EMMANUEL's veins;

And sinners, plung'd beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains.

Olney Hymns (1779)--'Praise for the Fountain Opened'

But Cowper was plagued by bouts of profound depression. In his journal, he wrote:

(I was struck) with such a dejection of spirits, as none but they who have felt the same, can have the least conception of. Day and night I was upon the rack, lying down in horror, and rising up in despair. I presently lost all relish for those studies, to which before I had been closely attached; the classics had no longer any charms for me; I had need of something more salutary than amusement, but I had not one to direct me where to find it.

Every ten years, Cowper would go through unbearable suffering. According to his journals, it was then that he would remember a terrible dream he had had years before. Although he never writes about the details in his journal, a "word" was spoken along the lines of "It is all over with you, you are lost."

As bad as it was (and it was about as bleak as it could be), one ray of hope in Cowper’s life was his very good friend John Newton. You probably remember Newton as the former slave ship captain who converted to Christianity, and later wrote the hymn “Amazing Grace.”

Neither Newton nor Cowper were strangers to pain and grief. In fact, one thing they had in common was that both had lost their mothers at age 6. But this may give you an insight into Newton’s approach to the Christian life:

Two heaps of human happiness and misery; now if I can take but the smallest bit from one heap and add to the other, I carry a point. If, as I go home, a child has dropped a halfpenny, and if, by giving it another, I can wipe away its tears, I feel I have done something. I should be glad to do greater things, but I will not neglect this. When I hear a knock on my study door, I hear a message from God; it may be a lesson of instruction perhaps a lesson of penitence; but, since it is his message, it must be interesting.

That may help explain why Newton was such a faithful friend to Cowper for years, even through his terrible bouts with depression. Cowper said, "A sincerer or more affectionate friend no man ever had."

John Newton was human. I have no doubt that Newton was tempted to give in to despair at times just as Cowper was, in fact, even as Paul must have been. But I believe God offered him great comfort as he turned from looking inward, avoiding self-pity, and instead looked outwardly to those around him in need, in order to help however he could. God comforts us; he lifts us up, as we seek to offer comfort others. You could be the ray of hope that makes the difference in someone else’s life!

Unforgiven

I have the privilege of teaching 11th and 12th graders in Sunday School for a few weeks, and to start with, I asked them all to write down their questions (any questions) on index cards, and I would try my best to answer them. There’s two in particular that stuck out, just because it seems as if so many people (not just teens, either) have wondered about the subject at one time or another. Here are the two questions they asked, along with my answers.

“1. If you blaspheme God, can you go to hell? First of all, define blaspheme.”

“2. Is there any sin stated in the Bible that cannot be forgiven as easily as any other?”

I’m combining these two questions, because they both revolve around the same basic idea. First of all, it is important to realize that there is no such thing as a sin too great or too serious for God to forgive. The Apostle Paul even considered himself to be the worst of sinners, and yet God was able to forgive him! This is exactly why I prefer to call it the “unforgiven sin” rather than the “unforgivable sin,” because the people Jesus was warning so severely did not seem too interested in seeking forgiveness in the first place, thus their sin would remain unforgiven.

Confusion arises concerning two passages of Scripture, in which Jesus refers to the “blasphemy of the Holy Spirit”: Matthew 12:22-37 and Mark 3:20-30. The context for both is a confrontation between Jesus and the religious leaders of the day. Basically, they seemed to know full well that Jesus was doing the work of God, but they were giving the credit to Satan instead. Blasphemy can be defined as cursing, reviling, or speaking evil about God, which is what these religious leaders were doing by saying Jesus “cast out demons by the ruler of the demons.”

A good rule of thumb to keep in mind is that if you are even concerned enough to ask the question about a so-called “unforgivable” sin, that in itself is a good indication that you have not committed it!

