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Friday, January 30, 2004 posted by R.C. 9:39 AM link |
As Wise As Children Perhaps the most aphoristic of aphorisms come from little children. When there is a dispute in the game that goes unresolved, until a lucky bounce goes one team’s way, and said team chants with glee, “Pirate’s proof, pirate’s proof” they are affirming a right understanding of providence that shows up most Reformed adults for the deists they are. In like manner, there is a rubber and glue reason that every time I point a finger at you, I have four more pointing back at me. (Okay, it’s actually three, since the thumb (a) isn’t a finger and (b) actually points the other way—but I’m praising the wisdom of children, not their modernist accuracy.) There is here even more than the children’s version of “judge not.” Instead children have discerned hypocrisy, and its double damnation, which in turn is quadruple when the starting accusation is hypocrisy. I remembered this conundrum when I received my latest issue of World magazine. Though it is often not good for my blood pressure, I enjoy reading World, and am constantly reminded how much easier it is to get mad at kin than strangers. But this week’s cover takes the cake in missing irony. It reads, “One Man, One Vote, One Time.” The argument they are trying to make is that those ungrateful Muslims we freed over in Iraq, the ones who are screaming for self rule, for a chance to vote, are utter hypocrites because it they are ever given the chance to vote, they’ll just elect some hard-core ideologue that won’t allow future elections. And they have a point. That is, one finger does rightly point at these pointy headed Muslim clerics. But what is Washington’s solution to this? Don’t let them vote. We can’t let them vote because if they do they’ll destroy the democratic process. Better to not let them vote, so they don’t destroy the democratic process. Once again we’re destroying villages to save them. But this problem rears its ugly head even in petty interpersonal relationships. Back when they were new, it was my habit to visit, from time to time, Christian chat rooms. On many visits to the place where I hung out, in would walk a gentleman who called himself, “Gay4God.” I would sit back and watch as the great mass of evangelicals sought to meet the man where he was. I knew full well that someone would soon blow a fundamentalist gasket. Sure enough there it was, “How can you be gay for God? Doesn’t God call such an abomination?” And then like vultures on a dead hyena, the evangelicals would descend on the poor fundamentalist. “How dare you judge Gay4God. You can’t know his heart.” “We’re supposed to love, you mean old hypocrite. We know you’re a sinner too.” And then I would enter the fray, not against Gay4God, but in defense of the poor fundamentalist. “Aren’t you all being rather judgmental? Where’s the love for our brother I’mPuzzledByGay4God?” I was pointing out those other fingers. In like manner, having recently given a general call to repentance for a particular sin, I aroused the wrath of someone who thought I was talking to him. He took me to task for calling people to repent, arguing that I ought either let love cover over the supposed sin, or bring formal charges in a church court. Now this gentleman didn’t commit the obvious hypocrisy of calling me to repent for my offense. No, that would have been offensive, awful, rude, disturbing, unbecoming, sad, wrong, not appropriate, unhelpful and untrue—all things he managed to accuse me of without having the courtesy of encouraging me to repent. Neither did he manage to cover over my sins, or contact my presbytery. And here too there are fingers pointing back at me. Not long ago I publicly whined because I was privately maligned. How foolish is that? Pretty darn. I may yet eat these words, and show myself a hypocrite once again. But I’m going to try something different. I’m going to try to spend more time writing about what I am for, and less time fussing at those who aren’t with me. I'll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll repent that I haven’t done so of late, if others will simply hear the suggestion. The kingdom of God may advance by making exotic love, or by making babies, by arming ourselves with relevance, or by raising chickens. It may even happen through all of the above. But it certainly won’t advance by arguing with the other guy. No tag backs. [comments] |
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Tuesday, January 27, 2004 posted by R.C. 10:36 AM link |
