Boston

"Put it around your neck and... wrap it around twice... wait. Let me go get one. I think I have to do it before I can describe it."

"OK."

It was pretty embarrassing having to call your dad in the middle of your honeymoon to ask how to tie a necktie, but he had to get this right. They were heading to a restaurant that was way more upscale than any place either of them had ever been before, and if he was going to pay fifty bucks for a bowl of soup and a piece of fish served on a block of wood, he figured a tie was pretty much mandatory.

She was in the bathroom doing whatever girls do before a big date like this.

"I hope you don't mind - I hope you don't mind - that I put down in words - how wonderful life is - now you're in the world."

They had watched Moulin Rouge! while eating omelets and packing until 3:00am the night before, and that song had been in her head ever since. He wasn't a big Elton John fan, but that night, that song, the way she sang it... he didn't mind. Life was wonderful.

"All right, Son. Wrap the fat end around the skinny end twice, then poke the fat end through the gap you made."

"OK."

"You might have to keep trying a few times to get the length right."

"All right - I think I've got it. Thanks."

"No problem. Have a good time, Son."

"See ya later."

"Bye."

She came out of the bathroom, smiling at him.

"Did you get it figured out?" He smiled back.

"Yeah. Wow, you look great!"

She did look great. She was wearing a silky, cream-colored dress with a brown sash that matched his shirt. She was elegant and sexy, and he was undeservedly blessed by God.

They had an incredible week together. They ate lunch at a cute little pizza place, they toured eighteenth-century churches, they saw a play about Judy Garland (her favorite actress), they took a ferry to Lovells Island, where they explored a World War I fort, and did a lot of walking and talking. It didn't matter that neither one of them knew how to catch a taxi, or that it rained while they were on the island, and they had to spend the first day there playing "Twenty Questions" in their tent, or that their flight home was delayed overnight, or that they ended up being separated by a fat guy who wouldn't trade seats on the plane, or that they only made it home with sixteen dollars - the exact amount they needed pay to get their vehicle out of the airport parking lot. They were finally married, they were very much in love, and at that moment, that's all that mattered.

...

He opened the back of his delivery truck and sighed. Time to unload the empty totes from route #1 and load up for route #2. He wasn't having a horrible day, but it wasn't a good day either. He had overslept that morning for the third time in as many weeks and still felt dead tired. Apart from a quick "I love you" and an even quicker goodbye kiss, "I hate my job" had been the last thing he said to her. He knew it bothered her when he said things like that, but he hadn't really cared at the time. It was sunny and eighty degrees out, which really irritated him, being October and everything. The warehouse guys were listening to some chick station that seriously had no business in a manual-labor type environment.

He sighed again and started pulling totes out in stacks. The song on the radio changed. It sounded kind of familiar, but he was toning it out. Despite this effort, some lyrics broke through, and all of a sudden, he was back in Boston.

"I hope you don't mind - I hope you don't mind - that I put down in words - how wonderful life is - now you're in the world..."

Omelets and Moulin Rouge!, the hotel, the island, "Twenty Questions", that cream-colored dress... it all came back to him like a favorite movie. And he thought about her...

They had an incredible life together. They had a beautiful two-year-old daughter and a son due in four months. It didn't matter that he had gotten a frustrated voicemail from his manager that morning, or that she had class that night, or that they were low on groceries, or that they'd been borrowing her brother's car for the last six months. He was still married to the girl of his dreams, they were very much in love, and at that moment, that's all that mattered.

The Man Wearing Flannel

The man wearing flannel
Looks older than he is
Grey whiskers like buckshot
In his thin beard

He's been in the weather
But looks better for it
His lips are dry and cracked
With apathy

His hands and eyes are brown
First hard, the latter soft
What brings him happiness
If anything?

Is he an outdoorsman?
Does he smoke tobacco?
Does he enjoy music?
Is he well-read?

Is he a communist?
Was he at church Sunday?
Does he love a woman?
Is she still there?

What wars has he fought in?
What mistakes has he made?
Is he a good father?
I'll never know

Radio Ga Ga

I updated my Blogger profile a few weeks ago, and as I was filling out the various fields of information now familiar to most of us in the age of social media, I was struck by an oversight. It would seem that Blogger, Facebook, and the like subscribe to the popular view that individuality is largely determined by the media one consumes. According to this view, our personalities can be broken down into basically six categories: favorite music, favorite movies, favorite books, activities, interests, and the ambiguous "about me". Half of these are media-specific, and, depending on how entertainment-oriented one is, the other half can be as well.

At this point, you might think I'm going to begin a "people are more than mindless, media-dependent favorites lists" tirade, but I'm not. I'm not really sure how I feel about this trend, but I do know that I like talking about what I like. So for now, let's just accept the premise.

What I do have a problem with is the universal exclusion of what I feel is a very important category. While some online profiles do include things like sports, video games, and TV shows, the glaring absence of "Favorite Radio Programs" is common to all. Some people may think radio prehistoric, but those of us who drive for a living love it.