Theologian Dr. F.F. Bruce writes,

"…Speaking against the Son of Man might be due to a failure to recognize Him for what He is. So Paul recalls how in his pre-Christian days he thought it his duty to oppose the name of Jesus of Nazareth. But if, having seen the light on the Damascus road, he had deliberately closed his eyes to it and kicked out against the goad which was directing him into the true path, that would have been the sin against the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit persuades and enables men to accept Christ and enjoy the saving benefits of the gospel [John 16:8; 1 Corinthians 2:12-14; acts 7:51], but if anyone refuses to submit to the Spirit's gracious constraint, preferring to call good evil and evil good, how can the gospel avail for him? The deliberate refusal of the grace of God is the one sin which by its very nature is irremediable" [F.F. Bruce, Answers to Questions (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan Publishing House, 1973), pp. 46-47.].

As to how easily it is for God to forgive sin, it was not easy in any sense for Him to offer His one and only Son to be an atoning sacrifice on our behalf. That ought to be our starting place in realizing how awful sin really is. But Jesus’ sacrifice was once for all – He died on the cross once, and the blood that He shed was enough to cover all of humanity’s sin past, present, and future, if they would choose to accept it.

The key is 1 John 1:7 – the Christian life is all about walking in the light, and having confidence that Jesus’ blood continually cleanses us from sin. In fact, John even says if we try to convince ourselves and others that we are completely sinless, we’re lying! We’re supposed to acknowledge sin for the terrible evil that it is (it cost Jesus His life, after all), repent of it, seek to walk in “newness of life,” and find joy in knowing that God promises us that constant purifying and forgiveness.

Off to College

My oldest son has made it through two weeks in the dormitory now, and needless to say, Mom and Dad are very proud. My wife tells me to resist the temptation to call him every day. Alright so far, but it hasn’t exactly been easy. One day he was still in the house, and the next he’s grown up and moved out on his own. I’m glad that a lot of his friends decided to go there, too, and it sure doesn’t bother me that he’s only about a 20 minute drive away.

A few day’s ago, I heard “Cat’s in the Cradle” on the radio. I’m sure I’m not the only parent who gets choked up hearing (again) about the little boy whose “smile never dimmed’ even though his dad had no time to play catch with him. Harry Chapin’s song has always been a tearjerker, but it takes on a somewhat different meaning now that my oldest is in college. I know the old adage about giving your children both roots and wings, and I believe it’s true, but it can still be a challenge to let go.

At least I’ve got many more happy memories than regrets. Unlike the father in that song, my wife and I made a point to at least always try to be there for our boys. One of my favorite memories? Reading them stories before going to bed, all the way through elementary school. Not one of those minutes was ever wasted, as far as I’m concerned.

I keep a beat-up copy of Sam and the Firefly on a shelf in the garage. I loved reading it as a kid, and I loved reading it to my sons even more. It’s a needed reminder at this point in my life that Solomon was right, “for everything there is a season.”

The Ripple Effect

I started reading A.B. Bruce’s The Training of the Twelve, and it still has a lot to offer, even though it’s quite an old book. I’ve always liked the imagery of a rock dropped into a pond, with the ripples going out in ever-increasing circles. The story of Jesus’ apostles is a lot like that. What Bruce has done is to delve deeply into the Gospel accounts to find out how exactly Christ trained his apostles so effectively that they were able to start an entire movement not long after his death. What I found interesting were Bruce’s comments about Nathanael. He’s easy to overlook, since he doesn’t get too many verses in the Gospel of John. This is what he wrote:

The notices concerning Nathanael, Philip’s acquaintance, are more detailed and more interesting than in the case of any other of the five; and it is not a little surprising that we should be told so much in this place about one concerning whom we otherwise know almost nothing. …Be this as it may, we know on the best authority that Nathanael was a man of great moral excellence. No sooner had Jesus seen him than He exclaimed, “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile!” The words suggest the idea of one whose heart was pure; in whom was no doublemindedness, impure motive, pride, or unholy passion: a man of gentle, meditative spirit, in whose mind heaven lay reflected like the blue sky in a still lake on a calm summer day.

