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 America, and it is indeed "bad religion." While I could elaborate on many of the lines of this song, one line of this song especially stands out to me. After describing the attributes of this American Jesus, the band sings, "And I'm fearful he's inside of me."

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 America is a new Zion and God blesses and endorses all that calls itself American, we have entered bad religion and made our own personal Jesus. I suggest that many in America today are guilty of blasphemy, heresy, and idolatry, because this is the Jesus I fear is living inside of them. And I suggest that many around the world have turned a blind eye and a deaf ear toward the true gospel because they have rightly seen through the red, white, and blue veneer of the American Jesus. They have deemed Christianity irrelevant because to them, it is America's religion.

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.

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).

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 several 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.

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!

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.

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 Manhattan. The crowds, the congestion, and the constant hustle of the channels is constricting. But this fades into a calm relaxation when one approaches Central Park. The same is true of Boston. The Freedom Trail (a red painted line that leads to historical sites) takes the pedestrian tourist through some high traffic areas, across busy streets, and through hustling and bustling markets and business districts. But as one passes the Tremont Temple and Park Street Church, there is a vast expanse that opens above as the trail leads to the Boston Common. The same experience can be found in Baltimore, Toronto, Washington, London, Dakar, Nairobi, Vienna, Kiev, and countless other prominent cities in the world.

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 God. Unfortunately, we may squander our opportunities to experience a foretaste of it here on earth because, "hatred of the city continues unabated. The ideal is to travel in one's self-contained automobile from the sanctuary of one's home to a large public building, there to park underground and to immerge in an inner sanctuary without ever stepping into the city" (183).

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 Abundant Live Boulevard
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 Let's go for a ride

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 Let's go for a ride

Da Vinci -- Decoded

I found this picture on the web which was allegedly taken on the grounds of Roslyn Chapel (DVC readers will readily recognize that site), and I just had to share it. Needing some content to post with it here, and not wanting to spend time writing a new piece, I thought I might provide some links to my articles on DaVinci Decoded over on my other blog.












My initial posting, summarizing DaVinci Code and pointing out the historical problems with it, is found at: http://russreaves.blogspot.com/2006/03/davinci-decoded-defending-faith.html

My second posting, "Was Jesus Married with Children?" is found here:
http://russreaves.blogspot.com/2006/03/davinci-decoded-part-2-was-jesus.html

The third posting, "Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary," is found at:
http://russreaves.blogspot.com/2006/03/mary-mary-quite-contrary-davinvi.html

The fourth, entitled, "The Emperor's New Clothes," deals with Constantine and can be found at:
http://russreaves.blogspot.com/2006/04/emperors-new-clothes-constantine-and.html

I also want to acknowledge the blog put together by Carl Olson and Sandra Miesel, authors of "The Da Vinci Hoax." Of all the books to come out, I think this one has been the best. It is written from a Catholic perspective, so Evangelicals will not agree with everything they write, but they have really done a better job with tackling the issues at hand. I recommend their book and their blog, which is found at http://insightscoop.typepad.com/davincihoax/2006/03/dan_browns_stat.html

Carl Olson has written a piece answering the question, "Why make such a big fuss over a work of fiction?". Find it here: http://www.ignatiusinsight.com/features2005/colson_justfiction1_mar05.asp

O Brother! Where Art Thou?

I’ve not read Homer’s Odyssey, so I do not know what Homer intended to convey in the story. However, I enjoyed the movie, O Brother! Where Art Thou?, which was intended to parallel Homer’s Odyssey. The movie is not set in Homer’s ancient Greece; rather, the setting is Louisiana during the Great Depression. Things are not as they seem and before the final scene Ulysses, the main character, inadvertently receives the thing of which he needed the most... restoration.

Ulysses, Pete, and Delmar escape from the chain-gang because Ulysses supposedly has stolen money from a robbery still hidden on his property. Because the three are chained together, Ulysses tells Pete and Delmar about the money and offers them a share of the loot if they will escape together. Unfortunately, Ulysses property is just a few days away from being completely submerged under water because of a dam that has been built in the river nearby to create a new lake. This fact heightens the urgency of which the three convicts must escape and return quickly to Ulysses' home.

Ulysses is clearly vain and self-centered. He constantly worries about his appearance specifically his hair. I laughed each time in the movie when Ulysses woke from sleep thinking that something terrible had happened to his hair. This was comical because nightmares supposedly reveal our worst fears, and for Ulysses his greatest worry was his hair.