Thanks to the internet, radio's accessibility has become virtually unlimited. Golden Age programs have fled their dusty archives. Current programs are no longer restrained by time, space, commercials, news, or bourgeois "Top 40" thinking (look at me sounding all post-modern).

Anyway, my point is that radio is awesome, and it easily makes up a quarter of my media-consumption. So until these social networking sites get their acts together and include radio in their profile categories, I'll list my ten favorite programs here (with links provided for you to stream / download episodes or find a station that airs them):

#10  Rush Limbaugh and Mark Levin

 I don't listen to conservative talk radio as much as I used to, but when there's an election or something interesting going on in the political sphere, I get my news from these guys. I love Levin's unwavering devotion to the Constitution, and Rush's powerful personality and unapologetic arrogance make him just plain fun to listen to.

#9  Unbelievable?

I just discovered this UK-based program. Each episode features host Justin Brierly facilitating a theological debate between two opposing scholars. Although most broadcasts tend to focus on apologetics, I've been more interested in the polemic topics like predestination / free will, the emerging movement, and women in ministry. If, like me, you've been curious about the controversy surrounding Rob Bell's latest book Love Wins, be sure to check out the Bell / Adrian Warnock debate, which you can actually watch.

#8  The Tolkien Professor

This is for serious Tolkien fanboys only, and it's technically a podcast, but I don't care. Titular Washington College professor Corey Olsen has uploaded a variety of interesting audio files to his website over the last few years, and continues to do so fairly regularly. If you don't like Tolkien, you won't want to listen to this. If you think he's a good storyteller, but hardly the literary genius people like me make him out to be, Corey Olsen will change your mind. Highlights include a chapter-by-chapter analysis of  The Hobbit and recorded lectures from Olsen's class on the works of J.R.R. Tolkien.

#7 A Prairie Home Companion

Garrison Keillor's variety show is the only thing on NPR worth our tax dollars. I love the old-timey music, I love the sketches, I love the phony sponsors, I love the News from Lake Wobegon - it's simply great radio.

#6  Focus on the Family and Family Life Today

As a kid, I used to get bored when my parents would listen to Christian radio (except of course for Focus on the Family's Adventures in Odyssey, which really should have been included in this list somewhere), but now that I have a family of my own, I really appreciate and enjoy their broadcasts. Guests and topics vary from week to week, but the quality level of Biblical insight and practical application is always consistent.

#5  Insight for Living

Chuck Swindoll is the only radio preacher I listen to. His exposition of Scripture is interesting, applicable, and very thorough. I love listening to him preach through a book of the Bible verse by verse, inspired word by inspired word. His broadcasts never fail to encourage my love of the Book.

#4  Rocky Fortune

This early 50's series stars Frank Sinatra as Rocky, a jack-of-all-trades who, one way or another, always seems to be finding himself in the middle of a crime scene. The plot lines might not be all that original, but I can't get enough of the snarky dialogue and... did I mention Frank Sinatra?

#3  Suspense

Suspense did for radio what Edgar Allen Poe did for literature and Alfred Hitchcock did for film - in fact, the series sometimes featured radio adaptations of stories by these gentlemen. Although it isn't the only horror-themed radio show I enjoy listening to (especially around Halloween), it is definitely the best. It retains the classic horror nostalgia of organ music, high-pitched screams, and spooky sound effects, while the excellent writing really does keep you in... SUSPENSE!!!

#2  The Jack Benny Show

Jack Benny was the king of radio comedy throughout most of the Golden Age, and his show provides an indispensable link in the evolution of comedy itself. While most of his contemporaries were busy recycling their joke-driven vaudeville routines, Jack and the rest of the cast found success in the kind of character-driven comedy we know from sitcoms today. "Pig-man, baby!" is funny because Kramer said it, “If I had a gun with two bullets, and I was in a room with Hitler, Bin Laden, and Toby, I would shoot Toby twice,” is funny because Michael Scott said it, and "[I sing] anything but soprano," is funny because Rochester said it. On Benny's show, characters made the jokes funny, instead of the other way around. Listen to a few episodes, and you'll quickly pick up on the fact that Jack is cheap, Dennis is dumb, and Don is fat, but, like with any good comedy, it's the interaction between the exaggerated personalities that really endears an audience. You know you're a fan when you can anticipate each person's reaction to a given circumstance, and I am indeed a fan of this great show.

#1  Theme Time Radio Hour 

In the heyday of rock and roll, radio was all about personality. Not obnoxious morning-show personality - I mean guys like Wolfman Jack who were so cool they made music cool just by playing it. In recent years, rock stations have resurrected this concept to some degree with shows like Nights with Alice Cooper, Dee Snider's House of Hair, and Nikki Sixx's Sixx Sense. Even in the be-your-own-DJ era of wallet-sized music libraries, people pay attention to someone who lived the music, who loves the music, who knows the artists, and who plays stuff you'll never find on a "Greatest Hits" CD at Wal-Mart.