What Are You Waiting For? I suppose that I am given, like most folks, to some compulsive behavior. My most glaring weird and secret (until now that is) habit has been math. I do math in the secrecy of my own mind. And the math I do I do in time. Five mornings a week, for instance, I walk away the pounds. I pop in an exercise video, and walk for what the makers of the video tell me is three miles. I am doubtful about that. But I do know that the tape takes 43 minutes, that the half-mile segments are 8, 7, 6, 6, 7, and 9 minutes long. I know this because to pass the time while I’m walking, I figure in my head how long I have walked, what percentage I have done, and what percentage I have left. I do the same with my days. Four days from now I’ll be in Seattle. I’ll be away for 72 hours. I’m looking forward to it mostly because I am taking Darby, my eldest, with me. She was supposed to go to Korea with me a few weeks ago, but we had to cancel that trip. So it’s Seattle instead for her. When I get there I will know how much time left before I speak, how much time until I’m done speaking, and how much time I’ll have waiting at various airports on the way home. The unhealthy part of all this isn’t. of course, the math. It is the latent albeit perpetual dissatisfaction. I don’t want to be in this part of my life, but that part. I don’t want to be in this part of my week, but that part. It’s a good thing to look forward to things, to experience future gratitude. It is likewise good to temper such, as I learned regarding Korea, with a hearty “If the Lord wills…” When I fall into fits of nostalgia, the devil wants past joy to consume present joy. When I feel the wait, future joy consumes present joy. The answer, of course, is to rejoice in all things, in all times. Because this is the day that the Lord has made. We get to rejoice and be glad in it. But you know what? A day is coming when we will all do just that. I can hardly wait. [comments] |
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Tuesday, January 20, 2004 posted by R.C. 11:12 AM link |
Some Children Left Behind It is not my intention here to rehash the old debate about incrementalism versus—oh mercy, for the sake of peace we’ll call my view “all or nothing.” I have written on this a time or two in the past, and I pray helped people see wisdom if I’m right, and didn’t do too much damage if I’m wrong. Today my beef isn’t with incrementalism per se. If, for instance, the 2004 election brought us Bill Clinton as the Republican candidate, and Howard Dean as the Democratic nominee, men of good will might actually vote for Clinton, believing that (a) he has a chance and (b) he’s better than Dean. Such, I believe, would be wrong, but it is a common and somewhat understandable error. What I wouldn’t expect from those who would vote for Clinton in such a circumstance, would be that they would become cheerleaders for Clinton. I wouldn’t expect them to have Clinton bumperstickers on their cars, Clinton signs in their yards. I wouldn’t expect them to rejoice that he is one of “ours.” (He has, after all, been baptized.) And yet, too many of my friends who defend their voting for Bush on incremental grounds in turn end up cheering him on. Forget for a moment the war, and the sundry new social programs. Forget the sodomites on the staff, and the happy celebration of Kwanzaa. All we need to remember to keep from cheerleading for the president is his stand on abortion. With respect to federal intrusion into education, he wants no child left behind. With respect to abortion, however, there are thousands he would leave behind. President Bush believes the state ought to protect the right of mothers and doctors to put to death unborn children conceived by rape or incest. These children, he believes, do not deserve the protection of the state. For them, the sword is borne in vain. This, some say, is being pro-life. Suppose that one percent of those who are aborted this year fall into this category. Incrementalists can claim that a vote for Bush is a vote to stop 99% of all abortions in America. But the cheerleaders must in turn concede that 15,000 dead babies is not worth quibbling over. I have more than a quibble with that point of view. If you have been a Bush cheerleader, you need to repent. You need to get past the folly that says “One dead baby is a tragedy. 15,000 dead babies is a statistic.” You need to understand that your president supports 15,000 tragedies. Stop waving his bloody flag. [comments] |
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Thursday, January 08, 2004 posted by R.C. 9:52 AM link |