Pete and Delmar eventually learn the truth about Ulysses desire to escape from the chain-gain. There is no money; in fact, Ulysses was never even arrested for robbery. Although Ulysses property is a few days away from being flooded, his estranged wife is a few days from remarrying as well. It is this marriage that Ulysses hopes to prevent which was the real motive for his escape. Again, Pete and Delmar had to be tricked into coming along because the three had been shackled together.

Before the truth is revealed and while the three convicts are on the run, they experience a number of adventures. One scene finds them down by the river where a local church is baptizing its new converts. Sensing their own need for restoration and repentance, Pete and Delmar do not delay; they run down to the rivers edge, break in line, and make their way out into the water to the preacher and ask to be baptized. But Ulysses rejects the notion of repentance and salvation and seems to have a measure of contempt for Pete and Delmar for doing such a thing.

Ulysses, Pete, and Delmar have already wondered into a radio station that was doing a promotional stunt by allowing people to come by and make a record. The three convicts make a recording that is eventually played on radio stations throughout Louisiana. The three are referred to as the Soggy Bottom Boys, and they become the most popular singing group in the state. Yet, because they are on the run, they are unaware of their popularity. When their identity is revealed, the incumbent governor who’s running for reelection gives them a full pardon knowing that such a move would benefit his campaign due to their popularity.

Because the man to whom Ulysses wife was to marry worked for the other candidate and because the other candidate became unpopular, Ulysses has, at least for the moment, won back his wife. But has he found restoration?

Ulysses returns to his house (shack) and property to retrieve a ring for his wife so that they can be remarried. However, he walks into an ambush set by those who had been tracking the three fugitives. Ulysses, Pete, and Delmar try to explain that they had been pardoned and that the news of their pardon had even been reported on the radio. But those who had been tracking the three remind them that they have no radio. Thus the ropes are draped over the tree branch in order to hang the three and the graves have already been dug.

Certain death seems to be coming, but wait! Ulysses notices a trickle of water flowing across the ground. He then hears a roar. As he looks up, he sees a wall of water rushing from behind his shack; the day in which Ulysses property was to be submerged under the new lake has arrived, and Ulysses, Pete, and Delmar are swept away to safety by the onslaught of water.

The water I believe is significant to the story. Ulysses rejects baptism along with notion of repentance earlier, but in the end, Ulysses is overwhelmed by water... a baptism of sorts. I believe the scene is comparable to irresistible grace. Ulysses’ baptism was coming and he would not escape it.

In the final scene, Ulysses is not preoccupied with his hair. His pride and self-centeredness have vanished, and his only concern seems to be for his wife and her happiness as he follows her down the street. The final scene reminds me of Ephesians 5:25... Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.

Ulysses has found restoration and sanctification. People may miss the beauty of how this movie ends with Ulysses following his wife down the street. He is not preoccupied with whether his wife his doing her job as a wife and being obedient; in fact, she doesn’t stop nagging him about that ring. But to be occupied with whether she is fulfilling her role is to be occupied with whether she is fulfilling his needs. But Ulysses has stopped worrying about his needs. He’s stopped worrying about his hair. He’s no longer the center of his own universe.

So what do we see? We see the once proud Ulysses loving his wife sacrificially as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her. This is restoration; this is the way it’s suppose to be; Ulysses follows his wife down the street... the screen fades to black... the end.


I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow
By Norman Blake
(Performed by the fictional trio the Soggy Bottom Boys)
(Originally performed by the Stanley Brothers)

(In constant sorrow through his days )

I am a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my day.
I bid farewell to old Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.

(chorus) The place where he was born and raised

For six long years I've been in trouble
No pleasures here on earth I found
For in this world I'm bound to ramble
I have no friends to help me now.

(chorus) He has no friends to help him now

It's fare thee well my old lover
I never expect to see you again
For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad
Perhaps I'll die upon this train.

(chorus) Perhaps he'll die upon this train.

You can bury me in some deep valley
For many years where I may lay
Then you may learn to love another
While I am sleeping in my grave.

(chorus) While he is sleeping in his grave.

Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face you'll never see no more.
But there is one promise that is given
I'll meet you on God's golden shore.

(chorus) He'll meet you on God's golden shore.

Vincent van Gogh

This blog site seems to be a more appropriate place for my Van Gogh article which by now was buried deep in the archives at billybelk.blogspot.com , so I decided to move it here...

