As a parent of a little girl, I am deeply concerned about the marketing of certain toys to young girls. Just in time to ruin Christmas for many undescerning parents, Mohler has published this alarming post on the disturbing markenting phenomenon that revolves around the acrostic "KGOY": "Kids Growing Older Younger". Read it here.
I am a genuine evangelical Scrooge, I confess. But I dread the day when well-intentioned but less than discerning gift-givers buy toys for my children which I do not approve of, and Barbie ranks near top of the list. Reading Mohler's blog article today should help readers to understand why.
Bah Humbug.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
"The Nativity Story" -- In Season and On Message
"The Nativity Story" -- In Season and On Message
Several people have asked my take on the new film, "The Nativity Story." Being ignorant, I have chosen to remain silent. Fortunately for us all, Al Mohler is neither ignorant nor silent. Read his excellent review on what appears to be a pleasant holiday surprise.
Several people have asked my take on the new film, "The Nativity Story." Being ignorant, I have chosen to remain silent. Fortunately for us all, Al Mohler is neither ignorant nor silent. Read his excellent review on what appears to be a pleasant holiday surprise.
Yo Quiero Mas Nachos!
Spoiler Warning: The following post may give away the ending to Nacho Libre.
I have a confession to make -- I think Jack Black is one of the funniest human beings in the contemporary movie industry. He looks funny, he acts funny, he says funny things. His brand of physical humor is reminiscent of the late John Belushi and Chris Farley, as well as some of the older work of Bill Murray, Chevy Chase, Robin Williams and Steve Martin. And typically I only like funny movies. Life is full of drama -- comedic films offer a brief respite from the weight of cares and concerns that this world piles on us. Real life produces enough tears, enough anxiety, and enough opportunity for heavy thought. What it often fails to provide are enough opportunities to laugh. So I seek out films that will provide that.
Having said that, it should come as no surprise that I have thoroughly enjoyed most of Jack Black's films. However, I stop short of endorsing most of them for others to watch, because often they contain language and behavior that responsible Christians should rightly recognize as inappropriate. I rented Nacho Libre over the weekend to watch by myself for a little bit of comic relief. I was pleasantly surprised to find in it a serious message (woven through the comedic scenes), and virtually no offensive content. So it was with great pleasure that I watched it a second time with my family.
Ignatio was raised in a monastery for orphans. He is disrespected by the monks of the order, but rather than making him despise religion, instead we find that he retains his love for God and his desire to serve him, while growing weary of the manmade rituals and regulations of monastic life. In Ignatio, we find a humble and pious man who struggles with a desire for honor and respect. So, he begins a secret career as a luchador, a professional wrestler who goes by the name of Nacho.
Frustrated by his inability to succeed as a luchador, Ignatio comes to a crisis of belief. He has fallen in love with Sister Encarnacion, a teacher at the monastery. He has failed to win a single bout. He has a falling out with his tag-team partner, Esqueleto, who claims that they never win because Ignatio is too fat. Esqueleto does not understand Ignatio's convictions. "I don't believe in God, I only believe in science," he says. Catholic doctrine of salvation aside, Ignatio expresses concern for Esqueleto's soul. The money from wrestling has afforded Ignatio the opportunity to buy expensive clothes and fancy shoes, but it never takes away from his love for God, his desire to serve God, or his compassion for the orphans. When the desire for wrestling success causes him to lapse on a responsibility he has at the monastery, Sister Encarnacion tells him that God will only honor that which is done for Him. With renewed vigor, Ignatio recommits himself to pursuing God first and foremost in his endeavors, and finds that God honors him and brings him the success and the love that has escaped his grasp.
As the film ended, I thought of a poem that I have heard for many years, but recently sticks in my mind because it runs like a seam through John Piper's book Don't Waste Your Life. "Only one life, It will soon be past. Only what's done for Christ will last." Ignatio learned the truth of this. I pray that I will as well. And I pray that learning it will not require me to don "stretchy pants."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The poor architecture of San Francisco
The poor architecture of San Francisco. By Witold Rybczynski - Slate Magazine
Reading this article (linked above) in Slate Magazine reminded me of some of the truths Nicholas Wolterstorff points out in "Art in Action," which I summarized in my previous post, "The Art of the City."
A great quote from the Slate article: "Architecturally speaking, San Francisco has been like a beautiful, rich woman who has never developed an interest in cooking and serves TV dinners to her family, then occasionally—somewhat frantically—hires caterers whenever she has company for dinner."
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Yooouuu... Bible Thumpin, Tree Huggin, Baptist!
(I took this picture while enjoying the beauty of God's creation up in the Swiss Alps in the summer of 2005.)
Russ suggested that I move a comment that I made on his previous post to the main page as a post of its own, so here it is.... enjoy!
An Associated Press story appeared in my local paper this morning (9/14/06). The story reported that an estimated 100,000 acres of private forest is destroyed in North Carolina each year. According to a Raleigh based environmental group, the annual loss is roughly the size of the city of Durham.
The story reports that North Carolina’s cities are in the middle of a “great crescent” that connects Atlanta to Washington DC making the area in between one great suburb. The growth of this great suburb is creating a great amount of urban sprawl. A debate is erupting in North Carolina between conservationists and county governments. Conservationists are urging local governments to lower the property tax rate for property owners who own large tracts of hardwoods and are committed to conservation of forests. If taxes are lower on large tracts of forests, property owners could afford to keep their property rather than selling it to a developer. Unfortunately, county managers aren’t willing to adjust their budgets to accommodate such lower tax rates (You know... that whole serving “mammon” thing that’s found in the uuhh... yeah! That’s right! The Bible!).
I bring this news story to the attention of the discerning reader because the main article mentions conservation. After all, I don’t think God had in mind the destruction of 100,000 acres of timber per year in an area the size of North Carolina when he commanded the human race to have dominion over the earth (Genesis 1:28). With dominion comes stewardship and responsibility. Destroying timber at such enormous rates and covering the land with concrete and asphalt is neither good management nor responsible. Turning a forest into a shopping mall turns the “good” that God created (Genesis 1:31) into something that is extremely ugly. It all boils down to much of the human race serving mammon rather than God (Matthew 6:24).
Thus, I am an environmentalist of the highest order. In fact, I’m almost a radical environmentalist. However, my environmentalism is informed by the Bible alone because it is the Bible that reveals to us who the Creator is and how creation speaks to His glory. Without the Scriptures, my environmentalism would have no philosophical underpinning. Thus, as far as I’m concerned, you can’t be a philosophically consistent environmentalist without a Bible tucked under your arm.
BB
Thursday, September 14, 2006
For The Beauty of a Crocodile
Early one morning last week (OK, early for me), I wiped the crust from my eyelids after a night of restless sleep, and turned on the TV before getting out of bed. I always do this to hear the top news and weather of the day. As I squinted to read the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, I thought I caught something about Steve Irwin, AKA "The Crocodile Hunter", was dead. My reaction was somewhat unexpected. I jumped up, said aloud, "Crocodile Hunter died?" Then I went into the living room to watch the full details on a bigger screen in a brighter room (nearer to the coffee maker). There was (I am embarrassed to say) a deep sense of sadness in my heart as I listened to the story unfold.
Now, understand, I am not a frequent viewer of his show. I could not tell you the day nor the hour in which it airs. But occasionally, as I was channel surfing, I would come across this beloved Aussie as he was entwining himself in a python or something equally dangerous, saying, "What a beauty, mate!" I would chuckle at what his bravery, his enthusiasm, and the all-out passion he had for the animals in our world. Sometimes, I even said, "What an idiot!" But I just couldn't change the channel.
A couple of days after his death, I began to wonder, "Why is America and the world still going on about the death of a crocodile-hunter?" Several answers came to mind --
1. He is Australian, and for some reason, Americans love Australians. Enter Crocodile Dundee (who should have stopped before the first sequel), the Wiggles, the Crocodile Hunter, the Sydney Olympics, etc.
2. He was extremely entertaining. His combination of humor and bravery drew viewers by the millions.
3. He was happily married and a proud daddy. Many questioned Irwin's judgment when he was videotaped with his baby in his arms while feeding a crocodile, but I always thought it was kind of neat that he involved his family in his work.
4. He died doing what he loved. If Steve Irwin had died of cancer or a heart attack, we would have had a two-minute piece on the tail end of nightly news, and an all-day tribute on Animal Planet, and casting call for his replacement. But Steve Irwin died as only Steve Irwin could. A poisonous barb of a sting-ray punctured his heart. And whether or not any of us have ever desired to swim with stingrays or not, we have to admire a guy who does what he loves, even when its dangerous, and dies in the process.
Let me dwell on this for just a moment. The Lord Jesus Christ promised this to the church at Smyrna in Revelation 2:10 -- Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life (NIV). The three of us here at Sacred/Secular all had a professor in Bible College who told us that this until, unto, even to the point of death (depending on your English translation) does not necessarily mean that our faithfulness should endure until we die, but it may also include the idea that our faithfulness would be the cause of our death. Now, with that in mind, think about Croc-Hunter. Do what you love, embrace the danger, and be willing to die for it. I remember John Piper saying something like, "You don't have to know alot of things. Know one all-important thing, and be willing to die for it." Now, here's the point: Do I love Jesus Christ as much as Steve Irwin loved stingrays? That is a barbed question that I hope will puncture my heart every time I see a crocodile, a stingray, or anything else that reminds me of Irwin's commitment to animals and nature.
I have been thinking a lot lately about the beauty of the earth and all that is in it. I guess it is because every Friday for the last several weeks, I have been assuming my new responsibility as homeschool science teacher. We've been studying biology -- the science of life. And we are talking about animals using age-appropriate reference works that have big colorful pictures of all these amazing animals. Do you know how many colors of kangaroos there are? Did you ever realize how many different varieties of weasels there are? Do you know that God did not have to give us beauty. He did not have to give us color or variety in nature. He could have put us in a mundane monochrome world. There is much more variety in nature than necessary for the survival of species. So why did God grant such excessive variety? For the beauty of the earth. He created man and gave him a job -- to be stewards of a beautiful world full of wonderful plant and animal life. But it is a heartbreaking indicator of the depravity of man that we have by-and-large understood our God-given dominion only as permission to drain the world of its natural resources for the enhancement of our own standards of living. But every now and then someone comes along like an unlikely prophet to point us to the beauty of the world. They are intriguing. They take us places our luxury cars won't travel, far outside the life of the suburbs. They show us animals we can't keep on leash and plants we can't grow in a pot. And we learn from them. And we envy them. And we change the channel and return to the self-inflicted mundane monochromatic existence rather than enjoying the technicolor world God has given us.