These shows are great if you're a fan on 70's and 80's rock like I am, and Delilah's nice if you're in the mood for a good cry or a long nap (OK, I have to admit I preset her station at Christmastime), but Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour is #1, because it defies not only the "Greatest Hits" paradigm, but all limitations of time and genre. Dylan himself has been a musical legend for the past fifty years. He knew The Byrds, The Beatles, The Stones, Woody Guthrie, Johnny Cash, and Jimi Hendrix, and his intimate knowledge of the history of music almost makes you believe he knew Elvis, Hank Williams, and Leadbelly too. Entertaining and educational from the noir-like opening ("It's nighttime in the big city...") to the campy closing credits, each episode sifts through the waters of history, science, literature, film, and a vast library of twentieth-century music for treasure related to its devoted theme. If you like being exposed to new music, if you've ever wondered what Fred Astaire and The Ramones have in common, if you're interested in coffee, trains, Texas, the Bible, war, Christmas, and people named Joe, or if you just want to hear Bob Dylan talk about stuff, then check this show out on XM radio or follow the link I've provided before the site gets shut down :).

You gave them all those old time stars
Through wars of worlds - invaded by Mars
You made 'em laugh, you made 'em cry
You made us feel like we could fly

So don't become some background noise
A backdrop for the girls and boys
Who just don't know or just don't care
And just complain when you're not there
You had your time, you had the power
You've yet to have your finest hour
Radio

- Queen, "Radio Ga Ga", The Works (1984)

Entry #16 (Inspired by summer storms and Psalm 18)

My God is a storm.

He is beautiful.

He is terrifying.

He destroys.

He restores.

He washes away filth.

He brings new life.

He is undeniably present.

He is essentially powerful.

He levels the mighty.

He fills the empty.

He quenches the thirsty.

He rouses the sleeper.

He cannot be controlled.

He will not be silenced.

He cares not for the plans of men.

He fears no rival power.

He is violent.

He is graceful.

He is strength.

He is music.

Gravy

(Please excuse the esoteric nature of this post)


Tomorrow morning, they will sing. In that hallowed place, that place of a thousand hopes and memories, their voices will rise above earthly woes, and the hearts of men shall be uplifted, and the Lord Himself shall crack a smile, as the throng declares with joy and triumph:

Some people like gravy
No "ifs", "ands", "buts", or "maybes"
When it's cold, it gets wavy
Gravy

Have you heard it? Do you feel it? O, what is the source of this anthem's power? How doth it stir such depths of the soul? Is its authenticity inherent in its organic, communal origin? Does its relevancy stem from the bold, fresh, politically-charged lead-in each year, or from the simple fact that some people, nay, most people, will always like gravy? Does its passion arise from the tender melody, that slowly crescendos into a stadium-rock powerhouse of driving keyboard, pounding drums, blazing electric guitar, and soaring vocals? Does its strength lie in the lyrics' poetic power to inspire pragmatism ("You can feed it to your baby"), truth ("It has the consistency of a shake"), dedication ("I will even eat it in the lake"), imagination ("You can put it in a pie"), humor ("It won't even squirt in your eye"), and the courage to stand up for your God-given rights ("If I can't have it, I ask 'Why?'")? Is it that the act of raising one's fork and voice in unison with 80-150 like-minded peers meets the basic human need of brotherhood in a way that little else can?

Yes. It is all this and so much more. As harbinger of the last full day of camp, the song has the bitter-sweet flavor of a graduation slideshow on steroids. Tears, laughter, friendship, love, Ultimate Beef Tongue, and spiritual life change are interwoven like golden threads throughout its fabric. It's a link to the past. It's an investment in the future.

It's my gravy.

(Re:) Hipster Christianity

A few weeks ago, I overheard my two-year-old daughter trying to communicate something to my dad.

"Sh'want Shawn," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Delightfully confused, he asked her for clarification.

"Sh'want Shawn!" she repeated emphatically, as if to say, "Why aren't you getting this?"

I smiled and translated. "She wants to watch Boy Meets World."

It must be frustrating to be two years old. You know exactly what you're saying, but people who are unfamiliar with your tendencies to refer to yourself in the third person, create bizarre contractions, and re-title TV shows with the name of your favorite character have no idea what you're talking about.

I'm not two years old, but I feel like this sometimes too. Especially when I try to express how I feel about current ecclesiological trends. Probably the closest I've come to saying what I mean took the form of an allegory, and the second sounds something like: "If I hear the phrase 'cultural relevancy' again, I'm going to vomit."

Obviously (and I could quote Cool Hand Luke here, but that line's a couple hundred miles away from the junk yard as it is), I've had a little trouble verbalizing my concerns. I like to think that the reservations I have about the new way of "doing church" stem from love, but it seems like I always come across sounding petty, ignorant, antagonistic, or all three. Even when I debate the issue internally, I constantly catch myself falling into ad hominem and slippery-slope arguments.