A few years ago my wife, Linda, and I were browsing through a store, and I found prints of four paintings by Vincent van Gogh. Being a fan of Van Gogh, I attempted to talk Linda into allowing me to purchase the four prints. Unfortunately, my taste in home décor varies a bit from Linda’s, so she was not about to allow me to hang Van Gogh prints in our living room. I must say that my appreciation (or perhaps fascination) for Van Gogh transcends his artwork. Van Gogh’s life was/is an example of a great universal need known as “redemption”.

Vincent van Gogh was born in the town of Groot-Zundert, Holland, in 1853. Van Gogh was a brilliant artist, but unfortunately, he was mentally unstable. As an adult, Vincent moved to Paris hoping to find success as an artist. After spending two years with his brother, Theo, himself an art dealer in Paris, Vincent traveled to the city of Arles where he worked alongside painter, Paul Gauguin. However, the two artists often quarreled, and, in the aftermath of one very intense argument, Van Gogh, being as unstable as he was, cut off a portion of his ear and had it delivered to a prostitute. Realizing that his own instability had gotten out of hand, Vincent van Gogh committed himself to an asylum where he continued to work at his painting. During that difficult time Van Gogh continued to receive sympathetic encouragement from his brother. Nevertheless, Vincent van Gogh shot himself to death in 1890.

I was thinking about Vincent van Gogh earlier in the week when one of his paintings made headlines. It turns out that one of the paintings that Van Gogh created while in the asylum may bring well over 40 million dollars when it’s auctioned off this May. The painting is called: “L'Arlesienne, Madame Ginoux” and its subject is the person who was Van Gogh’s landlord at the time he cut off his ear.

There are two dimensions to Van Gogh’s story; one is the art and the other is the artist himself. Here is the irony between the two: The artwork seems to have found something that eluded the artist his entire life... redemption! After all, if something is worth 40 million dollars, it has become rather valuable to say the least. But as valuable as the artwork has become, is it really worth more than the artist or any human being for that matter? Consider Psalm 49, verses 7-8... Truly no man can ransom another, or give to God the price of his life, for the ransom of their life is costly and can never suffice.

Being a fan of his artwork, I’m glad that Van Gogh’s art continues to increase in value, but my heart breaks for the artist who never understood the value of his own life. Van Gogh’s story has reminded me again that people are far more valuable than the objects we seem to covet. May the hearts of all evangelical Christians break at the thought of redemption eluding our neighbors, and may such heartbreak stir us to action. And if we are ever tempted to question the value of man-kind, I would challenge us all to look again to the Cross and understand the price paid for the redemption that is ours in Christ alone.

Happy Easter, Dooley!

Our commentary on Billy's "Seinfeld vs. Andy" is becoming quite involved now, and one of our cohorts here has introduced in those comments the old bluegrass standard that Andy often "scrubbed off" with the Darlings -- "Dooley." I confess I wish they had decided to play "Don't Hit Your Grandma with a Great Big Stick," at Charlene's wedding, but Charlene protested with, "No, Paw, that one made me cry." Perhaps the greatest line in Andy Griffith history is from that episode -- when Andy was helping Briscoe Darling put on his tie, Briscoe said, "Ever since I saw a hangin', I been nervous about wearin' one of these things." I feel that way every Sunday morning. I tell people if you see me in a tie, it must be Sunday, or else somebody died. (While I do have most Seinfeld episodes memorized, I had to go to the web for help with these quotes -- http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0053479/quotes)

Now to ole 'Dooley. Yes, Dooley was just the kind of guy that Suburbanites idolize. He lived "below the mill," but he didn't work at the mill like the rest of the community around them. Instead, he supplied them all with their brain-damaging, family destroying, bankrupting moonshine. Just the kind of guy every Suburban community needs (AND HAS!). The original American Idol! The modern day equivalent is the homeschooling, stay-at-home, meth-lab operator. Steve Earle provided music fans an update of Dooley when he penned "Copperhead Road." Ice-T brought Dooley into the modern era with "Cop Killer."

Dooley was "a good old man" in the eyes of the world. He was a family man --
he worked side by side with his wife (maybe by "common law") and his daughters. But don't say he was a "bad person" (the most intolerable insult in modern Suburbia). That's judgmental, because there are no moral absolutes (even Andy didn't have any apparently). He's just a "good old man" ... "trying to make a dollar." And he even extended good credit to his patrons. "Give me a swaller, and I'll pay you back someday." I wonder which came first: Dooley or Wimpy ("I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today!"). Perhaps we have found the origin of our culture's addiction to consumer debt. "Give me a plasma screen TV, and I'll pay you back someday." "I will gladly pay you Tuesday for an SUV today." (And don't even get me started about the SUV obsession in Suburbia).