But what if, just what if, we loved life as much as Irwin? What if we loved nature as much as Irwin? No, not loving nature INSTEAD of loving Jesus, but loving nature BECAUSE we love Jesus, and He has created us to have dominion over this beautiful world. And that is irony of Steve Irwin. There is no external indicator that he knew Christ. The article in Kairos Journal that I read today (which sparked this article in my imagination) indicated that, "he and his wife welcomed their children into the world with Buddhist ceremonies." Why is it that those who do not know the Creator have more regard for His creation than those who do know Him? And so the Kairos article concluded: "[Irwin's] life is one long rebuke to Christians who take little delight in their Father’s world. If a man could love the creation this much and not know the Creator—how much more should those who love God take delight in the work of His hands?"
Folliott Pieroint penned one of my favorite hymns in 1864. If the words were written today, they would be ill-appreciated by evangelicals. But because they are 142 years old, we tolerate them for tradition's sake (but rarely sing them). Shame on us. For Folliot Pierpoint understood the gratitude that we ought to daily bring to the Creator "For the Beauty of the Earth."
The refrain is familiar: "Lord of all, to Thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise." The verses enumerate the reasons for this praise:
- For the beauty of the earth.
- For the glory of the skies.
- For the love which from our birth over and around us lies
- For the beauty of each hour of the day
- ... and of the night
- ... hill
- ... and vale
- ... and tree
- ... and flower
- ... sun
- ... moon
- ... and stars of light
- For the joy of ear
- ... and eye
- For the heart ...
- ... and mind's delight
- For the mystic harmony linking sense to sound and sight
- For the joy of human love
- ... brother
- ... sister
- ... parent
- ... child
- ... friends on earth
- ... friends above
- For all gentle thoughts
- ... and mild
- For each perfect gift of Thine to our race so freely given
- ... graces human
- ... and divine
- ... flowers or earth
- ... and buds of heaven.
P.S. If you want to watch a good movie that will make you laugh and stir up in you a love of God's creation -- see Life Aquatic. Beware of strong language and brief nudity, but see it anyway. I have been wanting to post an article about it here, but I can't seem to find the words to describe how much I loved the film.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Not-So-Amusing Amusements
My sister invited me and my family to join her and her family for a day at Carowinds over the Labor Day weekend. For those of you not familiar with the term, Carowinds, it is a theme/amusement park that straddles the NC/SC state-line just south of Charlotte off Interstate 77. In fact, one rollercoaster called, Thunder-Road, allows passengers to crisscross the state-line during the ride.
I am very grateful for my sister’s hospitality as she paid our way into the park as a birthday gift to me, and I certainly would not want her to misinterpret what I write as being anything closely resembling ungratefulness. In fact, let me say up-front that I had a great time especially watching my three-year-old, Matthew, have the time of his life. Matthew is my little fearless fire-ball, and he was ready to ride anything that the park would allow him to ride. Unfortunately, being only three years of age, he couldn’t ride just anything which was a great disappointment to him. Honestly, he would’ve gotten on the fastest, scariest rides in the park had he been allowed to do so.
Now, with all that said, let me share with you the spiritual lesson that I learned from my five-year-old, Jonathan. As I’ve mentioned on this blogsite before, Jonathan had been diagnosed as being mildly autistic a few years ago. As a result, he has experienced some developmental delays, and his personality and characteristics are a little different than most children his age.
In the days leading up to our trip, Jonathan (5), Matthew (3), and to some degree my baby boy Stephen (1) were all excited about going to Carowinds (or as they called it: "the carnival"). Their enthusiasm even led to a measure of disciplinary problems as their excitement overshadowed their ability to behave. All Jonathan could talk about was riding the Merry-Go-Round. In fact, he told everybody who would listen that when he got to the “carnival” he was going to ride the Merry-Go-Round. For days, all that could be heard in my household was: “Merry-Go-Round, Merry-Go-Round, Merry-Go-Round” on and on and on and on......
Unfortunately, children who battle even mild forms of autism can become over-stimulated. When we arrived at Carowinds, the only parking spaces left were the ones located at the back entrance. When you enter the park from that side, you have to walk under a rather large, fast, and intimidating rollercoaster called Top-Gun. That experience along with extremely loud music being played through the loud-speakers on that end of the park was more than Jonathan could handle. As a result, he “freaked out.” By the time we made our way to the Merry-Go-Round (which was all that Jonathan had talked about in the days leading up to our trip), he was terrified of even the pleasant ride of a Merry-Go-Round, and I had to take him off the ride before the other passengers could proceed.
I really felt bad for Jonathan because he was genuinely excited about the prospect of riding a Merry-Go-Round only to have genuine excitement turn to genuine terror. So, what’s the moral of this story? Perhaps it’s the reality that the amusements of this world never really deliver what they promise.
May I never forget the lesson from my five-year-old... real contentment will not be found in the things of this world but will be found only in the presence of God.
BB
Saturday, August 12, 2006
The Pirate In Us All
(WARNING: The following article includes discussion of one scene from the movie, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. Although the plot and the ending are not revealed, you may want to withhold reading if you’ve planned to see the movie but haven’t yet.)
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About a year and half ago, I used my Netflix subscription to order Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl. Having enjoyed the movie, I naturally desired to see the sequel when it was released a little more than a month ago. This past week, my wife, Linda, and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary by having dinner together at our favorite restaurant and then catching the movie that we had been longing to see all summer... Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest.
There is a pivotal scene in the movie when Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) tempts the damsel, Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley), to become a ruthless pirate. Elizabeth responds by tempting the pirate, Jack Sparrow, to become a “good” man.
I immediately began to reflect upon this scene as it unfolded in the movie. There should be no doubt that this movie has redemption as its theme. However, in the real world, there is no redemption apart from grace. It is much easier for Elizabeth to be tempted into becoming a pirate than it is for Jack to be tempted into becoming “good.” In fact, the Gospel of Mark, chapter 10, verse 18, reminds us that no one is good except God.
What one learns later in the movie probably speaks more to the reality of human nature when the viewer sees that there is a little bit of pirate in Elizabeth after all.
Isn’t that in fact the reality of human nature? Our problem is that there is a little a bit of pirate in us all, and if it were not for God’s common grace, there would be a whole lot of pirate in us all. And as for anyone being “good,” there is the exercise of God’s special grace in which the righteousness of Christ is attributed to our account, and we are found to be “good” only in Him. Thus, we are not good according to our own goodness, but we our viewed by God as being good because He has given us Christ’s goodness while laying upon Christ our sin and paying the debt of our sin on the cross.
This all reminds me of a conversation that I had with a gentleman in a hospital waiting room back when the “DC Sniper” was still on the loose. We were watching the TV in the waiting room as another news report of the sniper’s latest attack was being broadcast, and the gentleman looked at me and said something about there being only a few such people as the sniper in the world and that most people were typically good. I politely disagreed with the man because apart from God’s grace we would all be “pirates” preying upon each other on the open road as the sniper was doing.
Yes, there is a little bit of pirate in us all, but thanks be unto God who has the power to transform us by His grace from being ruthless pirates to being members of His royal navy.
BB
*****************************************************
About a year and half ago, I used my Netflix subscription to order Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl. Having enjoyed the movie, I naturally desired to see the sequel when it was released a little more than a month ago. This past week, my wife, Linda, and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary by having dinner together at our favorite restaurant and then catching the movie that we had been longing to see all summer... Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest.
There is a pivotal scene in the movie when Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) tempts the damsel, Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley), to become a ruthless pirate. Elizabeth responds by tempting the pirate, Jack Sparrow, to become a “good” man.
I immediately began to reflect upon this scene as it unfolded in the movie. There should be no doubt that this movie has redemption as its theme. However, in the real world, there is no redemption apart from grace. It is much easier for Elizabeth to be tempted into becoming a pirate than it is for Jack to be tempted into becoming “good.” In fact, the Gospel of Mark, chapter 10, verse 18, reminds us that no one is good except God.
What one learns later in the movie probably speaks more to the reality of human nature when the viewer sees that there is a little bit of pirate in Elizabeth after all.
Isn’t that in fact the reality of human nature? Our problem is that there is a little a bit of pirate in us all, and if it were not for God’s common grace, there would be a whole lot of pirate in us all. And as for anyone being “good,” there is the exercise of God’s special grace in which the righteousness of Christ is attributed to our account, and we are found to be “good” only in Him. Thus, we are not good according to our own goodness, but we our viewed by God as being good because He has given us Christ’s goodness while laying upon Christ our sin and paying the debt of our sin on the cross.
This all reminds me of a conversation that I had with a gentleman in a hospital waiting room back when the “DC Sniper” was still on the loose. We were watching the TV in the waiting room as another news report of the sniper’s latest attack was being broadcast, and the gentleman looked at me and said something about there being only a few such people as the sniper in the world and that most people were typically good. I politely disagreed with the man because apart from God’s grace we would all be “pirates” preying upon each other on the open road as the sniper was doing.
Yes, there is a little bit of pirate in us all, but thanks be unto God who has the power to transform us by His grace from being ruthless pirates to being members of His royal navy.
BB
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
Cars: The Movie
(WARNING: This article is an analysis which seeks to compare the lessons learned by the lead character to the needs of popular culture. Therefore, this article contains SPOILERS. PLEASE DO NOT READ if you haven’t seen the movie and do not wish for the ending to be “spoiled” for you.
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My sons, Jonathan, Matthew, and Stephen had their “Lightening McQueen” and “Tow Mater” t-shirts at least a month before the movie, Cars, hit the theaters. By now, most people are familiar with these characters from Disney/Pixar’s latest animated motion picture.
Because the film is based on a Nascar type racing theme, the movie will no doubt be popular here in the South especially with Richard Petty, Darrell Waltrip, and Dale Earnhardt Jr. providing voices for three of the animated characters. Being a Southerner is not why I went to see the movie, and although my dad first took me to the Southern 500 at Darlington back in 1976 and made something of a racing fan out of me, I can assure you that I have outgrown it. I actually went to see the movie because I just enjoy watching my sons enjoy a movie, and like most children their age, they really love the animated films.
As an aside, I need to say something about Nascar. When there are over 40 drivers trying to run over one another to finish first, it’s hard to find anything redemptive in it especially since Christ teaches that those who are first will be last and those last will be first (Matthew 20:16). Let’s not kid ourselves; to be a winning racecar driver, you must have a rather sizable ego. Unfortunately, such egos fail to bring glory to God. Thus, I’m not the racing fan that I once was.
All the things that have fed my growing distaste for automobile racing were actually portrayed in a negative way in the movie which actually made it a delight to watch. The lead character is a racecar named “Lightening McQueen” (Owen Wilson), and just like some of the Nascar stars, he portrays all the egotistical characteristics that are apparently necessary to win.
