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Tuesday, March 30, 2004 posted by R.C. 12:31 PM link |
La Cost of La Clothes Everyone, I presume, is well aware of the fashion crimes of the 1970’s. If you were too young to live through them the first time, we are living through them again. (That, of course, truly puzzles me. Fool me once… after all.) What is less well known, at least for now, is the less flamboyant, but still atrocious fashion crimes of the 1980’s. Those 70’s silk shirts that performed perpetual stress tests on their buttons were bad enough. In the 80’s we went ahead and started the shirt out as if it had already seen its better days, collars stretched so wide as to droop over one shoulder (that flash dance thing) blue jeans having swum in an acid bath, and polos that looked like they had spent the summer in the washer, rather than in the Hamptons. Then there were the shoes. It was the biggest of times, and the smallest of times. We who were young men wore high tops whose tops reached almost to our knees. But they were wider than they were tall, worn with the laces all loosey, and with our pegged jeans tucked inside. The ladies, on the other hand, wore these demure hightops, these LA Gear or Reebok things that looked more like poofy calf-skin socks than tennis shoes. The worst fashion crimes of the 1980’s however, were the attempts to look respectable. There has always been a counter-fashion trend (of which, not coincidentally, your contrarian writer has long been a part) that was anti-fashion. The ivy-league, New England, classic, preppy approach to clothing paid no attention to shifting fads. I wore boat shoes before boat shoes were cool. And I will never, no matter how ubiquitous they might one day become, wear a double-breasted blazer. Three button hopsack for me, from here to kingdom come. No, we weren’t cool. We were too cool for that. And then came the great crime—they took our anti-fashion, our unchanging standard that transcended the vicissitudes of taste, and made it the latest fashion, the now look, the imminence front. There were good parts to this travesty. For a brief and shining moment, you could find clothes you weren’t ashamed of at the mall. You didn’t have to shop by mail. People understood, if only for a time, Kelly green whales bedecking blue wide-waled cords. Suddenly, everyone was dressing like me. Which is, of course, the horror—everyone was dressing like me. I have kept the faith. It was only two years ago, when someone asked me why I wore my polo collars up that I finally put them down. As I write, my shirt is Brooks Brothers, my sweater Eddie Bauer, my pants Lands End and my shoes LL Bean. All my clothes have sprung, de novo, from the catalogs beside my toilet. I have outlasted my father, who taught me to dress this way but now proudly wears Hermes ties. It’s enough to put my rep tie in a knot. If the 80s follow the seventies in fashion as they did in time, get ready for plenty of traditional colors. Burgundy, navy and hunter green will rule the day. But trying to make them march to the beat of the fashion drummer won’t work. Good times and bad, high tide and low, I, with however few of my friends, will still dress the same, even if the brothers Brooks betray us. [comments] |
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Friday, March 26, 2004 posted by R.C. 9:47 AM link |
Innies and Outties, or, We Are the World I want to change the world. And that’s a good thing. Or at least it should be a good thing. Is my motivation a desire to see the glory of Christ manifest, or to see my name up in lights? Would I be content were someone else to change the world or does it have to be me? And am I being honest with myself when I give the answer that leaves me off the hook? Maybe, before I start thinking about changing the world, I need to change myself. There is in church history the great battle between the innies and outties. The innies are the pietists, who seem to believe that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, and it is folly to try to stop it. Better to worry about me and my small life. The outties are the social gospellers, whether of the liberation or libertarian variety, whether carpetbagger reconstructionists or cranky reconstructionists, whether fat-tied Moral Majority types or those oh-so-sophisticated-and-relevant tipplers of fine cognac. It is no innie-sight to recognize that the answer is both/and. We’re supposed to manifest the reign of Christ over all things. That means our governments must kiss the Son, lest He become angry. That means that if we are to have movies, they all ought to manifest the passion of Christ, even if they’re about some seventies cop show. But just as the dreamy-eyed Jesus freaks used to sing “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me,” isn’t it just possible that the way to change the world is to change the church, and the way to change the church is to change our families, and the way to change our families is to change ourselves? And here is the test to see if our hearts are in the right place. Do we want to change our hearts so we can change the world—or do we want to change them because we are the world? Seek first the kingdom of God, not because that would help with the important stuff, but because it is the important stuff. To put it another way, only when we seek the cross will we find the glory…which is the cross. [comments] |
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Monday, March 22, 2004 posted by R.C. 9:40 AM link |