Well, ole' Dooley ran into some legal trouble when the intolerant and tyrannical "revenuers" came to shut his industry down. What? Did they not care about his family? About his financial entrepreneurship? Man, the nerve! But Dooley was smarter than they are (the bad guys usually are). He didn't get caught, didn't loose any product. Just like the smooth operators I see plying their wares across the fence at the hotel beside my office.

And sure enough, the day came when Dooley met his maker. But let's don't think unpleasant thoughts on such an occasion. Let's just say, "Dooley's on the mountain he lies there all alone;
They put a jug beside him and a barrel for a stone." I wish that were true. One thing I miss about being an atheist is the belief that when lost people die, they just fade to black and their remains are thrown into the ground. But I don't believe that. I can't believe that. Dooley is not on the mountain. Dooley is in hell. And those who knew him best don't care. They aren't crying because Dooley will perish eternally. They are crying because they lost their supplier. (Cue Roy Orbison, "Cry-iii-ing over you!"). I have preached many a-funeral, and when I know that the deceased was an unbeliever, I am overwhelmed by the emotion expressed by his or her loved ones. But most of all, I am appalled at the fact that their outbursts are only reflective of the human loss -- no more fun, no more picnics, vacations, holidays, no more family get-togethers. There is no concern for the fact that the dead relative or friend is perishing eternally apart from the presence of God.

By the way, I am equally as appalled at some "Christian funerals" when the high mark is the celebration that "We will all get to see this dear friend again when we get to heaven!" John Piper asks, "Would you be happy in heaven if God was not there?" Meaining, suppose you could go to heaven, see all your dead relatives, never be sick, never have any need for anything, and the only thing is, God isn't there. Would you be happy? Piper says if you would, you aren't saved, or else you are desperately immature in your faith (I would recommend "God is the Gospel" to read more in this line of thinking by Piper). The highmark of a Christian funeral OUGHT to be that this loved one has received the inheritance laid up for him or her through the cross and resurrection of Jesus and is standing face to face with Christ at this very moment. Anything less than that is blasphemous!

Back to Dooley. Not on a hill, but in hell. Not alone, though I guess it feels that way in the place of outer darkness separated from God's presence. He's a "good old man." Just not good enough. Because none of us can be "good enough." God's righteous standard is higher than any of us can achieve. So is God unfair? No. Because He came to us and satisfied the standard on our behalf in the person of Jesus Christ. And after He did that, He died to take our place under the wrath of God. And after that, He conquered death on our behalf in the Resurrection. And He did not do this so we could scatter candy-filled eggs all over the yard and lie to our children about some overgrown, egg-laying bunny rabbit. He did it to save sinners. He did it for all the "Dooleys" out there -- sinners like you and me. Christ did all this to make sinners holy, not to make good people better.

Maybe if little churches in little towns like Mayberry, and BIG churches in BIG Suburbs, would start preaching that message instead of the Seven Snappy Secrets to Soul Satisfying Sex, or the Pillars of Productive Pet Ownership, or the Building Blocks to a Better Batting Average, or The Critical Need for Spelling Reform in Our Day (my apologies to C. S. Lewis on that last one, see "Screwtape"), people like Dooley could find out before it's too late that God isn't looking for "good men and women." He is looking for absolutely-completely-totally-perfectly-sinlessly righteous and holy people. And there aren't any. But God offers to take sinners like you and me and Dooley, and remove the stain of our sins, and cover us in the absolutely-completely-totally-perfectly-sinlessly righteous holiness of Jesus if we will bow the knee to Him as our Lord and Savior.

So, Happy Easter, Dooley. Wherever you are. And Happy Easter to all those like Dooley. He did it all for you.

Click here to hear "Dooley" (Right click to open in a new window)

Andy Griffith or Jerry Seinfeld?

Since this blogspot is about the sacred making its way into the arts of our culture, I thought I might add an article concerning our culture’s most popular art forms which no doubt include television and motion pictures. I hope that I’m not overstepping the boundaries of this site by bringing television into the mix.

I was born in North Carolina, grew up in North Carolina, and still live in North Carolina. But unlike most of my North Carolina neighbors, I absolutely, positively, do NOT like the Andy Griffith Show which was about a fictional town in North Carolina known as Mayberry.