However, on the way to California to race for the prestigious “Piston Cup”, Lightening McQueen has an accident and becomes lost. Before he can find his way back to the Interstate, he ends up in the forgotten town of “Radiator Springs” along the old “Route 66”. The town had become a bit broken-down as a result of neglect when traffic began to bypass it following the construction of the new Interstate Highway forty years ago. The residents of Radiator Springs are other cars including an old retired racecar named “Doc Hudson” (Paul Newman) which all became neglected as well. Having gotten into trouble with the law, McQueen is forced to stay in the town longer than he expected, but having done so, he learns something about life, humility, and what’s really important (loving and caring for others).
When McQueen finally arrives in California, suddenly winning the “Piston Cup” isn’t all that important anymore. On the last lap of the race, the movie’s villain, “Chick Hicks” (Michael Keaton) wrecks the old veteran known as “The King” (Richard Petty). McQueen has the chance to win the race and the “Piston Cup”, but he stops just inches from the finish line allowing Chick Hicks to win while he, McQueen, backs up to help The King and pushes him across the finish line. When The King asks Lightening McQueen why he allowed Chick Hicks to win, McQueen responded by saying: “The Piston Cup is just an empty cup” (a lesson learned from the old Doc Hudson back in Radiator Springs).
Unlike the Nascar world for which it is based, Cars has a redemptive theme in that it teaches that there are those among us who are neglected, and like McQueen, we should get off the superhighway sometimes, slowdown, and reach out to those who are neglected in our lightening fast culture. And we would do well to learn what McQueen learned: Those who are first will be last, and those who are last will be first. Without such understanding, life is just an empty cup!
*************************************
My sons, Jonathan, Matthew, and Stephen had their “Lightening McQueen” and “Tow Mater” t-shirts at least a month before the movie, Cars, hit the theaters. By now, most people are familiar with these characters from Disney/Pixar’s latest animated motion picture.
Because the film is based on a Nascar type racing theme, the movie will no doubt be popular here in the South especially with Richard Petty, Darrell Waltrip, and Dale Earnhardt Jr. providing voices for three of the animated characters. Being a Southerner is not why I went to see the movie, and although my dad first took me to the Southern 500 at Darlington back in 1976 and made something of a racing fan out of me, I can assure you that I have outgrown it. I actually went to see the movie because I just enjoy watching my sons enjoy a movie, and like most children their age, they really love the animated films.
As an aside, I need to say something about Nascar. When there are over 40 drivers trying to run over one another to finish first, it’s hard to find anything redemptive in it especially since Christ teaches that those who are first will be last and those last will be first (Matthew 20:16). Let’s not kid ourselves; to be a winning racecar driver, you must have a rather sizable ego. Unfortunately, such egos fail to bring glory to God. Thus, I’m not the racing fan that I once was.
All the things that have fed my growing distaste for automobile racing were actually portrayed in a negative way in the movie which actually made it a delight to watch. The lead character is a racecar named “Lightening McQueen” (Owen Wilson), and just like some of the Nascar stars, he portrays all the egotistical characteristics that are apparently necessary to win.
However, on the way to California to race for the prestigious “Piston Cup”, Lightening McQueen has an accident and becomes lost. Before he can find his way back to the Interstate, he ends up in the forgotten town of “Radiator Springs” along the old “Route 66”. The town had become a bit broken-down as a result of neglect when traffic began to bypass it following the construction of the new Interstate Highway forty years ago. The residents of Radiator Springs are other cars including an old retired racecar named “Doc Hudson” (Paul Newman) which all became neglected as well. Having gotten into trouble with the law, McQueen is forced to stay in the town longer than he expected, but having done so, he learns something about life, humility, and what’s really important (loving and caring for others).
When McQueen finally arrives in California, suddenly winning the “Piston Cup” isn’t all that important anymore. On the last lap of the race, the movie’s villain, “Chick Hicks” (Michael Keaton) wrecks the old veteran known as “The King” (Richard Petty). McQueen has the chance to win the race and the “Piston Cup”, but he stops just inches from the finish line allowing Chick Hicks to win while he, McQueen, backs up to help The King and pushes him across the finish line. When The King asks Lightening McQueen why he allowed Chick Hicks to win, McQueen responded by saying: “The Piston Cup is just an empty cup” (a lesson learned from the old Doc Hudson back in Radiator Springs).
Unlike the Nascar world for which it is based, Cars has a redemptive theme in that it teaches that there are those among us who are neglected, and like McQueen, we should get off the superhighway sometimes, slowdown, and reach out to those who are neglected in our lightening fast culture. And we would do well to learn what McQueen learned: Those who are first will be last, and those who are last will be first. Without such understanding, life is just an empty cup!
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
You Got Any Skills?
In the surprise hit film of 2004, Napoleon Dynamite, the title character speaks on multiple occasions of having “skills.” In one of the film’s more memorable scenes, there is a dialogue that includes this interchange:
Napoleon: "Well, nobody's gonna go out with me."
Pedro: "Have you asked anybody yet?"
Napoleon: "No, but who would?I don't even have any good skills."
Pedro: "What do you mean?"
Napoleon: "You know, like numchuck skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills. Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills."
Napoleon Dynamite is an awkward teenage boy, rather homely in appearance and lacking many social graces. His insecurity is masked by a vivid imagination and a sour disposition. Evidence of the vivid imagination are these comments:
Don: "Hey, Napoleon, what'd you do all last summer again?"
Napoleon: "I told you! I spent it with my uncle in
Don: "Did you shoot any?"
Napoleon: "Yes, like 50 of 'em! They kept trying to attack my cousins. what the heck would you do in a situation like that?"
Don: "What kind of gun did you use? "
Napoleon: "A frickin' 12-gauge, what do you think?"
"You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join 'cause I'm pretty good with a bo-staff."
The sour disposition is evident from the first scene of the film on the school bus:
Kid On Bus: "What are you gonna do today, Napoleon?"
Napoleon Dynamite: "Whatever I feel like I wanna do, Gosh!"
As I watched this film, I was constantly wondering why this boy’s attitude was so sour. It was a very annoying feature of the film. I would speculate that there was some incident in his past involving his parents, for he lives with his brother and grandmother, and the transient Uncle Rico. My speculations are unimportant. Certainly, beneath the heavy layer of fantastic imagination and negative demeanor is a boy who feels as if he has nothing to contribute to the world at large, because he is lacking in skills.
Pedro seeks to encourage Napoleon, saying, “Aren't you pretty good at drawing, like, animals and warriors and stuff?” Napoleon responds, “Yes. Probably the best that I know of.” We the viewers who have peered over Napoleon’s shoulder as he penciled sketches of Ligers and other mystical, mythical creatures, are taken aback by the confident assertion. Soon Napoleon learns that drawing can be added to numchucks, bow hunting, and computer hacking, as yet one more thing which is NOT his skill.
In the end, Napoleon Dynamite, it seems does have a skill. He is a friend. In this day and time, that skill is becoming rarer than numchuck proficiency or cage fighting. And young people who might have this skill are often like Napoleon Dynamite. They hide that skill beneath layers of cynicism, fantasy, and mistaken notions of what it means to be cool. After spending most of the movie resisting nausea because of the lead character, at film’s end I found myself envious of him. Napoleon Dynamite has a skill I covet. He knows how to be a friend to the friendless. And that skill is much like Another Person I know: Jesus Christ who became a friend of sinners for our redemption. If I could be more like Him, that would be flippin’ sweet.
Aslan is on the move!
Perhaps I’ve been thinking too much about denominational matters lately and desire to think about loftier things. When the idea of higher things comes to mind I am reminded of my favorite part of C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
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Mr. Beaver: “They say Aslan is on the move – perhaps has already landed.”
And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. Perhaps it has sometimes happened to you in a dream that someone says something which you don’t understand but in the dream it feels as if it has some enormous meaning – either a terrifying one which turns the whole dream into a nightmare or so beautiful that you remember it all your life and are always wishing you could get into that dream again. It was like that now. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in its inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer.
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When I think about this excerpt from Lewis’s work, the words of Philippians 4:8 come to mind: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever, is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things (ESV). Knowing that Christ “is on the move”, may our minds be saturated with all these things as the Spirit of God works His will in our lives.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
"Money for Nothing" by Dire Straits
No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money (Mt. 6:24, ESV).
In the United States, what is it that really fuels our economy? An economy, mind you, that at least seems to be structured purely on the necessity of sizable growth. Could the “it” that fuels our economy be a growing desire to acquire more and bigger possessions?
For example, in 2005, the Associated Press reported the growing size of the average American house. Families have decreased in size over the past couple of generations concerning the number of children per household; yet, the average square footage of homes has increased.
It is now necessary to have multiple cars for each household. Now, I realize that we live in a mobile society and multiple vehicles have become a genuine necessity. However, it seems that we Americans try to outdo one another when it comes to the size of our gas guzzling SUVs.
I remember the first time I applied for a credit card. I was twenty two years old and considered a risk by the credit card company because at such an age, I did not have an appropriate credit history. Fourteen years later, my mail box is flooded with credit card offers almost every day by lending companies who seem to care-less about my credit history and would love nothing more than to see me in a situation in which I could never pay them back; thus, being indebted to them for a lifetime. Credit cards are easy to get, and if we feel that our lifestyles aren’t as exuberate as we believe they should be, we do not think twice about maxing those cards out never thinking of the future or caring about how we will repay the debt.
Several scenarios must play out for Americans to maintain our... uuhh... lifestyles. First, our economy must remain strong enough for certain jobs to exist. Not just any jobs, but the kind of jobs that pay Americans enough money so that they can make those mortgage payments on those 6000 sq. ft. homes nestled in the nice suburbs; homes which seem barely big enough for mom, dad, and their little angel (sarcasm).
Whatever these jobs are and whatever this economic growth is suppose to accomplish, it all seems to take its toll on the environment. This week my local newspaper reported the growing and disturbing trend of permanent ecological damage as hardwoods and grass lands are lost to development. The development has robbed the environment’s ability to absorb storm water causing flash flooding in developed areas when just a few inches of rain falls. To fix the situation, literally millions of dollars will be spent in the next several years just to create storm drain systems in the county made necessary by the development which is supposedly necessary for us to maintain our growing economy and "deserved" lifestyles. In other words, our lust for more is creating permanent ecological damage to creation. And by the way, is it not creation that brings glory and honor to God?
Our lust for more also takes its toll on American manufacturing. As a result, manufacturing jobs continue to decrease as goods are produced elsewhere for less, so that “desperate housewives” can spend all day at Goody’s and Target with greater spending power. But hey! Who cares? Manufacturing jobs are for those poor saps who could never live in 6000 sq. ft. homes anyway... right?