Confessions of the World’s Worst Agrarian My agrarian credentials won’t be helped in that I not only write for the internet, but note in said writing what I have read on the internet. In one place I was honored to be called a “crunchy conservative” which means presumably that among all conservatives, I’m in the crowd most likely to eat granola. I do eat granola, by the way, that my dear wife makes herself. In another corner of the internet I was mocked for being a part of what was both laughably and laughingly called the “Reformed agrarian movement.” Again, what was meant as mockery I’ll take as praise. But I deserve precious little praise. Last night when I went to bed, I knew what lay ahead of me today. I had gardens to weed, and mulch to spread. What I dreamt about was playing golf. What I daydreamed about while doing the work, was a rainstorm, so I could get in my office, and write something. I know how to write. Some people say I do it rather well. (But then again, some people think I edit Tabletalk.) Weeding and mulching, however, are not my strengths. On the whole, I’d have rather been in Philadelphia. Though he is no farmer, he is a wise man who told us that you can’t always get what you want. Which is a good thing. Were it not for the consequences, I would probably only eat French fries, chili dogs and ice cream. Not even the late Dr. Atkins would approve that. But I eat things I don’t much care for, because they are good for me. Working outside, with my hands isn’t fun, or flashy. But it is humbling, and healthy. The work now behind me, I can drink deep of the benefits. I can enjoy the weariness, because I earned it honestly. I can enjoy the flowers and the veggies, because I have been a part of them. Better still we have this geometric blessing, that the work sanctified me, it sanctified my son (and will, God willing, bear fruit in the lives of my grandchildren). And, most precious of all, it allowed me a day with my son. Agrarians aren’t masochists, finding pleasure in pain. They aren’t strange, because they enjoy weeding more than golfing (though one could certainly argue that it is those who are golfing that are both masochists and strange; there’s a reason someone called golf, “a good walk ruined.”) They’re just people who know what’s good for them. Would that there were more of them. [comments] |
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Tuesday, March 16, 2004 posted by R.C. 10:48 AM link |
Le’go My Ego Ligonier’s big annual conference in Orlando tends to be bad for my ego, in the same way that a Dairy Queen Blizzard is bad for my waistline. Thousands of people gather together, and many of them take the time to thank me for my work. I have in the past, in fact, described my job description at these events as “Sitting around listening to people say nice things about Tabletalk.” Which is why I was so curious about how things would go this year, my first time at a Ligonier conference in over ten years where I didn’t show up as the editor of Tabletalk. Would people ignore me? Would they thank me for my prior service? Would they even recognize me, after three months of not seeing my smiling face on page 2? The good news is that my ego was deflated. The bad news is that it wasn’t because of any of the above. Rather, people did recognize me, they didn’t ignore me, and they didn’t thank me for my prior service. Instead they said, the same as every year, “Hey, Jr. Love Tabletalk! Keep up the great work.” Before I could sheepishly explain my changed circumstances, two other people chimed in with the same encouragement. I spent the rest of the weekend just smiling, and thanking people for their kind thoughts. It is a disorienting thing to be appreciated for what you are not doing. Once you get your bearings straight you realize not only that you aren’t being appreciated, but that you probably never were. I should have, all those years, translated, “Hey, Jr., Love Tabletalk!” as “Hey, Jr. Love your dad, but won’t get close enough to tell him.” Which is a good thing for my ego, in the same way that a glass full of carrot juice is good for my waistline. Better still for my ego, we have our conference here three weeks after Ligonier’s conference. We are excited, hopeful, expectant. But ours will be a scale model of the Ligonier conference, roughly in the proportion of a HotWheels car to a real car… from the early 70’s, roughly in the proportion of my gifts to my father’s gifts. But here is the good news. My father’s prodigious gifts and my paltry gifts all serve the same giver, who wants us to die to self that we might serve Him. My father and I are in a race, not with each other, but to win that prize that has been promised to all who, by the grace of God, run. May I be weighed down less and less by ego. [comments] |
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Monday, March 08, 2004 posted by R.C. 3:09 PM link |
Six Degrees of Condemnation I’m sure there are those out there who are so alarmed about the “growth” of “Auburn Avenue “Theology””, that they won’t be attending Ligonier’s big conference in a few days. It wouldn’t surprise me either if there were those out there who are so alarmed about the unfair “attacks” on “Auburn Avenue “Theology””, that they won’t be at the conference either. Such is the fruit of our pharisaical fence building. That is, we are not content to cut off from our thinking, or our associations, the actual teaching of the doctrines with which we disagree. We are not content to cut off from our thinking the teachings we actually agree with, from those who teach that with which we disagree. No, we go even further. We won’t have anything to do with those who would have anything to do with those with whom we disagree. Let’s begin with how mean Ligonier is to “Auburn Avenue “Theology.”” Doug Wilson no longer writes his column for Tabletalk, a sure sign of Auburn Avenue bashing. Joseph Morecraft has written for Tabletalk, as has Joey Pipa, Morton Smith, Carl Robbins, and of course it was edited by the mean old R.C. Sproul Jr., who spoke against the “theology” right in Auburn Avenue itself. R.C. Jr. will also be part of the warm-up band at this conference, this despite his being