No Secrets

The picture is of the opening to my attic, and yes, that is an authentic Cold War-era sign attached to it. I suppose if I had any secrets, the attic is the place they’d go, but I really don’t have anything I’m at all concerned to hide. I am that boring. That’s why all that are up there right now are lots of file boxes full of stuff I haven’t looked at in years and maybe never will.

I got to thinking about this the other day during my religion course at the Biblical Studies Center. We read the following passage aloud from a very imaginative and insightful book by Peter Kreeft called Between Heaven and Hell.

In it, he describes a conversation between John F. Kennedy, Aldous Huxley, and C. S. Lewis, all of whom died around the same time. The following dialogue has to do with religious beliefs that are secret versus those that are out there in the open for everyone to see.

Lewis: …When I stopped being an atheist and started investigating the claims of the world’s great religions, I came to the conclusion that Hinduism and Christianity were ultimately the only two options.

Huxley: Perceptive of you. But they’re not two. They’re one. There’s your mistake: another example of either/or, black-and-white thinking. You can’t see that all religions are one at their mystical core, just as all reality is one at its mystical core. Which is inevitable, since religion is about reality.

Lewis: I agree that religion is about reality. Whether reality is one is a great question of philosophy, and not easily settled. But whether all religions are one is a question of observation, and it is easily settled: just look at their teachings. They’re not the same. They teach contradictory things.

Huxley: They seem to. But that’s only on the surface level, not at their core. Perhaps you’ve read Fritjof Schuon’s The Transcendent Unity of Religions? Alan Watts made the same point in a more popular and lively style: that there are two levels or dimensions in religion – the exoteric and the esoteric, the outer and the inner, the public and the private, the revealed and the hidden. The outer shell of a religion is its creed, code and cult; its words, works, and worship. But the kernel, the inner essence, is the experience of oneness.

Lewis: It seems to me you are saying that Christianity and Buddhism are very much alike, especially Buddhism.

Huxley: You plagiarized that from Chesterton!

Lewis: Yes, I did. I’m glad you have read him.

Huxley: What does it mean?

Lewis: That you’re using Oriental categories to interpret Christianity; you’re Orientalizing Christianity, synthesizing by annexation – spiritual imperialism.

Huxley: Why do you say that?

Lewis: Because the esoteric/exoteric distinction is itself an esoteric, not an exoteric doctrine. It applies to esoteric Eastern religions but not to exoteric Western religions. Judaism, Christianity and Islam are public, open, democratic religions, religions of a Book, open for all to read, not religions of hidden experiences known only to the initiated mystics. They are religions of history and of the deeds and words of God in history. Christianity is ultimately the Word of God in history. All public facts, not private mysticism.

Huxley: You’re probably one of those suspicious fellows who think that mysticism begins in mist, centers in “I” and ends in schism.

Lewis: Actually, I had a different quip up my sleeve: Ronald Knox’s remark about “comparative religion.”

Huxley: What’s that?

Lewis: That it makes you comparatively religious.

Huxley: So you’re not sympathetic to ecumenism?

Lewis: Not when it involves fuzzy thinking and ignoring contradictions.

Huxley: Contradictions appear only on the outer level, the exoteric. If you would penetrate to the inner core, you would find all contradictions resolved in The One. But you ignore that deepest level.

Lewis: In Christianity, the deepest level came out in public: “In him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.” I’m not ignoring esoteric Christianity; how could I ignore something that doesn’t exist? It’s your invention.

The Gospel means “good news” and it was news that the early Christians proclaimed everywhere they went. It was no secret what they believed. From the beginning, they faced ridicule for insisting that God had come to this world in the flesh. They still do. But even Christianity’s harshest critics knew exactly what it was that they were refuting. It wasn’t hidden or esoteric or available only to the initiated.

Last month, on ABC’s Nightline, Martin Bashir interviewed Tommy Davis, a spokesman for Scientology. They had hardly begun when Bashir asked about Scientology’s teaching that has to do with the evil emperor Xenu. Within minutes of mentioning the name, Davis unclips his microphone and storms off the set. Apparently the deeper secrets invented by science-fiction author L. Ron Hubbard, including the existence of Xenu, are only intended for those initiated into the higher levels of the cult.

Consider the difference with Christianity. As Kreeft has Lewis saying, the Gospel has to do with “public facts” not private or secret “truths.” Mock it or dismiss it altogether, at least everyone knows (or can find out) exactly what this “exoteric” message has to say.