Why do I have such a hard time explaining myself? Is there really anything wrong with making the Church more user-friendly? Am I really just a selfish grump who stubbornly displays the kind of mean-spirited resistance church leaders expect from people three times my age? Am I the only one, aside from my wife and a few close friends, who even feels this way?

I found out recently that I am not. Last Monday afternoon, while browsing the "Christian Inspiration" section at Barnes & Noble, Brett McCracken's Hipster Christianity: When Church and Cool Collide caught my eye. I opened the book to the introduction and read the first paragraph, a quote from C.S. Lewis:

I have some definite views about the de-Christianizing of the Church. I believe that there are many accommodating preachers, and too many practitioners in the Church who are not believers. Jesus Christ did not say, "Go into all the world and tell the world that it is quite right." The Gospel is something completely different. In fact, it is directly opposed to the world.
- "Cross-Examination", God in the Dock:Essays on Theology and Ethics

I was interested. I perused the rest of the book for a few minutes - just long enough to get very interested, tucked it under my arm, picked out a Dr. Seuss for Mollie, and bought them both.

I finished reading Hipster Christianity in four days, which is pretty fast for me. It's well-written, easy to understand, and, although McCracken keeps his cheap shots and sarcasm under control in a way I would find almost impossible given this topic, it still manages to be quite funny.

But more than any of that, I am thankful for this book, because it has given voice to the thoughts and feelings I have had trouble communicating. It is scripturally grounded and extremely well-researched, and, aside from one or two uses of a minor curse word and (I think) a slight bent toward Calvinism, it's exactly what I would have written, had I the resources, clear focus, and talent of the author. That's not to say I didn't learn anything, though. As much as I have been affirmed through my reading, I have also been challenged.

The book is split into three parts. Parts One and Two reminded me of Eric Hoffer's The True Believer: mostly factual examination with very little evaluative opinion offered. Part One describes the history of the concept of "cool" or "hip", which McCracken traces back to the Enlightenment, and its interaction with Christianity, which more or less began in the 1960's and 70's with the "Jesus People", continued into the 80's and 90's with the practice of Christianizing the secular (Christian rock, Christian parody t-shirts, Christian romance novels, etc.), and in the last decade has for the most part flipped into a secularization of the Christian in an attempt to be more "culturally relevant".

Part Two systematically details what hipster Christians and hipster churches look like today. In general, most tend to be theologically concerned with missional practices over belief-oriented evangelicalism, politically liberal, environmentally concerned, and dedicated to art as a spiritual good in and of itself (regardless of meaning or utility).

In Part Three, McCracken abandons his role as researcher / reporter, and begins to take a hard look the issues we in the church face as a result of our obsession with "cool". The first major issue addressed is the emergence of "wannabe hip churches". In contrast to authentically hip churches, which form from the bottom up, in other words, a bunch of true Christian hipsters get together and decide to start a church, wannabes attempt to create a hipster-friendly environment from the top down, purposefully manufacturing styles and attitudes in order to appeal to the younger generation. McCracken argues that these types of churches can actually end up doing more harm than good, because twenty-first-century "cool kids" are almost instinctively cynical and can spot ulterior motives a mile away. The author quotes David Wells, who said in The Courage to be Protestant:

[T]he further irony is that the younger generations who are less impressed by whiz-bang technology, who often see through what is slick and glitzy, and who have been on the receiving end of enough marketing to nauseate them, are as likely to walk away from these oh-so-relevant churches as to walk into them.

Another problem with hipster Christianity, is that "cool" the way our culture defines it inherently possesses certain characteristics that are inconsistent with a Biblical lifestyle: selfish individualism, alienation, competition, pride and vanity, an exclusive focus on the present, rebellion, and a reduction of our ideas to the visual.

Finally, McCracken discusses the church's need to live out its truly, eternally cool nature, which transcends all fads, all generations, and all cultures, and quit undermining the body of Jesus Christ with what are ultimately very, very small matters.

Why is the church like this today? Have we so little confidence against the threat of postmodernity and other twenty-first-century challenges that we are regulated to this sorry state of reactionary irrelevance? Are we so uncertain about the future of Christianity and its appeal to the next generation that we don't know where else to turn but to the external cultural whims and waves that are churning all around us? Whatever happened to being confident that "He who began a good work in you will carry it on into completion at the day of Jesus Christ" (Phil. 1:6), or believing that "all things work together for, for those who are called according to His purpose" (Rom. 8:28)? Why are we frantically, desperately trying to monitor, copy, appropriate, and adjust to the culture in such a frightened and defensive manner, when we are repeatedly instructed in the Bible to have confidence that God is going to do what God is going to do, and it's going to be awesome?
- McCracken (220-221)

The logic of today's hipster Christianity, however, operates under [...] the assumption that to be truly relevant, Christianity must rethink everything and throw all its chips into the contextualization pot. This mind-set assumes no one will listen to us if we aren't loud and edgy; no one will take us seriously if we aren't conversant with culture; and no one will find Jesus interesting unless He is made to fit the particularities of the zeitgeist.
But this sort of "relevance" is defined chiefly and inextricably by the one thing Christianity resolutely defeats: impermanence. Things that are permanent are not faddish or fickle or trendy. They are solid. The word relevant, however, seems to imply temporality. I think we need to fess up to the truth that nothing temporal is really all that relevant at all, in the long run. True relevance lasts (234).