Forbidden Knowledge, or, What Lucy Learned There are—if I might fall into my Origen routine—at least three levels to Lewis. Consider for a moment the island of the Dufflepuds. Level one is simply the innocent joy of the comedy. An invisible Amen Choir cheering on a fierce one-footed dwarf leader is always great fun. “You said it chief, made it perfectly clear. We’re behind you. Say it again.” But the drama comes when poor Lucy is sent upstairs to the magician’s room, to find the spell to un-uglify the poor creatures. We see her turning the pages of the magic book, and there she finds a spell that gives her the opportunity to eavesdrop on a conversation between her friends, to find out what they really think. Level two is where we hope our children are paying attention here, learning (a) that which is private is private and (b) not to get their knickers in a twist if someone privately says something unkind to another. We don’t want them to grow up to become junior-high school girls. It is level three that we miss. At this level what’s supposed to happen is this—we adults are supposed to learn that that which is private is private, and not to get our knickers in a twist if someone privately says something unkind to another. We’re not supposed to be junior-high school girls. I learned part (b) recently because I failed part (a). Through the magic of the internet, I was given the opportunity to listen in on private conversations about me. And like Lucy I have paid the price of a doubly broken heart. The first heartbreak is the most petty. I have pridefully seen myself as being “hard boy.” I make it a point to quip once a week that my theological super-power is that I have no feelings. I’m a Calvinist, after all. I have been stern and strong this week as I have suffered through losing my job, and my wife being diagnosed with cancer. (N.B.—We have every confidence that everything will be alright, though prayers are heartily welcomed. On the other hand, we are (a) full up on assorted home remedy theories, and (b) studying up on the ones we have.) Add to this that last night I helped to bury my little nephew, who died fourteen weeks after conception. But what hurt my heart? That heroes and friends, in their private conversation, spoke uncharitably about me. I’m not as brave as I thought I was. I can take slings and arrows from the peanut gallery, but not from people I respect and admire. The second heartbreak is my disappointment with my friends and heroes. By virtue of providence, through the years I have seen a great deal of inside information. I’ve known not only the theological movers and shakers of our time, but I’ve known their families—and many of their failures. I know that heroes have feet of clay. But it still hurts every time. It is sin, even more than sickness and death, that reminds us that we live in the not yet. Men who should be teaching, and pastoring their flocks, instead are sitting around a cyber-stoop playing the dozens against a guy who isn’t even there, a guy who thought he was their friend. One of my high heroes even snickered about me losing my job. I mean, whatever happened to piety? Oh, that’s right, that’s for those hayseed-sucking fundamentalists. The good news is the one man I would most expect to behave with godliness did exactly that. (And by the way, if you’re currently racking your brain trying to put names with these players, go back to the beginning and start over again. You’re missing the point.) But there is more good news. I also received last night another glimpse into assorted private conversations in which I was spoken ill of. Another friend, in a different context, was talking bad about me. How do I know? Did someone rat him out? Not at all. For the email was from that same friend, writing to apologize, confessing, and detailing how he would seek to undo the damage. I didn’t know about the conversations. But this man had the character to do the right thing. He is a man of godliness and piety. It was a comforting glimpse of the already. The moral of the story? I need, as I suspect we all do, to grow in piety in several ways. I need to live for the approval of Christ, not men, even if they’re the smart and insightful ones. I need to rest in the righteousness of Christ imputed to me, not my status as a junior varsity player on either side of the line of scrimmage. I also need to stop looking under the rocks. I should have sent the email back unread. I should have known nothing good would come from reading it. But last, we need to remember this. We ought not to have conversations that are “just between us.” How swiftly it descends into secret shared sin. I would never do it with a woman, and now I know I must never do it with a man. Let other people’s conversations be private, but let us speak as though the whole world were listening. Or, if you’ll forgive the piety, as if Jesus were listening. [comments] |
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Monday, January 05, 2004 posted by R.C. 1:46 PM link |