What I find so refreshing about Bruce’s commentary is that he is able to bring new insights into texts that have become perhaps overly familiar. Nathanael is the one, of course, who asks, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” At first glance, these words might strike us as sarcastic. But Bruce has a different take on them:

One hardly expects such prejudice in one so meek and amiable; and yet, on reflection, we perceive it to be quite characteristic. Nathanael’s prejudice against Nazareth sprung not from pride, as in the case of the people of Judea who despised the Galileans in general, but from humility. He was a Galilean himself, and as much an object of Jewish contempt as were the Nazarenes. His inward thought was, “Surely the Messiah can never come from among a poor despised people such as we are - from Nazareth or any other Galilean town or village!” He timidly allowed his mind to be biased by a current opinion originating in feelings with which he had no sympathy; a fault common to men whose piety, though pure and sincere, defers too much to human authority, and who thus become the slaves of sentiments utterly unworthy of them.

Because he is willing to take another look at the Gospels to see Jesus and his disciples in a new light, Bruce is thus able to draw original and relevant conclusions. Nathanael ought to be an example to the rest of us, Bruce says, because even though he has some preconceived religious ideas, he subjects them to honest investigation.

While Nathanael was not free from prejudices, he showed his guilelessness in being willing to have them removed. He came and saw. This openness to conviction is the mark of moral integrity. The guileless man dogmatizes not, but investigates, and therefore always comes right in the end. The man of bad, dishonest heart, on the contrary, does not come and see. Deeming it his interest to remain in his present mind, he studiously avoids looking at aught which does not tend to confirm his foregone conclusions. He may, indeed, profess a desire for inquiry, like certain Israelites of whom we read in this same Gospel, of another stamp than Nathanael, but sharing with him the prejudice against Galilee.

I’m left wondering, what would it take for me to be someone “in whom there is no guile”? A good place to begin would be to re-think so many of my religious conclusions that I have taken for granted, in the same way Nathanael was willing to. It seems to me that's an approach that began to catch on in a big way the wider the Christian circle spread out from the center.

Lighthouse

They warned me that this would happen, and I should have expected it. I work at a Rescue Mission, and they said that after awhile I would get attached to the guys who are in the program recovering from various addictions. That’s exactly what’s happened. As you might imagine, the turnover rate at such a place is awfully high. Sometimes the past catches up with the “programmers,” as they’re known (although I’ve never been fond of the term), and they end up having to finish out a jail sentence. Sometimes the strict schedule and rigid code of conduct is more than they want to put up with. The ones who don’t successfully complete the recovery program either leave or are dismissed, and then others come and take their place.

My job is to help the ones who dropped out of high school to prepare for the GED tests. For those who’ve already got a diploma (or its equivalent), I help refresh their skills so they can make the transition back into the workforce.

I’ve been at the Rescue Mission for about a year now. I’ve got a long list in front of me of all the guys in the program I’ve worked with so far. It’s been a privilege to listen to every one of their stories. They’re regular people, and they’ve made their share of mistakes just like all the rest of us have. At certain points along the line, our stories seem to intersect. Everyone there (including me) can testify that drugs never did them any favors. At other points, our stories diverge, often going in opposite directions. I’m glad I didn’t have to completely hit bottom before getting my life turned around. At the same time, I’ve got no reason to look down on anybody who did.

The occupational hazard has always been that I would eventually become not just their teacher but their friend. I think a lot about how far they’ve dreamed of going and how far they’ve left their past behind.

Randy and Eddie are the two who were around when I first started. Randy was a farmer a few years older than me whose life was practically destroyed by meth. He graduated from the program in May. Eddie has always wanted to design lowriders. He’s going to college for the first time in his life next Monday.

One Kevin has been a butcher for many of his 34 years, but he is determined to become a hunting and fishing guide, and I think he’s going to get there one day. The other Kevin has always worked on trains. Because of his patience and persistence, he’s going to start earning his certificate in diesel mechanics in January.

Then there’s the new guys. Some of them seem to be in it for the long haul. Some of them don’t make it. No, not every one of the men has a miraculous success story to tell, but thank God, they don’t all end up back in a downward spiral to relapse, either.