The top one is the “before” picture; the bottom one is the “after.” I’m very grateful for Bill Nutt, whose sixty-some years experience in doing this sort of work certainly shows. He is a professional with an eye for detail, and a generous heart, too.

This was a first for me. I’m not real good with concrete – I suppose in my line of work I’m much more of an abstract thinker. I hauled about three-fourths of a yard of it in a wheelbarrow a week ago. I have a new appreciation for people who do this sort of thing all the time. It’s hard work! I went into teach class that afternoon still sweating. But it was worth all the effort. For years, we have had water drain right next to the foundation of the house, and now with the slope, the problem is solved.

It reminded me a little of the Old Testament story about the Israelites making “bricks without straw.” I actually had some junior high kids try that one summer at camp. Again, it’s not an easy job. Here’s what is amazing to me, though. When you read through the entire story of the Exodus, you discover one of the greatest contributions these people made to human civilization: A day off! Up until that time, you just worked all day, every day, until you died.

It wasn’t the Israelites, exactly, that came up with the idea. It was God. And the purpose was not simply to take a break for one day. It was a Sabbath intended to remind them that there were things much more important than making bricks. In fact, there was one thing more important than all things in this world put together, only it was not a thing. Taking a day to remember God is a way to keep everything else in proper perspective.

Thoughts worth pondering while hauling another load of concrete…

Back to School

It’s that time once again. Classes are starting up, and my calendar says I’ll be busier teaching this round than I’ve ever been: four classes and three different schools. I’m not complaining, though. I will admit, there are times I still dread grading papers. Maybe I just hate to be the bearer of bad news so much of the time! But what I always do look forward to are what I would call “windows of opportunity” for learning. And, as any teacher will probably tell you, the learning goes both ways. I’ve been engaged in some incredible online dialogues about some very heavy subjects, something that I was quite skeptical would ever happen before I started doing this. But happen it does, and I’m ready for more.

Childhood Chums

I did have real friends in school, of course. A few, anyway. One or two. But I always looked forward to a few pleasant moments together with Squiddly and Magilla. And, I still do. [Is that weird?] Two innocent simpletons, one who lived in Bubbleland and the other at Mr. Peeble's Pet Shop. Squiddly had a calm, come-what-may attitude. No matter what he encountered (instant stardom as a surfing rock star; threats from secret agents), he faced it all with a sort of serene cheerfulness. And Magilla was kind to others, above all else. Whether it was delivering dog food or telling stories to O-gee, he did at least one good turn daily. This 500-pound gorilla could sit anywhere he wanted, but he would be sure to ask first.

All good things must come to an end, I suppose. Summer's over. I go back to school next week (on the other side of the desk now). Every once in awhile, though, I turn on cartoons to check and see that my little chums are still there.

Foiled Again

Behold! Here are pictures of my directional discontinuity ring radiatior (DDRR, for short), AKA the "hula hoop" antenna for the 40 meter ham band. As you can probably tell, it is made from flexible dryer vent hose that has been formed into a 9' diameter loop raised up on cinder blocks. It actually looks rather nice, tucked away into an unused corner of my backyard. There's just one problem: it doesn't work. In fact, it tunes up a lot closer to the 80 meter band than it does 40, don't ask me why. It's not like I didn't give it the old college try, either. I spent several hours putting down chicken wire on the ground as a base, carefully measuring the loop, and then tying the hose to the blocks.

I'd like to say at least it "listens" well, and in a way, that's true. Loop antenna tend to be much quieter and they do help reduce static and noise. But the signals I've heard have also been a lot quieter and thus harder to read. There's no doubt in my mind now (after building a 10 meter version a few months ago) that the DDRR is indeed a "compromise" antenna. You can't expect a loop a foot or so off the ground to perform as well as a full-size dipole up in the air. Oh, well. Back to the drawing board.

On the Road Again

The clutch is in. The car runs, drives, and stops. Finally. It took over a month, but our '69 Volvo 145S has a brand new clutch and it is a huge improvement. Installing it, though, was an incredible ordeal. Seriously, that was probably the hardest automotive work I've ever done (and I even had both sons helping), unless you count the time the '53 Chevy wagon quit in a busy Seattle intersection and I had to push it up a slight incline while a friend steered. I thought I was going to have a heart attack that time. This wasn't much better. One day, I saw a thermometer that read 104 degrees, and I was crawling under the car once again, where it was hot and stuffy to say the least. Not to mention, I was getting a little claustrophobic in such confined quarters, like a bear in a great tightness, as Pooh might say. I'm starting to resemble Pooh, by the way - I need to lay off the honey or get taller jack stands.