At the same time, those who lost their manufacturing jobs will be in line at the county health department signing their children up for Medicare because health insurance is no longer affordable since the plant closed. Oh, and they will not be at Target when they leave the health department; rather, they will be at the Goodwill store looking for clothes for their children.
The other jobs out there that cannot come close to helping us maintain our (supposedly deserved) lifestyles are jobs that we reserve for the immigrants. Unchecked immigration is how we keep services cheap, so that the rest of us can enjoy that certain lifestyle to which we have grown accustomed.
Next, it is absolutely necessary that fuel prices remain cheap in order for us to operate our big honkin SUVs. Oh, we might want to believe that the CEOs of the petroleum companies are greedy, and maybe to some extent they are; I don’t know. However, a market is a market, and when demand goes up and supply goes down, the price WILL increase. During the 90s car companies were in an all-out-war to see who could build the biggest SUV because we Americans demanded them. Now, every time one of these huge tanks pulls up to the gas pump, supply struggles to keep up with demand. But, hey! We’re Americans! We deserve to drive around in army tanks... right?
Here’s the problem in a nutshell: we see our neighbor’s big house and big SUV... we want the same... we feel we deserve it... we go and get the same, and we don’t care of the consequences. It’s called envy, and consequences are cast aside when envy controls one’s heart.
When I was in high school, the rock band, Dire Straits, pegged us correctly when, in the lyrics of their song, “Money for Nothing,” they described one’s envious desire to have what the performers on MTV had... money for nothing.
"Money for Nothing" by Dire Straits
I want my I want my MTV x4
Now look at them yo-yo's that's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Money for nothin' and chicks for free
Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Lemme tell ya them guys ain't dumb
Maybe get a blister on your little finger
Maybe get a blister on your thumb
We gotta install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these color TV's
See the little faggot with the earring and the makeup
Yeah buddy that's his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot he's a millionaire
We gotta install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these colour TV's
I shoulda learned to play the guitar
I shoulda learned to play them drums
And he's up there, what's that? Hawaiian noises?
Bangin' on the bongoes like a chimpanzee
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Get your money for nothin' get your chicks for free
We gotta install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these colour TV's, Lord
Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Money for nothin' and your chicks for free
Money for nothin' and chicks for free
In the United States, what is it that really fuels our economy? An economy, mind you, that at least seems to be structured purely on the necessity of sizable growth. Could the “it” that fuels our economy be a growing desire to acquire more and bigger possessions?
For example, in 2005, the Associated Press reported the growing size of the average American house. Families have decreased in size over the past couple of generations concerning the number of children per household; yet, the average square footage of homes has increased.
It is now necessary to have multiple cars for each household. Now, I realize that we live in a mobile society and multiple vehicles have become a genuine necessity. However, it seems that we Americans try to outdo one another when it comes to the size of our gas guzzling SUVs.
I remember the first time I applied for a credit card. I was twenty two years old and considered a risk by the credit card company because at such an age, I did not have an appropriate credit history. Fourteen years later, my mail box is flooded with credit card offers almost every day by lending companies who seem to care-less about my credit history and would love nothing more than to see me in a situation in which I could never pay them back; thus, being indebted to them for a lifetime. Credit cards are easy to get, and if we feel that our lifestyles aren’t as exuberate as we believe they should be, we do not think twice about maxing those cards out never thinking of the future or caring about how we will repay the debt.
Several scenarios must play out for Americans to maintain our... uuhh... lifestyles. First, our economy must remain strong enough for certain jobs to exist. Not just any jobs, but the kind of jobs that pay Americans enough money so that they can make those mortgage payments on those 6000 sq. ft. homes nestled in the nice suburbs; homes which seem barely big enough for mom, dad, and their little angel (sarcasm).
Whatever these jobs are and whatever this economic growth is suppose to accomplish, it all seems to take its toll on the environment. This week my local newspaper reported the growing and disturbing trend of permanent ecological damage as hardwoods and grass lands are lost to development. The development has robbed the environment’s ability to absorb storm water causing flash flooding in developed areas when just a few inches of rain falls. To fix the situation, literally millions of dollars will be spent in the next several years just to create storm drain systems in the county made necessary by the development which is supposedly necessary for us to maintain our growing economy and "deserved" lifestyles. In other words, our lust for more is creating permanent ecological damage to creation. And by the way, is it not creation that brings glory and honor to God?
Our lust for more also takes its toll on American manufacturing. As a result, manufacturing jobs continue to decrease as goods are produced elsewhere for less, so that “desperate housewives” can spend all day at Goody’s and Target with greater spending power. But hey! Who cares? Manufacturing jobs are for those poor saps who could never live in 6000 sq. ft. homes anyway... right?
At the same time, those who lost their manufacturing jobs will be in line at the county health department signing their children up for Medicare because health insurance is no longer affordable since the plant closed. Oh, and they will not be at Target when they leave the health department; rather, they will be at the Goodwill store looking for clothes for their children.
The other jobs out there that cannot come close to helping us maintain our (supposedly deserved) lifestyles are jobs that we reserve for the immigrants. Unchecked immigration is how we keep services cheap, so that the rest of us can enjoy that certain lifestyle to which we have grown accustomed.
Next, it is absolutely necessary that fuel prices remain cheap in order for us to operate our big honkin SUVs. Oh, we might want to believe that the CEOs of the petroleum companies are greedy, and maybe to some extent they are; I don’t know. However, a market is a market, and when demand goes up and supply goes down, the price WILL increase. During the 90s car companies were in an all-out-war to see who could build the biggest SUV because we Americans demanded them. Now, every time one of these huge tanks pulls up to the gas pump, supply struggles to keep up with demand. But, hey! We’re Americans! We deserve to drive around in army tanks... right?
Here’s the problem in a nutshell: we see our neighbor’s big house and big SUV... we want the same... we feel we deserve it... we go and get the same, and we don’t care of the consequences. It’s called envy, and consequences are cast aside when envy controls one’s heart.
When I was in high school, the rock band, Dire Straits, pegged us correctly when, in the lyrics of their song, “Money for Nothing,” they described one’s envious desire to have what the performers on MTV had... money for nothing.
"Money for Nothing" by Dire Straits
I want my I want my MTV x4
Now look at them yo-yo's that's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Money for nothin' and chicks for free
Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Lemme tell ya them guys ain't dumb
Maybe get a blister on your little finger
Maybe get a blister on your thumb
We gotta install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these color TV's
See the little faggot with the earring and the makeup
Yeah buddy that's his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot he's a millionaire
We gotta install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these colour TV's
I shoulda learned to play the guitar
I shoulda learned to play them drums
And he's up there, what's that? Hawaiian noises?
Bangin' on the bongoes like a chimpanzee
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Get your money for nothin' get your chicks for free
We gotta install microwave ovens
Custom kitchen deliveries
We gotta move these refrigerators
We gotta move these colour TV's, Lord
Now that ain't workin' that's the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain't workin' that's the way you do it
Money for nothin' and your chicks for free
Money for nothin' and chicks for free
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
America's Own Personal Jesus: Bad Religion
Several years ago, a group called Depeche Mode released a techno/goth dance club anthem entitled, "Your Own Personal Jesus," which has since been recorded by the diverse likes of Marilyn Manson and Johnny Cash. Just as each of these artists has approached the song from a different perspective which reflects his "own personal Jesus," so it seems that our culture today desires to make God in our own preferred image rather than submitting ourselves to the God who created us in His image. Consider Dan Brown and The DaVinci Code, or the popularity of the “Gospel of Judas” and other Gnostic writings. Yet one does not have to drift far outside of evangelical circles to find “Personal Jesi” of various types. It seems that many have employed the idol-making factories of their imaginations by manufacturing an American Jesus. Drop into many American mega-churches and country chapels alike on any patriotic holiday weekend, and you will hear the gospel of this Jesus proclaimed.
In a New Yorker review of the book entitled American Jesus by Stephen Prothero, the reviewer writes that Jesus has "has slipped the bonds of Christianity altogether to become icon and brand, as American as Mickey Mouse or the Coca-Cola bottle." The title of Prothero's book may or may not find its origin in the song by the same title recorded by a group known as Bad Religion.
The lyrics of the song describe this "American Jesus":
I don't need to be a global citizen,
'Cuz I'm blessed by nationality,
I'm a member of a growing populace,
we enforced our popularity
there are things that seem to pull us under and
and there are things that drag us down,
but there's a power and a vital presence
that's lurking all around
we've got the American Jesus
see him on the interstate,
we've got the American Jesus
he helped build the president's estate
I feel sorry for the earth's population
'cuz so few live in the U.S.A,
at least the foreigners can copy our morality,
they can visit but they cannot stay,
only precious few can garner the prosperity,
and it makes us walk with confidence,
we've got a place to go when we die
and the architect resides right here
we've got the American Jesus
bolstering national plan
we've got the American Jesus
overwhelming millions everyday
he's the farmer barren fields,
the force the army wields,
the expressions in the faces
of the starving millions,
the power of the man.
the fuel that drives the clan,
the motive and the conscience
of the murderer
he's the preacher on TV,
the false sincerity,
the form letter that written by
the big computers,
he's the nuclear bombs,
and the kids with no moms
and I'm fearful that
he's inside me.
We've got the American Jesus
see him on the interstate
We've got the American Jesus
exercising his authority
We've got the American Jesus
bolstering national plan
We've got the American Jesus
overwhelming millions everyday, Yeah!
One nation under God
While I certainly do not want to endorse the worldview of this group or their songs, I do think they have accurately described what many people see of Christianity in
Indeed, if this American Jesus is the one living inside of you, then there is much to fear, but He is not the biblical Jesus with real saving power. When we talk about God, we must realize that we do not have the authority to invent Him in a way that is pleasing or appealing to our own depraved desires. When God revealed Himself to Moses, He said, "I am who I am." That means, as Francis Schaeffer indicated, that we must deal, not with the God we might wish to invent, but with "The God Who is There." This is the God who incarnated Himself in Jesus Christ.
When we take a pseudo-Jesus and wrap him in the American flag to suggest that
So, the call today is for us to exchange this bad religion of the American Jesus for the true faith of the biblical Gospel which calls all peoples of the earth, even Americans, to repentance of all pride, all arrogance and prejudices and every other self-centered sin so that the Genuine Jesus might be enthroned in our hearts as Lord. And then through us, this Genuine Jesus might demonstrate His power by using our lives to bring glory to Himself among all nations.