a friend to that mean-spirited, histrionic Robert Barnes. Ligon Duncan has written extensively against the New Perspective on Paul, and he will be speaking at the conference. Robert Godrey will be speaking at the conference, and he is president of Westminster West, which challenged Steve Schlissel even before Auburn Avenue. On the other hand, one should boycott the Ligonier conference because Ligonier publishes Tabletalk. Tabletalk for several years ran a column by Doug Wilson. They also published articles by Steve Wilkins and Steve Schlissel. Further still, Tabletalk was edited by R.C. Sproul Jr. for over a decade. R.C. Jr. was known to consort with known Auburn Avenue-ites, and believes in paedocommunion. Add to that the recent controversy over the infamous February 18 study from Tabletalk, that argued that apostasy actually happens, and you can see that Ligonier is receiving secret instructions from the Pope Himself. But it gets even worse. Tabletalk once ran an article by the infamous John Robbins. John once spoke at a conference with the aforementioned R.C. Sproul Jr. And if that’s not enough, the conference was held at Bridwell Heights PCA church, pastured by Larry Ball, a known occasional contributor to The Chalecedon Report, once edited by, you guessed it, the grand poobah of “Reformed” ecumenists, Andrew Sandlin. Don’t forget either, Sinclair Ferguson once lived on the same island as N.T. Wright. To make it more clear: 1. John Robbins spoke at Larry Ball’s church. 2. Larry Ball wrote articles for Andrew Sandlin. 3. Andrew Sandlin published articles by David Bahnsen. 4. David Bahnsen voted for Arnold Schwartzenegger, who was in a Batman movie. 5. Jack Nicholson was in a Batman movie. 6. Jack Nicholson was in A Few Good Men, with ... Kevin Bacon. So, I suppose I won’t see you at Ligonier after all. I’ll be there though, with all my friends, guilty on both counts. [comments] |
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Tuesday, March 02, 2004 posted by R.C. 2:34 PM link |
“You’ll Laugh; You’ll Cry; You’ll Never Be the Same” It was the most powerful experience of my life. I felt from the center of my being the reality, the horror of my own sin. Mine, mine was the transgression, but His the deadly pain. That too was brought forth in sharp relief, the agony of the Christ on my behalf. His body broken, His blood shed. I saw it right there in front of me, so real, I could taste it. And there with me, I knew, others felt the same. But there was joy too. As my body shook, as the tears flowed, as certain as the ugliness of my sin, the horror of His suffering, there was the joy of His forgiveness, and the giddy dread of His presence. I didn’t want it to end. My only comfort is that I can do it all again. Next Lord’s Day: The Table of the Christ. [comments] |
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Monday, March 01, 2004 posted by R.C. 4:22 PM link |
Love's Labors Found It has been my peculiar privilege to know some of the theological giants of our time. In recent months God called home Carl Henry and S. Lewis Johnson, both men He had used in a powerful ways. It is good to honor such heroes of the faith. But it is likewise wise to honor those who are less well known. As I write I am on my way home from a funeral, the funeral of a giant of a man few have ever heard of. Bob Love was well known in his hometown of Wichita. He was known as a hard working entrepreneur who grew Love Box Company with the diligence of a faithful farmer. He was known as an ideological purist, as he promoted the blessings of liberty at every opportunity. He was known as the founder of Wichita Collegiate School, my alma mater. To illustrate the connection of these last two, I need to tell a story. When Mr. Love started this school over forty years ago, he hired builders to put up a building in the prairie on the edge of town. He hired a headmaster, and a faculty. He invited students. He did not consult, nor seek the approval of the state. He just hung out his shingle. When some incredulous education bureaucrat came looking for the school’s “papers,” he was politely informed that the school had none. The bureaucrat, faced with the horror of a box on a form left unfilled, objected. So Mr. Love cut him a deal. “You go and find the brightest class you can in the entire state of Kansas. Wherever they are, we’ll bring our corresponding class. Give us a matching test, and if your students beat ours, we’ll fill out your forms.” The bureaucrat scurried away, never to be heard from again. As a teenager, Mr. Love was larger than life to me. He was the first business owner I had ever met. He was the first ideologue I’d ever met, who taught me to love liberty and despise the state. He was an icon at my school. But to demonstrate what made him a great man, I need to tell one more story. I have this one memory that has stuck with me through the decades. Mr. and Mrs. Love used to pick me up each Lord’s Day to take me to church. (And to brunch afterwards. I haven’t lost the culinary memories either.) I remember sitting in the back seat of the car as Mr. Love walked toward the church building. And that’s what I noticed then, and what I remember now. It was the way he walked. He clutched his Bible in both hands, right in front of his heart. His broad shoulders caved slightly inward. And his feet shuffled. This mighty man of valor, walked timidly. What made him great was that he knew he was small. He, who had all manner of reason to boast, walked humbly with his God. What gave him the power and the freedom to stand up to the state, to turn trees into corrugated paper (I learned to never, ever say cardboard. That was something completely different) boxes, what gave him to strength to lead his fierce warrior of a wife, was simply this—he feared God. May we, by His grace, learn this first lesson in wisdom. [comments] |