Christians, we have to think harder. We have minds, and we have to use them - not because it will appeal to the academic hipsters out there, but because in thinking about and considering God's world, we worship Him. And so even when something that might seem trivial, like ideas of "hip" and "cool," Christians need to think long and hard about what it all means for our objective on this planet. What does it mean that there is enough material to write a book about hipster Christianity? The discussion can start with that question.
It's not that I don't think Christianity is cool. On the contrary, I think it's the coolest thing ever. It is eternal and life-changing in a world of waste and quick fixes. It's the answer to everything and everyone. For wanderers, laborers, lovers, poets, slaves, villains, heroes, hipsters, movers, doers, and dancers (and everyone else under the sun), Jesus Christ is the answer. In a world of power-grabbing and war and insurgency, of institutions and rebellion and protest-movements, of blood and bombs and endless battles, where all hands are clamoring for control of some contested bit of land or love or liberty, Jesus Christ is the H-bomb force that levels it all and allows for the rebuilding of an eternal kingdom.
So yes, Christianity can be cool. It is cool. There's nothing wrong with pointing this out, or at least pointing out that we are not as stupid or uncool as previously thought. We can stand for some image maintenance. But we shouldn't obsess about fitting our image into the culturally acceptable or desirable ideal. Christianity's appeal comes not from culture, but from within - and the minute we start looking outside our own identity for affirmation about our relative relevance, we immediately begin to lose our cool (245-246).

Amen, amen, amen!

I'd like to thank Brett McCracken for writing Hipster Christianity. In an environment where questioning the "culturally relevant" push is next to questioning say, the practice of communion, it's been difficult for me to express exactly why the Christian hipster agenda has made me uncomfortable. I wish that every Christian college student, every pastor, and every other believer who has felt the pressure in recent years to be conformed "to the pattern of this world" (Romans 12:2) would get a copy of this book and at least consider some of the negative aspects of our increasingly "hip" ecclesiology.

Not only that, but I would like to thank him for challenging my paradigm as well. This might be surprising to those of you who just read my review, but I think reading Hipster Christianity has actually softened my heart toward hipsters and the people who wish they could be hipsters. Exploring the ends and outs of hipsterdom has broken down some of my prejudices by helping it seem less "other" and has brought me to the realization that I may not be as isolated from the rest of my generation as I thought. Granted, there are plenty of decidedly “unhip” things about me:

• I have a full-time job
• I vote Republican
• I respect Focus on the Family
• I don’t smoke, drink, cuss, or chew, and I don’t go with girls who do
• I could not give less of a crap about being “green”
• I hate artsy-fartsy stuff
• I will never, ever wear a V-neck or girl jeans

However, there are also some things many hipsters and I have in common:

• I blog
• I love Bob Dylan (the ultimate against “the man” hipster)
• I wrote a blog about Bob Dylan
• I’m fascinated with ancient church symbols and liturgical practices
• I love coffee (does it count if 95% of my consumption comes from a thermos?)
• I like talking about philosophy and theology
• I like my youth group materials to look stylish
• I love the outdoors (which, by the way, has nothing to do with being “green”)
• I enjoy Christian kitsch from the past with ironic nostalgia
• I genuinely appreciate art (again, nothing to do with “artsy fartsy”)
• There were a few things mentioned in this book I actually felt like checking out (hipster artists, websites, etc.)


Christian hipsters are my brothers and sisters, whether we agree on everything or not.

They might be hipster churches, but they are also just churches like any other - trying to preach God's word and spread His Gospel throughout their community.
- McCracken (117-118)

A month or so ago, I was discussing a particular hipster vs. traditional issue with my father-in-law (whose confident, t-shirt-tucked-into-jean-shorts attitude makes him the most above "hip" youth pastor I know), and, even though he agreed with me that an over-emphasis on cultural relevance is a weakness, he was quick to remind me of Paul's words in Romans 14:1:

Accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters.

I think a lot of churches today are missing the point, but I've come to realize that ultimately, a little bit of bad ecclesiology can do no more permanent harm to the church than can dwindling numbers, negative perceptions, or anything else.

(More on God's persistent preservation of the church later)

Sola Fide (Part II): Exile on Main St.

When I had a simple faith, faith seemed simple.

We live by faith, not by sight.
- 2 Corinthians 5:7

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.
- Hebrews 11:1

Trust God. Believe in what you hope for. No matter what happens, everything's gonna be all right. Just have faith. It's simple.

I knew these verses by heart, but not by mind. As I grew older, and my melancholy personality began to emerge more fully, I started to question faith. Not my faith in God (I've never really doubted His existence), but faith itself.