American Christians, I want to ask you to do as the Apostle Paul said in 2 Corinthians 13:5 and examine yourselves. Examine the Jesus that is living inside of you. Is He the biblical Jesus who has a heart for all nations to worship Him, or is he the American Jesus whose blood flowed red, white, and blue for all those who live within our own boundaries. Pastors and teachers, examine your calling. God has not called us to advance a neo-Gospel of democracy or westernization. He has called us to proclaim the one true Gospel which is offered to all nations for salvation from sin. And non-Christians, please do not evaluate the Christian faith based on the “American Jesus” whom you often see portrayed and hear proclaimed. The genuine Jesus died for the sins of the world, including your own.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Thomas the Tank Engine
As I write, my oldest son, Jonathan, who will be 5 next month is cleaning up after playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine train set. Jonathan’s love affair with Thomas the Tank Engine is not unique. After all, Thomas is really popular with most pre-schoolers. Thomas and his many friends are lovable characters (mostly steam engines but there are others) who work diligently on the Island of Sodor hoping to be “really useful engines” without causing “confusion and delay”. Most of Jonathan’s video and DVD collection is made up of Thomas episodes, and Jonathan has taught his little brothers, Matthew (age 3) and Stephen (age 1) to love Thomas and Friends as well. In fact, our baby boy, Stephen, now cries each time an episode of Thomas ends.
Jonathan’s love affair with Thomas began as a fascination. When Jonathan was a little more than two years old, we noticed that he wasn’t talking and had a tendency to line things up. Blocks, toy cars, even the pillows from the sofa would be lined up on our living room floor daily. This fascination with lining objects up along with a constant “hum” and “hand flapping” alerted us to the fact that Jonathan may be slightly autistic. Jonathan was diagnosed as such, but having been through a special preschool program, he will actually be attending a regular kindergarten class when the new school year begins this year. Anyway, this fascination with lining objects up has made trains Jonathan’s favorite toys with train stories his favorite to hear as well as train characters such as Thomas his favorite to watch.
Jonathan is so obsessed with Thomas that he has assigned everyone in our household a name of a character from his Thomas videos. Jonathan of course is Thomas the Tank Engine (the star of the show). His younger brother, Matthew, is a little engine named Percy (this makes sense because Percy is a slightly smaller steam engine). Jonathan’s baby brother, Stephen, is now referred to as Skarloey (again, this makes sense because Skarloey is an even smaller engine). Jonathan’s mom is now referred to as Emily, a feminine steam engine, who appears on some Thomas videos. And I, his dad, am referred to as Salty, a pleasant diesel engine who shunts freight cars down at the docks. Last year when our friends, Dennis and Cindy Conner were visiting, Jonathan kept talking about Gordon, the largest of the steam engines. We finally learned that because Dennis is such a large man, Jonathan had apparently and appropriately named him Gordon.
Everyday our home becomes the Island of Sodor in Jonathan’s mind and often Jonathan will function, solve problems, and relate to his family not as Jonathan but as Thomas the Tank Engine. I don’t know for sure if this imagination of his is enhanced by his autism, but I can’t help but to believe that it is.
I am writing about this because most of us have probably given some thought to what eternity will be like. And do we not envision that place with God in eternity as a “perfect” place? Well, in the mind of my son, the Island of Sodor, home to Thomas and Friends, is the perfect place. In that place, problems are solved simply; friends care for one another; and Sir Topham Hat, the owner and operator of the Sodor Railway, is always there to help, guide, and care for all the engines.
The Island of Sodor is not a place much different than other places or locations found in the pages of Children’s stories. In fact, in the stories that we read to our smallest children, the places almost always share the same characteristics no matter the story we read to them. Why? I don’t know for sure, but maybe children know that a friendly, familiar place is warm and secure. Perhaps, there is a longing for such a place in the minds of children. If so, imagine the longing that must exist in the minds of those children who are neglected and abused.
The Island of Sodor is most certainly a pleasant place. The steam engines come in all colors, but no color is favored (Galatians 3:28). The steam engines come in all sizes but the larger engines have no advantage over the smaller ones (Matthew 19:30). And except for Henry’s occasional “boiler-ache”, there’s not much sickness on Sodor (Revelation 21:4).
I have a growing sense that what Jonathan has is not so much a condition (autism) as it is a gift. Through the exercise of this gift, Jonathan is teaching me to long for eternity..... that perfect and pleasant place. Perhaps all children possess such a gift and perhaps that’s why Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14).
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
1979: A Personal Testimony
I stated in a past comment that my spiritual journey would probably make for some boring reading, and after reading Josh and Russ’ stories, I’m now certain of it. However, though my spiritual journey may not have taken me to a military academy or a war zone, I am certain that the drama in my own heart was intense. If both angels and demons were witness to my conversion, then perhaps the drama in that unseen world was even greater than I can know.
May of 1979 was quiet, but it was also the eve of transition and no one knew the extent of the changes that were coming. In less than a month, the “Conservative Resurgence” within the Southern Baptist Convention would be officially launched at their Annual Meeting held that year in Houston, TX. Adrian Rogers would be elected SBC president and nothing in Southern Baptist life would be the same again.
It was also the eve of the pop-rock resurgence. We were beginning to get our fill of disco, and before that summer would end, My Sharona, by “The Knack”, would end disco’s dominance at the top of the pop-music charts. The success of “The Knack” would be accompanied by seve
ral pop-rockers finding their way to the top of the
charts that year including “The Cars” and a resurgence of sorts by guys like Rod Stewart. If people rejected pop-rock, their only alternative in the next few years would be “new wave” or the arrival of pop-country thanks to the movie, Urban Cowboy. But for disco fans, it was pretty much over.
Things were about to change in Iran as well. As a result, we Americans were getting
ready to spend a little more than a year having our six-o-clock news broadcast begin every evening with an update on the American hostage crisis in Iran.
This crisis along with record leaps of inflation would decide the presidential election in 1980. But all these changes, though very close, hadn’t happened as of May. I was still listening to the Bee Gees on Top-40 radio; I had no 
idea who the Ayatollah Khomeini was, and like a lot of people in the South, I was still intrigued by the peanut farmer from Georgia who was living in the White House.
By May, I was just finishing up the fourth grade, and I had no idea that all these changes were coming. Some of these changes like the SBC thing, I would not know or fully understand until I was an adult. Nevertheless, I had plenty of things on my mind:
A few months earlier, I had watched Super Bowl XIII. I was rooting for the Cowboys
(don’t know why), so I was still trying to get over the heartbreaking loss to the Steelers. 1979 was a big year for Pittsburgh sports; the Steelers won back to back Super Bowls in 79 and 80 while Willie Stargell and the Pirates won the 79 World Series. By the way, I was more heartbroken by the Steelers’ victory over the L.A. Rams in Super Bowl XIV than I was the year prior when they beat the Cowboys. Why? Well, Jack Youngblood is why. He was the best, and I just wish the Rams could’ve made it to the Super Bowl earlier in his career before 
Merlin Olsen retired. When Youngblood lined up at the defensive end position and Olsen lined up at defensive tackle, no two were better. Youngblood had heart; some of you may remember that he played with a fractured left fibula in much of the playoffs that year. Well, I’m getting a little too nostalgic, but these are just samplings of the things that I experienced at that time in my life.
I was among the generation of kids who grew up in front of the TV because there were no video games (except at the arcade), no internet, etc. My
favorite TV shows in 79 included Buck Rogers, Battlestar Galactica, CHiPs, and a few others. Also in 79, you could occasionally find me at King’s Skating Rink. Mr. King built a new rink that year (it has since closed), and that was also the year that the Monroe Mall was under construction which was the beginning of the end for downtown Monroe as a retail center.
By May, I was playing Little League baseball and was a member of the Cub Scouts, and I was still trying to figure out why Jim Jones led all those people to commit suicide the previous November.
May of 79 was the eve of change, but one change that was coming was one that I never expected (or invited) due to the other affairs that normally occupy the mind of a fourth grader who is in the last few weeks of school before summer break. It was a warm May evening and darkness had fallen which means it must have been getting really late because we were well into daylight savings time. Yet, I was still outside. It was an off-night for us Little Leaguers, so I just hung around outside at the apartment complex where we had been living ever since my mom and dad had split-up four years (to the month) earlier. Back in the day, the apartment complex had a swimming pool. It is now gone and another apartment building sits on the site of where the pool used to be. I was standing in front of the metal storage shed that housed the pool’s pump and cleaning equipment when I was suddenly overcome with terror.
My thoughts could have been directed at any number of things that a kid my age would think about. Thoughts of Mrs. Price’s fourth grade class, my friends, and the Little League season are all things that were part of my life back then. But for whatever reason, all of these thoughts were interrupted with the holiness of God. I wasn’t at church listening to the pastor, but my encounter with God’s holiness at that moment was nothing like I had ever experienced at church.
The thought of God’s holiness created a dilemma for me because I knew that I, despite only being a child, could never stand before a holy God. The knowledge of God’s holiness brought an instant knowledge of my own sinfulness. And I even knew at that moment that there was absolutely, positively nothing that I could do to make things right. So, that was it; I knew I was doomed. I had probably heard about Jesus in church, but I didn’t know who He was or what He was, nor did I know what the cross was about. After all, Easter was when the Bunny came and left a lot of chocolate and other goodies at my house. Therefore, I concluded that I was doomed and there was no way out of it. Terror, dread, despair, and blackness, are all words that come close but do not really describe what came over me. When I say, “came over me”, I literally mean that I could feel it. I didn’t know Jesus, but I sure knew what hell was, and at that point, hell was my destination; I couldn’t avoid it, and there was no hope of altering the course that would lead me to it.
There is only one place for a child to go when he or she is in that position... Mama! It was there where I heard for the first time the redemption story and the restoration found in Christ alone. That night in the presence of my mom, my moment of despair disappeared as eternal life became mine in Jesus Christ.
The love of God is a love that I’m sure can’t be measured. But I also believe as R.C. Sproul has pointed out in his book, The Holiness of God, that God is just as holy as He is love. He is just as wrathful as He is merciful. I have no problem with that because in His mercy, He drove me to Himself with the reality of His wrath.
On second thought, my spiritual journey really was dramatic.
May of 1979 was quiet, but it was also the eve of transition and no one knew the extent of the changes that were coming. In less than a month, the “Conservative Resurgence” within the Southern Baptist Convention would be officially launched at their Annual Meeting held that year in Houston, TX. Adrian Rogers would be elected SBC president and nothing in Southern Baptist life would be the same again.
It was also the eve of the pop-rock resurgence. We were beginning to get our fill of disco, and before that summer would end, My Sharona, by “The Knack”, would end disco’s dominance at the top of the pop-music charts. The success of “The Knack” would be accompanied by seve
ral pop-rockers finding their way to the top of thecharts that year including “The Cars” and a resurgence of sorts by guys like Rod Stewart. If people rejected pop-rock, their only alternative in the next few years would be “new wave” or the arrival of pop-country thanks to the movie, Urban Cowboy. But for disco fans, it was pretty much over.
Things were about to change in Iran as well. As a result, we Americans were getting
ready to spend a little more than a year having our six-o-clock news broadcast begin every evening with an update on the American hostage crisis in Iran.