I still worry about Todd, who has a passion for horses and was a very successful jockey for awhile. He had to deal with some stuff at home and so he left. This week, Lynn, the ex-hockey player with a hilarious sense of humor, had to go, and it’s been sad, to say the least. I’m reminded of him every day because we’re still keeping his dog. I realize that the only constant anymore seems to be change, but that doesn’t make saying goodbye much easier.

Macbeth

My wife and I went to see Macbeth last night, and to be honest, I was looking forward to it about as much as getting my teeth cleaned. I wished I wouldn’t have waited until intermission to read the program – during the first 90 minutes I was completely lost trying to figure out what was going on. Yes, it has been that long since I had to read the script in high school. For that matter, I might have even just skimmed the Cliffs Notes back then. Although I loved being able to see the play outside on a warm August evening, it didn’t help much that I was perched on a tree root for most of the performance.

That’s not to say that the Idaho Shakespeare Festival folks didn’t do a great job with the production, because they did. It just seems as if a 400-year old play can be something to be endured more so than enjoyed. Shakespeare was one of the Great Authors, who wrote a few of the Great Books, which many of us read because we feel obligated to contemplate the Great Ideas. It’s good for you, like spinach.

I like what Greg Nagan, in The 5-Minute Iliad and Other Instant Classics, has to say in this regard:

…if you don’t familiarize yourself with the themes and ideas of the Great Books, you’re going to lead a miserable life and die. You’ll probably lead a miserable life and die anyway, but an acquaintance with the Great Books can help you understand your misery and death in a broader context. That’s got to count for something.

As far as Nagan is concerned, Shakespeare “was invented in order that the British would have someone impressive to quote.”

But seriously, and all ranting aside, I did come away with a lot to think about last night, thanks to the Weird Sisters. These are the three witches in the play who predict Macbeth’s rise to become King of Scotland. Maybe you remember the lines: "Double, double, toil and trouble; fire burn, and cauldron bubble, blah, blah, blah."

In the Idaho Statesman review, Dana Oland described them this way: “Their animalistic quality and birdlike demeanor give them a magical and fascinating presence.”

Magical, fascinating…and pretty freaking bizarre, if you ask me. Apparently, the inspiration for these characters came from Japanese Noh theater, in which ghosts and deities play familiar roles. Seeing them hobble around on what looked like stilts, and covered with black capes and white face paint, was downright creepy.

Anyway, the keys to the entire play are the predictions made of Macbeth’s “fateful” ascension to power. To what extent did the words of the Weird Sisters create evil desire in the heart of “the Scottish king”? How did his belief in the inevitability of their fulfillment lead him to his tragic end? Were they supposed to be actual predictions (as with the oracles in the plays of ancient Greece) or were they instead warnings (as with the spirits in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol)?

I don't know the answers to those questions, exactly. I couldn’t help but be reminded, though, of Jesus’ saying in Mark 4:24. He tells his disciples, simply but directly, “Take care what you listen to.” In other words, if you happen to encounter three phantoms along the road guaranteeing you power and immortality, it’s best to keep on walking.

Stalker's The Life of Jesus Christ

I’ve been re-reading parts of The Life of Jesus Christ by James Stalker recently, and I’ve been happily surprised to find that there’s a lot to like about this little book. Since it was written so many years ago, I must admit I was expecting flowery prose and archaic terminology. Instead, Stalker clearly and concisely (although not as shortly and sweetly as the Gospels themselves, of course!) describes in detail the entire life of Christ, and the end result is a coherent, readable biography.

Consider one of Stalker’s observations, concerning the “wise men” that came from the east:

We know also from the calculations of the great astronomer Kepler, that at this very time there was visible in the heavens a brilliant temporary star. Now the Magi were ardent students of astrology and believed that any unusual phenomenon in the heavens was the sign of some remarkable event on earth; and it is possible that, connecting this star, to which their attention would undoubtedly be eagerly directed, with the expectation mentioned by the ancient historians, they were led westward to see if it had been fulfilled.

All I remember from my youth about the Magi was the Christmas carol “We Three Kings,” and the little plaster figurines that went with our Nativity set. But this story has taken on much greater significance for me since then. I’ve taken to heart the fact that the wise men “came from the east.”