Here’s the problem. For most southerners, the Andy Griffith Show supposedly represents everything that was right about southern, small town living in a bygone era. For others, it represents simplicity and a wholesomeness that is utopian in nature. In fact, I would be willing to bet that most fans of the Andy Griffith Show would actually live in Mayberry, NC, if given the chance.

Unfortunately, Mayberry is as deceptive as the serpent in the Garden. Life in the pre-1970s South with its racial tensions and poverty was NOT the utopia that everyone nostalgically remembers.

The Andy Griffith Show was actually filmed at Desilu Studios in Hollywood, CA. Thus, not only did the town of Mayberry not exist, but it was merely the figment of a screenwriter’s imagination. For the most part, these facts are understood but simply ignored, and although the Andy Griffith Show was meant to be comedy, it is taken way too seriously by way too many southerners as a way of life to which we should return.

The most unfortunate aspect of the Andy Griffith Show is that it is seen as wholesome. In fact, there are on the shelves of certain Christian bookstores the Andy Griffith themed Bible studies. Even though some scenes include the cast sitting in a church, there was nothing even remotely Christian about the show and no aspect of Christian doctrine is ever dealt with. How you base a Bible study curriculum on Andy Griffith is beyond me, but this is what makes the show so deceptive.

It’s as if some people actually believe that redemption can be accomplished if we just return to a “Mayberry-way-of-life”. But Mayberry existed in Hollywood not North Carolina. Andy Griffith himself is not nearly as politically conservative as the southerners who worship him. Don Knotts’ character, Mr. Foley, on Three’s Company is probably a better description of his actual disposition than his character, Barney Fife. Andy Griffith and “Aunt Bee” actually feuded in real life and hardly spoke to one another when off camera. Of course, I don’t have to remind all our loyal blogging fans that Gomer was/is gay. Otis Campbell celebrated drunkenness; Ernest T. Bass celebrated stupidity while the Darling family celebrated ignorance.

Even Opie was nothing more than a pawn to help the show teach us moral lessons, but do we really need moral lessons? I already know that I need to do better; tell me something I don’t know. “Do better” shows are as bad as “do better” preaching. I don’t need a moral lesson; I need redemption, but it will never be found in “do-better-Mayberry”.

My all-time favorite television show is Seinfeld. The writers of Seinfeld NEVER attempt to teach a moral lesson. Rather, the writers use their cast to poke fun at all of our irrational obsessions. When we laugh at Jerry, Elaine, George, and Kramer, we are actually laughing at ourselves, and in doing so, we learn much about ourselves.

I know that the story of redemption is not told by Seinfeld, but that’s because Seinfeld makes fun of all our culture’s obsessions in which we think redemption can be found. So yes, redemption is missing from Seinfeld, but at least the writers are honest about it which is more than can be said about the writers of Andy Griffith. In fact, it is Seinfeld that leaves our culture with this question: Can redemption even be found? Well, isn’t that life’s ultimate question, and isn’t that the question that we Christians actually want our neighbors to ask?

Seinfeld was described and promoted by its producers as “a show about nothing” but nothing could be further from the truth. Seinfeld was and is a show about us.

On Music After God's Own Heart

My wife Donia asked me as soon as I walked in the door, "Did you read Colson's article in Christianity Today?" I hadn't, so she said, "Here, check it out." Wow. There really are more out there than just me who have become disgusted with self-absorbed, meaningless, endlessly repeated little ditties that work people into a Grateful Dead-Like trance in the name of worship. If you haven't read it, the article is called "Soothing Ourselves to Death," and though the rest of the current issue lacks much of interest, this one-page article is worth your reading it.

Colson says, "[O]ne Sunday morning I cracked. We'd been led through endless repetitions of a meaningless little ditty called 'Draw Me Close To You,' which has zero theological content and could just as easily be sung in any nightclub. When I thought it was finally and mercifully over, the music leader beamed. 'Let's sing that again, shall we?' he asked. 'No!' I shouted, loudly enough to send heads all around me spinning while my wife, Patty, cringed."

Where can we find a voice being lifted to really reflect God's own heart if not in the church? Well, I have stumbled on one source that may surprise you. Ever since the movie "Born on the Fourth of July" came out, I have reflected on the words that Edie Brickell hauntingly sings on the remake of Bob Dylan's "Hard Rain's Gonna Fall." I confess I would rather hear her sweet voice sing it than Dylan himself. I have always thought that this song had a powerful message.