This crisis along with record leaps of inflation would decide the presidential election in 1980. But all these changes, though very close, hadn’t happened as of May. I was still listening to the Bee Gees on Top-40 radio; I had no 
idea who the Ayatollah Khomeini was, and like a lot of people in the South, I was still intrigued by the peanut farmer from Georgia who was living in the White House.By May, I was just finishing up the fourth grade, and I had no idea that all these changes were coming. Some of these changes like the SBC thing, I would not know or fully understand until I was an adult. Nevertheless, I had plenty of things on my mind:
A few months earlier, I had watched Super Bowl XIII. I was rooting for the Cowboys
(don’t know why), so I was still trying to get over the heartbreaking loss to the Steelers. 1979 was a big year for Pittsburgh sports; the Steelers won back to back Super Bowls in 79 and 80 while Willie Stargell and the Pirates won the 79 World Series. By the way, I was more heartbroken by the Steelers’ victory over the L.A. Rams in Super Bowl XIV than I was the year prior when they beat the Cowboys. Why? Well, Jack Youngblood is why. He was the best, and I just wish the Rams could’ve made it to the Super Bowl earlier in his career before 
Merlin Olsen retired. When Youngblood lined up at the defensive end position and Olsen lined up at defensive tackle, no two were better. Youngblood had heart; some of you may remember that he played with a fractured left fibula in much of the playoffs that year. Well, I’m getting a little too nostalgic, but these are just samplings of the things that I experienced at that time in my life.I was among the generation of kids who grew up in front of the TV because there were no video games (except at the arcade), no internet, etc. My
favorite TV shows in 79 included Buck Rogers, Battlestar Galactica, CHiPs, and a few others. Also in 79, you could occasionally find me at King’s Skating Rink. Mr. King built a new rink that year (it has since closed), and that was also the year that the Monroe Mall was under construction which was the beginning of the end for downtown Monroe as a retail center.
By May, I was playing Little League baseball and was a member of the Cub Scouts, and I was still trying to figure out why Jim Jones led all those people to commit suicide the previous November.
May of 79 was the eve of change, but one change that was coming was one that I never expected (or invited) due to the other affairs that normally occupy the mind of a fourth grader who is in the last few weeks of school before summer break. It was a warm May evening and darkness had fallen which means it must have been getting really late because we were well into daylight savings time. Yet, I was still outside. It was an off-night for us Little Leaguers, so I just hung around outside at the apartment complex where we had been living ever since my mom and dad had split-up four years (to the month) earlier. Back in the day, the apartment complex had a swimming pool. It is now gone and another apartment building sits on the site of where the pool used to be. I was standing in front of the metal storage shed that housed the pool’s pump and cleaning equipment when I was suddenly overcome with terror.
My thoughts could have been directed at any number of things that a kid my age would think about. Thoughts of Mrs. Price’s fourth grade class, my friends, and the Little League season are all things that were part of my life back then. But for whatever reason, all of these thoughts were interrupted with the holiness of God. I wasn’t at church listening to the pastor, but my encounter with God’s holiness at that moment was nothing like I had ever experienced at church.
The thought of God’s holiness created a dilemma for me because I knew that I, despite only being a child, could never stand before a holy God. The knowledge of God’s holiness brought an instant knowledge of my own sinfulness. And I even knew at that moment that there was absolutely, positively nothing that I could do to make things right. So, that was it; I knew I was doomed. I had probably heard about Jesus in church, but I didn’t know who He was or what He was, nor did I know what the cross was about. After all, Easter was when the Bunny came and left a lot of chocolate and other goodies at my house. Therefore, I concluded that I was doomed and there was no way out of it. Terror, dread, despair, and blackness, are all words that come close but do not really describe what came over me. When I say, “came over me”, I literally mean that I could feel it. I didn’t know Jesus, but I sure knew what hell was, and at that point, hell was my destination; I couldn’t avoid it, and there was no hope of altering the course that would lead me to it.
There is only one place for a child to go when he or she is in that position... Mama! It was there where I heard for the first time the redemption story and the restoration found in Christ alone. That night in the presence of my mom, my moment of despair disappeared as eternal life became mine in Jesus Christ.
The love of God is a love that I’m sure can’t be measured. But I also believe as R.C. Sproul has pointed out in his book, The Holiness of God, that God is just as holy as He is love. He is just as wrathful as He is merciful. I have no problem with that because in His mercy, He drove me to Himself with the reality of His wrath.
On second thought, my spiritual journey really was dramatic.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The Little Engine That Couldn't
Josh's post has given me impetus to post this article on my spiritual journey. I hope that it will be of interest, help, and encouragement to those who read it.
I don't believe it is necessary, healthy, or productive to dig up all the bones of one's past to wallow in the misery of what might have been. So, I will spare you details of the first half of my life thus far. One of my earliest memories is of being in my dad's lap while he read to me, "The Little Engine that Could." I think I can, I think I can.
A little railroad engine was employed about a station yard for such work as it was built for, pulling a few cars on and off the switches. One morning it was waiting for the next call when a long train of freight-cars asked a large engine in the roundhouse to take it over the hill "I can't; that is too much a pull for me," said the the great engine built for hard work. Then the train asked another engine, and another, only to hear excuses and be refused. At last in desperation the train asked the little switch engine to draw it up the grade and down on the other side. "I think I can," puffed the little locomotive, and put itself in front of the great heavy train. As is went on the little engine kept bravely puffing faster and faster, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Then as it near the top of the grade, that had so discouraged the larger engines, it went more slowly, but still kept saying, "I--think--I--can, I--think--I--can." It reached the top by dint of brave effort and then went on down the grade, congratulating itself, "I thought I could, I thought I could."
By the middle of my high school years I was dogmatic about two things: There is no God, and America is the greatest nation on the face of the earth (and I could have killed anybody who disagreed with either). My least favorite people were neo-hippies and Christians, because they stood against the two things I treasured most in my life.
I don't know how I arrived at my atheistic beliefs initially, but I know that as a teenager, I was taking full enjoyment of the moral liberty that atheism provided me. I was a rabid evolutionist and I hated anyone who was religious in any fashion. I can remember several Christians trying to befriend me, and when they would start in with their "sales pitch" I would become irate and start issuing my standard arguments about evolution, the problem of evil, the hiddenness of God, religious hypocrisy and whatever else I thought was convenient at the time. I was proud of driving many Christians to tears (though I think now that they were weeping for other reasons). The ones I couldn't defeat by fine sounding arguments, I would corrupt by drawing them over to the "dark side" of loose living. I remember several Christians, drunk at the Saturday night parties, inviting me to join them in Sunday School in just a few hours. I never accepted. Would you? People would say to me, "You can't make it in life without God." I think I can, I think I can.
My fervent patriotism began in the seventh grade. In a classroom one day, my closest friend and I decided that we both wanted to fly jets in the U.S. Navy. I began looking into how to actualize that career ambition and found that the most direct route ran through Annapolis: the U. S. Naval Academy. I made up my mind that I would do whatever it took to gain appointment to the academy and take flight off the deck of a Navy carrier. In high school, I enrolled in Air Force JROTC, and poured my life into it. By the end of my sophomore year, I realized that the chances of me taking flight were better in the Air Force than the Navy, so I switched directions and decided to "Aim High." Colorado Springs would be my goal. People would say to me, "It's really hard to get in, and it's really tough out there." I think I can, I think I can.
In March, 1992, I received the only thing I had wanted for six years of my life: the appointment letter. I was in. I had also received an ROTC scholarship that would pay all of my education expenses at any school where the Air Force had a program. When it was all totalled up, I had nearly a half-million dollars on promise from the US Government, leading my entire graduating class in scholarship monies awarded. I graduated June 4, and on June 28, I boarded a Delta flight in Greensboro bound for Colorado Springs. The two things I believed in most were still alive and kicking in my heart: There is no God, and all I want to do is fly Air Force jets and blow up Communists and Terrorists. Could I maintain those treasured ideas over the next 20 years of my life? I think I can, I think I can.
Dateline, Colorado Springs, US Air Force Academy, June 29, 1992. I strutted onto the beautiful campus of the Academy ready to sign my life over to Uncle Sam. First stop: Haircut. I didn't even give them the pleasure; I had it all shaved off the day before I left. Second stop: Medical. Walk down the hall and get poked by about 12 different needles. Third stop: Uniforms. There it was. My name across the right chest, number 96 right over top. The rest of the day: Push-ups. More push-ups. Dinner. More push-ups. That little train was chugging away. I think I can, I think I can.
When the time came for lights out, I hit my bunk feeling exhilarated and exhausted from the most incredible day of my life. I couldn't wait to get at it the next day. As the lights went out and my two roommates started snoring, I started thinking about many things. I could not direct the flow of thoughts as they raced through my mind, but I recognized suddenly that there was a great big piece missing in my life and I wasn't sure what it was. One thing I knew: I could not sign away the rest of my life until I found it. I walked out of my room to the XO's quarters and told him what was going on. He said, "Let me get the Chaplain." I said, "No, no, no. I am an atheist. You got a shrink or something?" They said, "Go to bed and we'll talk tomorrow." Honestly, the words came out of my mouth before I ever knew they were in it: "I can't wait that long, I have to go home now and find this missing piece in my life." You think it is hard to get into a service academy? It is harder to get out. After much debating, I finally said, "Look, we don't swear in until tomorrow. You don't own me yet. You have to let me go. If I change my mind, I will go through the swearing in and then I am yours." So I walked back to my room (somehow the hallway seemed longer now) and I went to bed. I arrived with two rigid beliefs. I lost my grip on both of them that day. Could I recapture either one of them? I hope I can.
The next day, I walked out of the campus quad through the "Quitters' Gate" beneath the sign which read "Bring Me Men" (they have since changed that sign to be politically correct). I came back home. People who patted me on the back now wouldn't look me in the face. I was a quitter, a loser, a failure in the eyes of most. I had no one to turn to, with one exception. Just a few weeks before I left for Colorado, a new friend had entered my life. Nate Veach and I had almost everything in common, except one thing: He was a Christian, I was an atheist. I called him and told him what I had done, expecting him to say what everyone else had said. Instead, he said, "Hey man, that's great. I am glad to have my friend back home." Over the next few weeks I practically lived at Nate's house. I even started attending church with him and his family. I didn't like it, but it gave me something to do on Sundays, so I tagged along. He didn't mind me being an atheist, and I was starting to grow more comfortable with him being a Christian. I was accepted by most of his Christian friends and family as well. Could I hold on to my atheism and my newfound Christian friends at the same time? I might be able to.