When I was a kid, I thought that if I really, truly believed I could fly, I would. I threw myself from countless backyard precipices, expecting to wow my friends with the best Peter Pan impression they'd ever seen, but I fell to the ground every time. After college, I trusted that God would immediately reward my hard work with a fulfilling position in full-time ministry that would provide a comfortable living for my family. Instead, I ended up working multiple minimum and near-minimum wage jobs for two years while I waited on the Lord and battled feelings of doubt and insignificance. I hoped and prayed that my uncle (who was probably the closest thing I ever had to a big brother) would survive his cancer, but he didn't. Apparently this faith stuff doesn't work out so well.

But it's not that simple. God never promised a happy ending to our circumstances. In fact, He promised the opposite:

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
- Jesus, John 16:33b

Sometimes church people like to gloss over the issue of pain, but the Bible sure doesn't. For crying out loud (literally), read Job, Lamentations, Psalms, or New Testament martyr stories, and you'll find pain in bulk. Jesus knew it would be tempting to lose heart in these kinds of circumstances. He does offer hope, but that hope comes from beyond our earthly experience.

Contrary to my casual interpretation of Hebrews 11:1, Christian faith is not being sure of whatever we might hope for. The rest of chapter 11 goes on to describe several Old Testament heroes of strong faith, many of whom never received any kind of earthly reward (verse 13b). There were some:

who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies.
(verses 33-34)

and:

others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death by stoning; they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground.
(verses 35b-38)

This is reality. Not all gloom and doom, not all flowers and sunshine. The commonality is faith. Faith in what? Read verses 13-16:

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

Christian faith is being sure of the hope we have for a better country - a country we cannot and will not see or understand in this lifetime, but one we can be certain of nonetheless. Faith is being homesick for a place we've never been. C.S. Lewis wrote a great deal about this longing, which he called "joy".

In a sense the central story of my life is about nothing else... it is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any satisfaction. I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and from Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again. Apart from that and considered only in its quality, it might almost equally be called a particular kind of unhappiness or grief. But then it is a kind we want.
- Lewis, Surprised by Joy

I remember feeling this the first time I read Lewis' own Narnia stories. I wanted to go there so badly, I actually tried the spell that takes Eustace and Jill to Narnia in The Silver Chair. Sometimes a particular song, place, thought, or memory still brings that kind of ambiguous longing to my heart. And it took me a long time to realize it was God.

Faith is fundamentally mingled with this longing and dissatisfaction (and maybe that's why suffering actually tends to strengthen faith). It's true that Scripture encourages us to "be content in any and every situation" (Philippians 4:12), but contentment and satisfaction aren't the same thing. It might even be that knowing we can never be truly satisfied in this life is precisely the perspective that allows us to accept our circumstances. It's an opti-pessimism.

If you've been around church for very long, you've probably heard it said that everyone has a God-shaped hole in their heart that can only be filled by asking Jesus to be your Savior. I have a problem with that. I mean, I accepted Christ a long time ago, but I still feel empty sometimes. I think Jesus partially fills that hole, but He leaves us an IOU for the rest. He broke our chains, but we still have to stay in the cave for a while. Take a look at that "live by faith, not by sight" verse in context:

For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. For we live by faith, not by sight.
- 2 Corinthians 5:1-7

There's still some emptiness. There's still some mystery. But we wait by faith, knowing that we are indeed homeward bound.

The Bible is full of exile language - but if we mistake faith for earthly optimism, we may feel guilty when we groan. Groaning is good. It's a sign of the IOU, the deposit, the very Spirit of God living within us. It's a sign that we're looking toward the cavern's exit.

Remember your failure at the cave!
- Yoda, The Empire Strikes Back

Why is faith so hard? You would think now that we can finally move our necks, we would never look away from the mouth of the cave - where daylight shines and distant images of life outside can sometimes be glimpsed. But the shadows are mesmerizing. They're right in front of us. We're used to them. It's hard not to look at them.

A few months ago, I realized that I had been staring at the shadows for a long time. My mind was filled mostly with earthly things. It had been weeks since I had read my Bible or had a meaningful prayer time. When we weren't watching TV, my interactions with my wife were mostly informational. Even things like TV, music, and books had lost their meaning. I didn't really enjoy things like that, I just used them as a way to get my mind off of work. The Lord sent us a beautiful snow, and all I could think about was what kinds of problems it was going to cause me the next day. I had lost my Joy (for a full confession, see Part I).

Thankfully, the Spirit convicted me of my blindness, and I have been trying to be more faith-full. How? Well, I try to focus my attention on things of heavenly nature. I pay more attention to natural beauty. I pay more attention to my daughter. I try to treat my wife more like a girlfriend than a business partner. I've been reading more and listening to audiobooks at work. This isn't necessarily a new habit, but I've tried to stop thinking of it as an accomplishment ("I can cross that one off the checklist") or a coping mechanism ("What book should I listen to to get me through the day?"), and start reading for the simple pleasure of reading. That goes for the Bible too. I used to read it because that's what good Christians "have" to do. Now I try to read it because it brings me closer to the Father I love. I pray about more than my "daily bread". And sometimes, when my heart feels particularly weighed down by the world, I might sing a few longing lines of an old hymn or two:

"Some glad morning, when this life is o'er, I'll fly away."