In the IMB news I received in email, I found another voice of agreement. Erich Bridges writes about how this song paints graphic pictures of the lost and broken world in which we live. If you have been blessed to travel outside American borders, you can relate to the imagery (lyrics in italics; my commentary in plain-type):

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son? Oh, where have you been, my darling young one? I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains, I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways, I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests, I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans, I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard, And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard, And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

As I hear these words, I think about a dozen prayerwalks I have been on across this planet. And when I return, people say to me (I do have blue eyes, by the way), "Where have you been?" Can words even relate it? Can I with words make them feel the instability of rocks and dirt sliding beneath your feet? Can I tell them of the "roads" I travelled to reach villages where no white man had ever been seen, and no Christian witness had ever been presented? Can you describe with words what it is like to put your feet in the Atlantic and watch the sun go DOWN, with the stench of a mountainous garbage heap to your back? Or how it feels to walk in the footsteps of camels on the shores of the Indian Ocean? Or to gaze across a roughshod cemetery where what few stones there are have crescents instead of crosses adorning them? To walk across a parched town that is being invaded by the Sahara desert?

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what did you see, my darling young one? I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it, I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin', I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin', I saw a white ladder all covered with water, I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken, I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children, And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Yes, I have seen all these things and more. The world is saturated with monuments to our depravity. And if you only read about it in the paper or watch it on television, you are safe. But if you see it with your eyes, if you smell what they smell, if you eat what they eat, it will affect you to the core. "Pastor," they say, "Why do you care so much about the lost people in Africa?" Oh, it is because I've been there. And I have looked them in the eye, and I have taken them by the hand. And I have done so knowing that they have never met a Christian before in their lives. And like Livingstone, the smoke of a thousand villages haunts me in my sleep. They are lost. And a judgment is coming.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son? And what did you hear, my darling young one? I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin', Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world, Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin', Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin', Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin', Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter, Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley, And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

I always take a tape-recorder. I never want to forget the sounds. I have drummed with the drummers in Kenya. I have been out there whispering the gospel to deaf ears. I have put my hands on the sick and the dying and prayed in desperation for God to demonstrate His power to an entire village. I have visited shrines devoted to the artisans of a community, and without understanding a word of the language have seen the anguish in the songs, the poems, the stories. We were chastised for feeding a starving animal in one town because the people had less food than the dogs. That's what I heard. I never went to South Asia. I wasn't there to hear the sound of a wave that could drown the whole world. But as surely as that Tsunami wiped out an entire region, I know there is a hard rain gonna fall in the last days.

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one? I met a young child beside a dead pony, I met a white man who walked a black dog, I met a young woman whose body was burning, I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow, I met one man who was wounded in love, I met another man who was wounded with hatred, And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

One after another you meet them. Broken people, like a parade of hurting and heartache. The innocence of a precious little child playing in his village, surrounded by signs warning of AIDS and landmines, eyes yellow from Malaria. I have talked to those with the amulets of the witch doctor tied tightly 'round their arms, and legs, and waists, and necks, and heads, and so on. I have talked to those who have said, "You know my religion says I can kill you if you don't believe the same as me." And the Talibe, the children of the street who are sent out to peddle for change, only to turn it over to some tyrannical slave-driver. Like the little boy who tried to sell me hard-boiled eggs on the streets of Malindi. When I refused to purchase an egg, he put his fingers to his mouth as if to say, "But I am so hungry." I said, "You should eat this egg." My guide says, "No, he cannot eat it. If he eats it, he will be beaten, for that is an egg he could have sold." And as Dylan says, "I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow." One village gave us a basket of mangoes that contained more food than their family ate all week. One merchant, when I didn't buy anything from him, gave me a necklace just so I wouldn't leave his stand empty-handed. But it is a hard rain that's gonna fall.

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?

What would you do if you have seen what I have seen?

I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin', I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest, Where the people are many and their hands are all empty, Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters, Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison, Where the executioner's face is always well hidden, Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten, Where black is the color, where none is the number,

And when I get there, you know what I'm going to do? I am going to take the soul-saving, life-changing gospel of Jesus Christ ...

And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it, And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it, Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin', But I'll know my song well before I start singin', And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Click here to hear the song, as sung by Edie Brickell for the film "Born on the Fourth of July".
(Right click to open in a new window)

Thanks Chuck and Erich for reminding me that I am not alone. And Bob, wherever you are spiritually right now in your never-ending journey, I am thankful that you write songs that reflect the heart of a God whom you once claimed to know, and whom I pray you still do. And if there is anyone reading this, I pray that before the rain falls, you will tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it and reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it, and you'll know your song well before you start singing. Because it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.