Confessions of an Ostrich I’ve said it once, and I’ll keep saying it. Why is it that when we come to the mistakes made by the good folks in the Bible that our assumption is that we have their problem whipped, rather than assuming that we might be making the same mistake? We think we are free from the problem of historical accretions, though we continue to make historical accretions. We find in our Bibles the Pharisees, the bad guys, quoting this rabbi and that, while Jesus does the unthinkable, and quotes the Bible. Now there are few things that get my goat more than sola scriptura anabaptists. But for Pete’s and Paul’s and John’s and Luke’s sake, how many times are we going to try—once again—to solve the relationship between faith and works, the individual and the church, the visible and the invisible, by appealing to this Reformer and that, followed by this great theologian in history or that? While no doubt there are those who are trying to make sense of my own stance on that issue and this in terms of ulterior motives, familial relationships and my bank account, the honest truth is that I try to look at issues truthfully. Though I differ with him often, I find myself tempted to send donations to David Bahnsen every time some purist starts talking about his departed father. Whether we are dealing with old history, and what Calvin, Bucer, Turretin or Melancthon thought of this issue or that, or recent history where we prop up our own view by citing Hodge or Thornwell, or try to fortify our position with the wisdom of more recent vintage—“Well, Van Til and Bahnsen were friends of Shepherd, therefore…”—it’s still just an appeal to authority not terribly far removed from a Romish view of tradition. In short, why can’t we, without looking down our noses at the gifts of God in history, talk about what the Bible says? Can’t we all embrace this principle from the Reformation—the perspicuity of the Scripture—so that we aren’t left playing dueling rabbis? I’ve made a decision to not read N.T. Wright. I don’t expect I’ll read Norm Shepherd either. Though I have read neither Schenk nor Lilliback, they haven’t yet been banned. My decision isn’t based on this syllogism, “It’s a bad thing to read those who inspire heretics. These guys inspire heretics. Therefore I won’t read these guys.” Neither am I thinking, “Bank accounts and relationships matter. Reading these guys is bad for both. Therefore I won’t read these guys.” Rather my conviction is, “If I need these guys to show me what the Bible really teaches, then the Bible doesn’t teach very well.” In short, the one hole I’m committed to avoiding, in whatever form it takes, is the Gnostic hole. And even those who would argue that the only way to escape the Gnosticism of the crypto-baptist, American Puritan view of the world, when they suggest that the only way to break free is to enter into this cabal or that, are still trying to seduce me into another form of Gnosticism. I believe the Bible teaches justification by faith alone, but not by a faith that is alone. I believe that God can and often does grant that faith to our covenant children, such that I don’t look for some crisis moment in their lives to verify His faithfulness. But I believe that the ground of our justification is first the covering of our sin by His blood, and second the life of righteousness lived by Him imputed to us. And I believe the Bible teaches this. And I believe that I believe this because the Bible teaches this, clearly and unambiguously. I reject raw assensus, contra John Robbins, because I believe James rules this out. And I reject justification by faithfulness because I believe Paul rules this out. I’m about to crawl back into my hole. I’m tired of being tugged at like some trophy whose only value is that I have a similar name to someone who matters. While I manage to disappoint people on both sides of these issues, I’m convinced that the vast majority on both sides do not have sound motives. I’m convinced that while there are real theological and biblical issues, 99% of those engaged in this great debate on both sides are nothing more than actual Christians—that is, people for whom Christ lived and died, and who will spend eternity in the new heavens and new earth—who are drinking deeply of the spirit of the Athenians. I’m convinced that we have finally found something new to dicker about besides theonomy, and that our bickering will be as fruitful as the bickering we did over theonomy. If you want a sound view of the objectivity of the covenant, go here for it. In the meantime, please understand that our call isn’t to treat our theology like fantasy baseball, where we pit our a-historical dream team against the other guy’s a-historical dream team. Instead let’s look to the book, and believe it. If we can get nothing else right from the Reformation, may we at least hold onto sola scriptura. [comments] |