"I heard about a mansion He has built for me in Glory."

"There's a better home a'waiting in the sky Lord, in the sky."

"And someday yonder, we'll never more wander, but walk the streets that are purest gold."

"There'll be no sorrow there, no more burdens to bear."

"Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll."

"Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, and mortal life shall cease, I shall possess within the veil a life of joy and peace."

You don't hear lyrics like that much anymore. In fact, you don't really hear that much homesickness in church at all. We've been laser-focused on our mission in recent years, and I'm not saying that's not an improvement on the somewhat isolated nature of "old time religion", but in the process, I think we may have grown a little too comfortable in exile. Yes, we have a very important mission while we're here. But don't forget - we're missionaries. We're from another country.

Someday She'll Turn Three

This is a story my wife and I wrote for our daughter last night. It will be better after Beth illustrates it, but I thought I'd go ahead and share it.


Someday She'll Turn Three

Today is Mollie’s birthday. Today will be a lot of fun. Today is a very special day.
But someday… someday…

Someday Mollie might ride a unicorn from California to New York.
But today, she’s riding Daddy from the living room to the kitchen to the living room to the kitchen…

Someday she might travel the solar system to search for life on Mars, hula-hoop with Saturn’s rings, and bring back a moon rock.
But today, she’s in the back yard watching birds, chasing dogs, and stealing rocks from the neighbors’ driveway.

Someday she might meet the president and help him with his homework.
But today, she’s having a one-way conversation with an ant.

Someday she might own a candy factory, and make a lollipop so big that it would block the sun.
But today, Papaw is her candy factory.

Someday she might be a world-famous chef with restaurants in Spain, Italy, and France.
But today, she’s eating ketchup with a French-fry spoon.

Someday she might finally discover a cure for the common cold.
But today, band-aids and Mommy’s kisses make everything better.

Someday she might design fancy dresses for all the big movie stars.
But today, she’s partial to her birthday suit.

Someday millions of people might come to watch her sing and dance on Broadway.
But today, her head, shoulders, knees, and toes are all performing for Mommy and Daddy.

Someday… Someday…

Someday she’ll have to memorize lots of facts and formulas, and she’ll probably get straight A’s.
But today, she knows her alphabet and can count from one to seven.

Someday she’ll wear a white dress and a pretty wedding ring. He’ll be a lucky guy.
But today, Prince Charming is a character in her storybooks.

Someday she’ll rock her little baby to sleep while she sings a lullaby.
But today, she says “night night” to her dolls and bears and makes snoring sounds for them.

Someday she’ll turn three. Someday she’ll turn five. Someday she’ll turn ten and twenty and thirty.
But today, she’s turning two.

Today will be a lot of fun. Today we’ll have cake and ice cream, we’ll sing “Happy Birthday”, and we’ll open presents. Today is a very special day.

Sola Fide (Part I): Plato's Cave Revisited

(This one goes out to you, Dad.)

As He went along, He saw a man blind from birth.
- John 1:9

I was a boy when He came for me. I can still recall that moment:

I felt someone touch my arm - a sensation I had never known. It startled me. He whispered something in my ear. They were the clearest words I had ever heard. I couldn't understand them, but I knew they were meant to comfort me. I felt something fall from my wrists, then from my ankles and neck. I was consumed with a sense of relief, as if my body had been strangely lightened. My neck bent downward, and I beheld my own body for the first time. At my feet lay the iron shackles that had bound me. With great effort, I raised my head to look upon the Man who had broken them. His body was similar to mine, only much larger and thicker; and He was bleeding. Then I looked into His face. Our eyes met, and in an instant I knew the meaning of kindness and goodness. He took hold of my hand and helped me to my feet.

I looked around and began to observe the true nature of my surroundings. I had been chained to the wall of a cave. There was a great fire in the middle of the chamber, and there were men working, carrying strange objects, casting moving shadows on the wall. I realized with astonishment that these same shadows and the muffled voices of the workers had composed my entire reality not an hour before!

My Liberator led me (carried me, really) slowly out of the cave. The sun was blindingly bright, but its soothing warmth soon made me forget the pain it brought to my eyes. We came to what must have been a river, and my Liberator began to bathe me in it. I felt the cool water wash away years of filth from my body. I cannot remember how long I lay in the river, but when He brought me out, I felt as if I had been reborn.

My Liberator spoke to me gently. He lifted me up, and we started to move. He must have carried me for miles. As He walked, I fell into a peaceful sleep.