Anyway, I'm sure me and the boys would agree that it has been a learning experience. We've figured out, through trial and error, that it helps to have all the right tools within easy reach. One in particular was a clutch alignment tool. The first time we bolted everything up, there was no way the gearbox was going to slide into the clutch. I got this little plastic tool (maybe the best ten bucks I've ever spent - and free shipping, no less), and everything lined up perfectly. The other lesson learned is that there's nothing like the feeling of having done it yourself. I should add, having done it right. It's a terrible feeling to have spent countless hours on a repair only to discover that you have to tow it to a shop to undo the damage - I came close a couple of times. Strange as it may seem, though, now every time I shift gears on the Volvo, I get this little self-satisfied smile and I think, "I guess we really did fix our wagon ourselves this time."

Switchfoot

A week ago today we were driving back from Salt Lake City, after having seen Switchfoot once again in concert, this time at the Saltaire Pavilion. Was it worth driving five hours one way through triple-digit temperatures, only to get lost at one point and almost miss it? Absolutely, it was. There were only a few hundred people there at most, and it was great to get up (fairly) close to the stage. I was the old guy wearing the red "i like switchfoot" T-shirt, by the way. On the return trip, I got to thinking about why this particular band has meant so much to me (especially in light of the fact that I'm quickly approaching the half-century mark, as my youngest son constantly reminds me). It's not easy to explain.

When Switchfoot first released "Chem 6A," it just resonated with me like very few songs ever have. The music is incredible (if you've listened to any of their albums, you already know that), but there was something more. The lyrics portray this tension between the ideal and the real - in this case, someone who seems to be settling for the artificial world of entertainment as a substitute for a life that is more genuine but may be harder to attain. Or something like that. I was the student dean of a Bible college at the time, and some of us went to see them when they were part of a line-up that included All-Star United and a couple of other bands. The concert was at a church on the corner of Cloverdale and Fairview, as I recall. Afterwards, I remember writing an article in the student newspaper about the band just because they had made such a huge impression on me.

The other concerts we've been to were held at the Big Easy in downtown Boise (renamed the Knitting Factory, for some bizarre reason). Without a doubt, they have been among the best shows I've ever had the privilege to experience. Let me add, I've been to a lot of concerts over the years: The Stones, The Who, Clapton (multiple times), Dylan, The Police (when tickets cost five bucks), etc., etc. Out of all of them, the comparison I tend to make to Switchfoot is with Bruce Springsteen (believe it or not), right when he was getting big. I draw a parallel not because of musical styles, but because of the energy of his three-hour show back in the early eighties.

We were in the second row that time, and it was obvious that Springsteen was someone who genuinely loved not only making music, but also making a connection with everyone in the audience. That's what every Switchfoot concert I've been to has been like. At the Salt Lake show, Jon actually got off the stage and walked through the crowd in mid-song. The last time they were in Boise, they even brought some kid up on stage to sing along with them. It's like the band sort of makes the barrier between them and the audience disappear.

The other factor has to be the sincerity of their devotion. I remember a quote from an interview Jon gave in the Idaho Statesman. He said something along the lines of: "We're a Christian band by conviction, not merely by musical genre." That has always stuck with me. Again, I don't find it easy to explain why songs like "Meant to Live," "This is Your Life," and "Gone" have been such an inspiration to me, but they just have.

In the last ten years or so (you know you're long in the tooth when you start measuring your life in decades), alternative Christian music (although I'm not real into labels such as that one) has been a catalyst for spiritual transformation and renewal in my life (you might even call it an "awakening"). When I listen to the music that these guys put out, it strikes a chord with me - they're trying to live faithfully in a world that constantly challenges them to do otherwise.

A couple of weeks ago, I had to fill in for our minister and preach a sermon. My chosen text was Ephesians 2:10, my title was "An Unfinished Masterpiece," and I felt like the lyrics from "The Economy of Mercy" was one of the most effective ways I could have found to make the point that God continues to write more lines to the poems of our lives: These carbon shells/These fragile dusty frames/House canvasses of souls/We are bruised and broken masterpieces/But we did not paint ourselves.

I could cite all kinds of other examples to illustrate how these guys have made a huge difference to me, but maybe the best is from my current favorite song, "Burn Out Bright":

If we only got one try
If we only got one life
If time was never on our side
Before I die I want to burn out bright

That's what I'm trying to say.