It wasn't many days after my return that my maternal grandmother died of cancer. Along with all my cousins, I was a pallbearer at her funeral. I can remember walking away from the cemetery that day wondering, "What really happens now?" Prior to that day, I was convinced that death was just a fade to black, and then nothingness. Could I still believe that? I'm not sure I can.
A few weeks later, Nate asked me to join him at a church youth camp. I just laughed. What in the world am I going to do there. Let's just say that he managed to convince me by appealing to one of our common interests: girls. "I'm in!" They gave me a Bible, and every morning, they actually made me read it. C. S. Lewis says that an atheist has to be very picky about his reading material. I agree. As I read this book that I had so ridiculed over the years, something began to click. Could it be that this was the missing piece? I was reading First Samuel 3 one morning and I couldn't help noticing a striking parallel. Every time God tried to get Samuel's attention, he ran off to Eli. "Samuel did not yet know the Lord; the Word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him." Eli told him, "The next time, say, Speak Lord, for your servant hears." I prayed, but I didn't know to whom, "God, if you are there, and you have been trying to get my attention, I am listening today." The delight of that decision was soon overshadowed by terror. What if He really is there? Can I stand before Him after the life I have lived and my rejection of Him? I know for a fact that I can't.
That day it was as if all creation was testifying to me that God was there and that He had been pursuing me like the Hound of Heaven for many years. That night, it was explained to me that Jesus Christ had died for my sins so that I could receive God's forgiveness by turning from sin to trust Him as my Lord and Savior. Though I resisted for several hours, before we retired for the night, I burst forth in confession of my newfound faith in Christ. Could I deny Him any longer? I know that I cannot. I know that I cannot. Can I swallow my pride, renounce my atheism, and allow Christ to reign over me? I know I must, I know I must.
OK, long story made less-long, The last fourteen years have flown by so fast, it is dizzying to imagine. God has blessed my life in so many undeserved ways. And though I have failed Him often, the Lord has never left me, forsaken me, or failed to be faithful to me. I found the piece of the puzzle that was missing. And in light of all that He has done for me, can I rise each day with prayer and praise to Him, and dedication to His service and His glory? You know the answer. Choo-Choo!
I don't believe it is necessary, healthy, or productive to dig up all the bones of one's past to wallow in the misery of what might have been. So, I will spare you details of the first half of my life thus far. One of my earliest memories is of being in my dad's lap while he read to me, "The Little Engine that Could." I think I can, I think I can.
A little railroad engine was employed about a station yard for such work as it was built for, pulling a few cars on and off the switches. One morning it was waiting for the next call when a long train of freight-cars asked a large engine in the roundhouse to take it over the hill "I can't; that is too much a pull for me," said the the great engine built for hard work. Then the train asked another engine, and another, only to hear excuses and be refused. At last in desperation the train asked the little switch engine to draw it up the grade and down on the other side. "I think I can," puffed the little locomotive, and put itself in front of the great heavy train. As is went on the little engine kept bravely puffing faster and faster, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Then as it near the top of the grade, that had so discouraged the larger engines, it went more slowly, but still kept saying, "I--think--I--can, I--think--I--can." It reached the top by dint of brave effort and then went on down the grade, congratulating itself, "I thought I could, I thought I could."
By the middle of my high school years I was dogmatic about two things: There is no God, and America is the greatest nation on the face of the earth (and I could have killed anybody who disagreed with either). My least favorite people were neo-hippies and Christians, because they stood against the two things I treasured most in my life.
I don't know how I arrived at my atheistic beliefs initially, but I know that as a teenager, I was taking full enjoyment of the moral liberty that atheism provided me. I was a rabid evolutionist and I hated anyone who was religious in any fashion. I can remember several Christians trying to befriend me, and when they would start in with their "sales pitch" I would become irate and start issuing my standard arguments about evolution, the problem of evil, the hiddenness of God, religious hypocrisy and whatever else I thought was convenient at the time. I was proud of driving many Christians to tears (though I think now that they were weeping for other reasons). The ones I couldn't defeat by fine sounding arguments, I would corrupt by drawing them over to the "dark side" of loose living. I remember several Christians, drunk at the Saturday night parties, inviting me to join them in Sunday School in just a few hours. I never accepted. Would you? People would say to me, "You can't make it in life without God." I think I can, I think I can.
My fervent patriotism began in the seventh grade. In a classroom one day, my closest friend and I decided that we both wanted to fly jets in the U.S. Navy. I began looking into how to actualize that career ambition and found that the most direct route ran through Annapolis: the U. S. Naval Academy. I made up my mind that I would do whatever it took to gain appointment to the academy and take flight off the deck of a Navy carrier. In high school, I enrolled in Air Force JROTC, and poured my life into it. By the end of my sophomore year, I realized that the chances of me taking flight were better in the Air Force than the Navy, so I switched directions and decided to "Aim High." Colorado Springs would be my goal. People would say to me, "It's really hard to get in, and it's really tough out there." I think I can, I think I can.
In March, 1992, I received the only thing I had wanted for six years of my life: the appointment letter. I was in. I had also received an ROTC scholarship that would pay all of my education expenses at any school where the Air Force had a program. When it was all totalled up, I had nearly a half-million dollars on promise from the US Government, leading my entire graduating class in scholarship monies awarded. I graduated June 4, and on June 28, I boarded a Delta flight in Greensboro bound for Colorado Springs. The two things I believed in most were still alive and kicking in my heart: There is no God, and all I want to do is fly Air Force jets and blow up Communists and Terrorists. Could I maintain those treasured ideas over the next 20 years of my life? I think I can, I think I can.
Dateline, Colorado Springs, US Air Force Academy, June 29, 1992. I strutted onto the beautiful campus of the Academy ready to sign my life over to Uncle Sam. First stop: Haircut. I didn't even give them the pleasure; I had it all shaved off the day before I left. Second stop: Medical. Walk down the hall and get poked by about 12 different needles. Third stop: Uniforms. There it was. My name across the right chest, number 96 right over top. The rest of the day: Push-ups. More push-ups. Dinner. More push-ups. That little train was chugging away. I think I can, I think I can.
When the time came for lights out, I hit my bunk feeling exhilarated and exhausted from the most incredible day of my life. I couldn't wait to get at it the next day. As the lights went out and my two roommates started snoring, I started thinking about many things. I could not direct the flow of thoughts as they raced through my mind, but I recognized suddenly that there was a great big piece missing in my life and I wasn't sure what it was. One thing I knew: I could not sign away the rest of my life until I found it. I walked out of my room to the XO's quarters and told him what was going on. He said, "Let me get the Chaplain." I said, "No, no, no. I am an atheist. You got a shrink or something?" They said, "Go to bed and we'll talk tomorrow." Honestly, the words came out of my mouth before I ever knew they were in it: "I can't wait that long, I have to go home now and find this missing piece in my life." You think it is hard to get into a service academy? It is harder to get out. After much debating, I finally said, "Look, we don't swear in until tomorrow. You don't own me yet. You have to let me go. If I change my mind, I will go through the swearing in and then I am yours." So I walked back to my room (somehow the hallway seemed longer now) and I went to bed. I arrived with two rigid beliefs. I lost my grip on both of them that day. Could I recapture either one of them? I hope I can.
The next day, I walked out of the campus quad through the "Quitters' Gate" beneath the sign which read "Bring Me Men" (they have since changed that sign to be politically correct). I came back home. People who patted me on the back now wouldn't look me in the face. I was a quitter, a loser, a failure in the eyes of most. I had no one to turn to, with one exception. Just a few weeks before I left for Colorado, a new friend had entered my life. Nate Veach and I had almost everything in common, except one thing: He was a Christian, I was an atheist. I called him and told him what I had done, expecting him to say what everyone else had said. Instead, he said, "Hey man, that's great. I am glad to have my friend back home." Over the next few weeks I practically lived at Nate's house. I even started attending church with him and his family. I didn't like it, but it gave me something to do on Sundays, so I tagged along. He didn't mind me being an atheist, and I was starting to grow more comfortable with him being a Christian. I was accepted by most of his Christian friends and family as well. Could I hold on to my atheism and my newfound Christian friends at the same time? I might be able to.
It wasn't many days after my return that my maternal grandmother died of cancer. Along with all my cousins, I was a pallbearer at her funeral. I can remember walking away from the cemetery that day wondering, "What really happens now?" Prior to that day, I was convinced that death was just a fade to black, and then nothingness. Could I still believe that? I'm not sure I can.
A few weeks later, Nate asked me to join him at a church youth camp. I just laughed. What in the world am I going to do there. Let's just say that he managed to convince me by appealing to one of our common interests: girls. "I'm in!" They gave me a Bible, and every morning, they actually made me read it. C. S. Lewis says that an atheist has to be very picky about his reading material. I agree. As I read this book that I had so ridiculed over the years, something began to click. Could it be that this was the missing piece? I was reading First Samuel 3 one morning and I couldn't help noticing a striking parallel. Every time God tried to get Samuel's attention, he ran off to Eli. "Samuel did not yet know the Lord; the Word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him." Eli told him, "The next time, say, Speak Lord, for your servant hears." I prayed, but I didn't know to whom, "God, if you are there, and you have been trying to get my attention, I am listening today." The delight of that decision was soon overshadowed by terror. What if He really is there? Can I stand before Him after the life I have lived and my rejection of Him? I know for a fact that I can't.
That day it was as if all creation was testifying to me that God was there and that He had been pursuing me like the Hound of Heaven for many years. That night, it was explained to me that Jesus Christ had died for my sins so that I could receive God's forgiveness by turning from sin to trust Him as my Lord and Savior. Though I resisted for several hours, before we retired for the night, I burst forth in confession of my newfound faith in Christ. Could I deny Him any longer? I know that I cannot. I know that I cannot. Can I swallow my pride, renounce my atheism, and allow Christ to reign over me? I know I must, I know I must.
OK, long story made less-long, The last fourteen years have flown by so fast, it is dizzying to imagine. God has blessed my life in so many undeserved ways. And though I have failed Him often, the Lord has never left me, forsaken me, or failed to be faithful to me. I found the piece of the puzzle that was missing. And in light of all that He has done for me, can I rise each day with prayer and praise to Him, and dedication to His service and His glory? You know the answer. Choo-Choo!
Monday, April 10, 2006
2001: A Postmodern Odyssey
On average, Stanley Kubrick made probably two to three movies per decade during his career as a screenwriter. Yet, the few he did make are classics. My two favorite are from the 60s; they are (1) Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb and (2) 2001: A Space Odyssey.
I was well into adulthood before the Cold War ended, so as a kid, I always lived under the fear of complete nuclear holocaust. Being a satiric look at America’s fears following the Cuban missile crisis, Strangelove is one of my favorites because it allows me to laugh at the fear that always seemed to be in the back of my mind as a kid.