In high school, I was making a spiritual pilgrimage in the opposite direction: I was convinced that western traditions had nothing to offer, that Christianity in particular was shallow and hypocritical, and that genuine wisdom could only be discovered in the east. In short, what I was seeking was some sort of affirmation of my own essential divinity.

A similar search may have motivated the writing of a book called The Lost Years of Jesus. In it, Jesus (during the “silent years”) was supposed to have headed east, as well, so as to sit at the feet of gurus. The result was that an enlightened Jesus, upon his return to Judea, was then able to offer pearls of wisdom to his followers like “Take my yoga upon you” (the title of one of the chapters in Lost Years).

And yet, the wise men came from the east, to acknowledge something (or someone) much greater than they had ever encountered. It wasn’t the other way around. Stalker warns against reading too much into the “silent years” of Jesus. The idea that Jesus went to India to study Hinduism is the kind of wild speculation that he would most certainly reject.

What the story has come to mean for me is that, in a sense, I’ve followed in the footsteps of the Magi. Now, I’m definitely not saying I am (or ever was) a wise man! Transcendental Meditation, half-hearted attempts at yoga, and a sort of “ala carte” version of Buddhism didn’t exactly qualify me for that role. What I am saying, though, is that acknowledging Jesus, and coming to worship him as the Magi did, meant I had to abandon that sense of “essential divinity” I had hoped to find within myself.

Stalker continues:

But there must also have been awakened in them a deeper want, to which God responded. If their search began in scientific curiosity and speculation, God led it on to the perfect truth. That is His way always. Instead of making tirades against the imperfect, He speaks to us in the language we understand, even if it express His meaning very imperfectly, and guides us thereby to the perfect truth. Just as He used astrology to lead the world to astronomy, and alchemy to conduct it to chemistry, and as the Revival of Learning preceded the Reformation, so He used the knowledge of these men, which was half falsehood and superstition, to lead them to the Light of the world. Their visit was a prophecy of how in the future the Gentile world would hail His doctrine and salvation, and bring its wealth and talents, its science and philosophy, to offer at His feet.

Looking back on my teenage wanderings, I’d estimate that my “knowledge” then was almost entirely “falsehood and superstition”, not just half. And I’m still learning, trying to replace falsehoods with truth. “He speaks to us in the language we understand.” For the Magi, it was a star. For me, it was reading the four Gospels for the very first time as a freshman in college. God’s intention still is, and always has been, as Stalker puts it so simply, to “guide us thereby to the perfect truth.”

The Dog Ate My Kindle!

My family was kind enough to get me a Kindle for Father's Day this year. The dog ate it (part of it, at least, and the part that made it work) last Wednesday.

There are very few material possessions that I hold near and dear to my heart. One is my Gatorland hat. I managed to lose the first one of those on a rafting trip, so we had to pick up another when we were out in Florida a few years ago.

But another such possession is my Kindle. In seven short weeks, I've probably done more book reading than I have in the previous seven months. It's that portable and that convenient. I'm the least tech savvy one in our whole family, but I've been absolutely amazed at how easy it's been to learn to use this device. I've put up with reading e-books on a computer screen when there's been no other alternative, but I've never actually enjoyed doing so. The Kindle has changed all that. The screen is a pleasure to look at and no strain on my eyes.

Imagine my chagrin, then, when I got an email from my wife saying that the dog had chewed it to pieces. Here's the crime scene:





And here is the criminal:




All I did was leave it on the coffee table the night before. It's not as if I put it in his dog dish and sprinkled cheese all over it. Maybe he was just jealous that I was spending more time reading than throwing him his chew toy in the backyard.

For whatever reason, Yukon Cornelius (yes, like the prospector's name in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer) turned his nose up at the delicious leather cover, and chose instead to put teeth marks all over the Kindle screen. After putting the pieces back together and picking out all the black hairs, we tried to get it to light up again, but to no avail. Yukon suffered no ill effects, by the way, although he did pretend to look at least a little bit sorry.

It's a good thing that Amazon has lowered the price on these things, because I'm counting the days until the replacement comes.

Bad dog!