When I awoke, I was in an enormous bed, engulfed in soft blankets. I opened my eyes and found that my blindness had passed. The room I occupied was warmed by a small fireplace. There was a plate of hot food next to the bed. It smelled wonderful. After a few moments, the dark wooden door began to open. A Man stepped in, and I recognized the face of my Liberator, whose eyes still spoke perfect kindness.

During the days and weeks that followed, my Liberator and the others that lived with Him began teaching me how to properly use my muscles and my mind. In time, I learned many things. I learned that the Man who broke my chains was a great King, but that I was to call Him Father. I learned that the others who lived there had also been rescued from the caves by my Father. They are my brothers and my sisters.

Once my legs gained their proper strength, my Father began taking me on long walks through the countryside. He introduced me to waters, rocks, plants, animals - all the wonderful things I never knew when my world was full of shadows. He watched lovingly as I reveled in new experiences: climbing trees, swimming, and running through the grass. He asked me questions and listened intently to my thoughts and feelings. He even let me ask Him questions, and He answered many of them! We loved our walks very much.

One day, after I had learned to read, my Father brought me into an enormous room He called the Library. The walls were completely covered with books, and I was surprised to find a deep desire within myself to read all of them.

"Most of these books were written by one of your brothers or sisters," my Father said, "but this one..." He reached toward a table in the corner and picked up a very thick, very old-looking book with a worn black cover. "This is the one I wrote. It is very special." He handed me the Book and said, "You may read any of these any time you like." Then He smiled and left the room.

I sat down, eagerly opened to the first page of my Father's Book, and read His dedication: "To my children, with love."

After that day, I spent much of my time in the Library, pouring over books of all sorts: history, philosophy, poetry, adventure stories. I especially loved my Father's Book, which seemed to contain absolutely everything. I hardly ever left the Library except to eat, sleep, and, of course, to walk with my Father. I even started to write a book of my own, but I did not get very far.

On my eighteenth birthday, during one of our walks, my Father turned to me and said, "Son, I think it's time for you to start working in the caves."

"What?" I thought, "The caves where I spent my childhood chained to the wall? The caves where my eyes were mercilessly starved for true light and beauty?"

He could see the fear in my eyes. "Yes, son." He spoke with understanding. "There are minerals deep within the caves that must be mined. Many of your brothers have already begun working, and today you are old enough to join them. It needn't be at all like the prison you remember, for you will not be chained, and you may come back to the surface any time you wish. We will still be able to have our daily walks, and..." the corners of His mouth turned slightly upward, and His eyes twinkled as He said, "the mines will provide a comfortable living, should you ever desire to take a wife." I blushed. His smile turned to laughter, that laughter which was always so deep and strong and joyous that no one could help but join Him. "I know you've had your eye on Miss Philea, boy. Don't you try to deny it!"

It was true. I was very much in love with my adopted sister Philea, and if working in the mines meant she and I could start a family of our own, then I was ready to work in the mines!

His face still pinched with laughter, my Father grabbed my hand and said, "You would have My blessing."

I embraced Him and asked, "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning."

That was nearly three years ago. Since that time, life has been very different. Mining is hard work, but I feel stronger week by week. I am not deprived of beauty, as I had anticipated. For one thing, there are gorgeous rock formations in the caves that I hadn't noticed on the day of my rescue. I still spend hours in the Library, and I still take regular walks with my Father, although the lack of sunlight makes it difficult to track time, and I have failed to meet Him several times. Philea and I were married shortly after I began mining. We built a small house on our Father's land, and have lost no time in filling it with children. We are very happy.

Although the author is clearly the same, the strained pen and change in tone indicate a later date of composition for the following:

Cruel Time has worn on. I hate the caves. They are dark, cold, and putrid. The work is relentless. In the morning, my heart is heavy with dread over the task that lies before me. In the evening, it is heavy with guilt over the task left unfinished.

I have tried to find comfort in my family, but even when I am home, my mind constantly wanders back to those dank and dreary caverns. I have tried to ignore the work. I have even brought books from the Library down to the caves with me, but I cannot read very well in the dim light, and it brings me no pleasure. I hardly read my Father's Book at all. In fact, I hardly speak to Him. I am doing the work He sent me to do, after all! Am I angry at Him for sending me back to the caves? I do not know. I am conscious of very little, save for the endless clink of pick on rock.

The journey between the caves and my home is at least an hour's walk. I must endure the rough, monotonous terrain twice a day - through rain and wind, through extreme cold and heat. How I loathe it. Some nights I have slept in the caves in order to avoid the next day's journey. This preserves time and physical energy, but being absent from my family is difficult.

I have decided to move them tomorrow. I plan to pitch a tent near the cavern's mouth where they can be comfortable, but where I may remain close to my work in the mines. I hope it will prove beneficial.

Thus ends the diary of my brother Desmios. It was found in the home he and Philea once shared, covered in dust and cobwebs. Our Father is still searching for Philea and the children, but Desmios we found, deep in the caves. We tried to bring him out, but he would not be stirred. He sat there stupefied, entranced - staring at the shadows on the wall.