However, of all the Kubrick movies, my all-time favorite is 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Kubrick could’ve easily digressed into the nihilism of his 1960s, progressive contemporaries. Some may mistake 2001 as having a nihilistic flavor, but it does not. We may NOT know what Dave found when he reached Jupiter aboard the S.S. Discovery guided by the Hal-9000 computer, but he found something. Following the movie's Los Angeles premiere, on April 4, 1968, Rock Hudson left the theatre saying, “Will someone tell me what the hell this is about?” Hudson’s remark is exactly the kind of result for which Kubrick aims in his movies. In fact, Kubrick’s co-writer, Arthur Clarke, once said, “If you understand 2001 completely, we failed. We wanted to raise far more questions than we answered.”
The movie begins with the discovery of an artificial monolith by a group of prehistoric apes. This mysterious black slab supposedly conveys a measure of intelligence to these prehistoric creatures that eventually evolve into modern humans (the intelligence behind the intelligence). In the next scene, we fast forward a few million years to the end of the twentieth century when a similar monolith is discovered on the moon. Remember, in 1968, the year of 2001’s release, the U.S. space program was only a year away from landing a man on the moon, so the excavation scene that takes place on the moon in the movie is understood as a natural progression of moon exploration. Of course, moon missions fizzled out just a few years after they began, so 2001 turns out to be a not-so-realistic look at the future of space exploration.
The monoliths create a problem for humanity. They’re not man-made, but they’re not natural either. Thus, something is out there, so a mission to Jupiter is to be carried out in search of the unknown “something”. Other movies from this era include The Graduate (1967) and Easy Rider (1969); both are classic examples of the nihilism found in that era’s movies because nothing is resolved in the end making “nothingness” itself the theme. However, 2001 is refreshingly different. I am certain that nothing is resolved in the end, but when the movie ends we are still keenly aware that “something” (the opposite of nothing) is still out there. Unlike the nihilistic movies of the era, 2001 has as its theme “somethingness”.
A worthless sequel to 2001 was made in 1984 entitled, 2010. The sequel supposedly answered the questions left from 2001. This is very unfortunate because 2010 is NOT a Kubrick film. Thus, 2010 is counterfeit; a fake; a perfect example of 1980s excess... wanting everything now including concrete answers to the art that we were too shallow to understand or appreciate.
Because 2001 doesn’t resolve anything but does leave us with the idea of “somethingness”, I am going to go out on a limb and declare 2001 to be the first popular postmodern movie. I haven’t read this about 2001 anywhere although others may have reached the same conclusion without my knowing them or coming across them. Now, having read my bold declaration concerning 2001, you all are probably laughing out loud right now. After all, postmodernism wasn’t officially launched until after the hippie movement... right? Well, I’m convinced that Kubrick was ahead of his time.
In the 1960s (as well as the entire modern era), our savior was suppose to be technology. If anything could find the answers to the questions created by the monoliths in 2001, it would be technology and technological advancement. Therefore, in the movie, we are introduced to the HAL-9000 computer; this is the instrument that will allow man to carrying out his mission and find the answers to life’s ultimate questions. HAL stands for Heuristic ALgorithmic computer, but if you increment each letter of "HAL", you end up with "IBM". This connection with IBM seems purposeful given all the explicit references to other corporate brands in the movie such as TWA (offering non-stop service to the moon), Whirlpool, RCA, and the Bell System (pre-AT&T days) to name a few.
Unfortunately, HAL doesn’t get the job done. HAL doesn’t just fail; rather, he/she/it actually sabotages the mission. Kubrick teaches us that technology is not only incapable of providing answers to life’s ultimate questions but it actually becomes our own undoing. I find such thinking to be rather “postmodern” even though the movie premieres in 1968 (the pre-postmodern years). And isn’t it interesting that when the real year, 2001, came around, our own aeronautical technology was used as a weapon against us on 9/11 (and don’t forget that decades after we reached the moon, we can’t even keep our space shuttles in orbit here at home). I believe Kubrick pegged us long before the term, postmodern, was used to describe us.
Despite HAL’s meltdown, Dave, the lone surviving astronaut, manages to disconnect HAL and press onward. The last we hear of HAL, he/she/it is singing the song, “Daisy Bell”, as a slow death comes at the hands of Dave.
Whatever it is that is out there, Dave finds it, and we have no clue as to what it is, and Kubrick makes no attempt to explain it. At the end of the movie, most of us are frustrated, and we echo the words of Rock Hudson: “What the heck (Baptist version) was that?” But this is NOT nihilism because something is out there.
The “somethingness” that is unexplainable and to some extent unreachable fits postmodern thought perfectly. The movie’s message conveys that there is something, but we don’t know what it is, and we can’t know what it is. Yes, Dave seems to have reached it, but there was still nothing resolved in the end, and we weren’t even given the courtesy of seeing the connection between the ending and the monoliths that we see in the beginning.
Fortunately, the postmodern dilemma illustrated in Stanly Kubrick’s 2001, isn’t a dilemma for Christianity. We are not only aware of “somethingness” but we know who He is and we know the way to Him... I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me (John 14:6).
Oh! By the way, there is another Stanly Kubrick film, Full Metal Jacket, which probably serves as the single most reason why I’m not down at Parris Island with my blogger teammate, Capt. Wells. I bet that movie was a recruiter’s nightmare.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
The Art of the City
Ever since Billy Belk's fine post here on this blog comparing and contrasting The Andy Griffith Show with Seinfeld, we have had much interaction on the Urban/Suburban dichotomy. Much of the debate has centered on what we would all readily admit amounts to personal preference, we have also come to an agreement that there are certain theological principles that need to come into play in the discussion.
I noticed an illustration of this as I watched the film I (Heart) Huckabees this weekend. Christianity's cameo appearance in this film is not very attractive. The main character and his "other" are dining with a Christian family when the subject of "Suburban Sprawl" is introduced. The Christian family is represented as being very compassionate, while at the same time being passionately defensive about the suburban way of life. This was an uncomfortable scene for me, for I found myself siding with the non-Christians in their table talk. The saddest part of that dialogue is that it so accurately reflected the mindset of many Christians. Overall, the film was a disappointment on several levels, but this one scene is worth watching if for no other reason than it's illustration of our ignorance or indifference toward the theological ramifications of our indulgent lifestyle choices.
In his excellent book Art in Action (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980; ISBN: 0802818161), Nicholas Wolterstorff introduces some key issues in the study of aesthetics. His title comes from his thesis, which is that "works of art are objects and instruments of action … whereby we carry out our intentions with respect to the world, our fellows, ourselves and our gods" (p3). The book makes several important points for helping Christians to think critically about the arts. Wolterstorff helps us to understand the difference between art in general and the "institution of high art," calling ultimately for a liberation from the latter so that we might employ, experience, and enjoy the former. He asks the question, "But what consequences can such liberation be expected actually to yield in our lives?" (p178). To provoke the reader to think through this, Wolterstorff deals with the question as it relates in particular to the city and to the church.
I want to focus here on his discussion of the aesthetics of the city. In this portion of the book, Wolterstorff wants us to look beyond the museums, libraries and orchestras of the city, to the art of the city itself. Wolterstorff claims that the aesthetic dimension of the city "affects all of us who live in the city, whereas those precious objects of high art installed in the city never affect more than a tiny proportion of the inhabitants" (p179).
The aesthetic dimension of the city, Wolterstorff says, consists of its urban space--the buildings, trees, and other space shaping objects. He suggests that some parts of the city's urban space, particularly the avenues and streets, form "channels" of directionality, movement, and restlessness. Other parts, the plazas and squares, form "open bays" of centrality and restfulness. So as one navigates through the city, there is a constant flux and flow of intensity and relaxation of tension. Moving through the channels, tension increases, but upon arriving at the bays, there is relaxation. This movement is the mark of aesthetic excellence in a city.
This can be experienced plainly on a walk or drive through
Wolterstorff chooses to contrast these cities with the cities of the American Midwest where this unity and variety is absent. He says they are "the epitome of blandness. Moving through them is anti-dramatic. It is as if there were a hatred of the city at work, a deep wish to be done with it as soon as possible" (182). Residents in these areas have no concern for urban space. Instead, these individuals dream of the "wide-open spaces" of the country.
The "closed, windowed container" we call a "car" is, according to Wolterstorff, the culprit for much of the decline and/or lack of interest in the aesthetics of the city. "The city is helpless to provide drama to the sequence of movements of those riding in automobiles," because of the constant "lunging and halting" of the traffic (182-183). In addition, because we have become so utterly dependent on the automobile, we have demanded to have roads and driveways and parking spaces in as many places as possible, virtually destroying any possible artistic beauty that the city could hold. Even for those who prefer to traverse the city by foot, Wolterstorff points out that there is the constant noise and danger of being surrounded by those in the automobiles.
What would the city be like if Christians began to exercise the dominion God gave us over the city? If we took our stewardship of urban spaces seriously, how would things change? How might we envision or engineer our cities if we viewed them as arenas wherein we might carry out the Great Commission and Great Commandments of our Lord? As Billy Belk has pointed out, we long for the day when we shall dwell in the City of
Wolterstorff concludes: "None of us knows … whether the city will once again become a thing of joy aesthetically, making of God's assurance to us that we will one day dwell in a new city a beckoning invitation rather than a repulsive horror" (183). Like Abraham, we are looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God. In the meantime, God's people have the opportunity to build microcosmic reflections of that City in our cities, if only we will not retreat the comfortable confines of evangelical suburbia.
Let me close with the words of Chris Rice's song, "Me and Becky."
Becky has a house on
A good name, good family, and butterflies in her yard
Becky loves Jesus and really wants to make Him proud
She tears up in church and she sings her harmonies loud
She's got a Bible by the bed, a prayer journal, and a fish on her car
She makes sure to bow her head and give thanks in every restaurant
But is that enough?
C'mon Becky, let's go for a ride
If I'm driving too fast then I apologize
But there's a world out there that we left behind
Full of souls as important as yours and mine
Looks like a reckless road, and a sacrifice
And I'm crazy scared it may cost our lives
But then I remember Jesus died
So c'mon Becky
I'm rolling up to Becky's house on my Sunday drive
I have to laugh to myself 'cause it looks exactly like mine
I smile and wave at all the happy people strolling by
We've got the same walk, same talk, and the same sparkle in our eyes
'Cause we're thankful for the blessings, but maybe we could lay 'em aside
I get a feeling we might be missin' the time of our lives
So hop in and hold on tight
C'mon Becky, let's go for a ride
If I'm driving too fast then I apologize
But there's a world out there that we left behind
Full of souls as important as yours and mine
Looks like a reckless road, and a sacrifice
And I'm crazy scared it may cost our lives
But then I remember Jesus died
So c'mon Becky
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