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Monday, June 27, 2005 posted by R.C. 10:33 PM link |
Do the Walk of Life After thirty years or so of frustration, I finally picked up a new skill. I tried pointer fingers in, to no avail, pinkies in, to no avail, double fingers in, to no avail. I tried the hollow fists method, to no avail. But finally, I developed the ability to create a shrill, swift and invasive whistle. I use it to call my dog, and, perhaps with some level of controversy, I use it to call my children. When it’s time for supper, I use it and they come. When I leave Bible study, that whistle is the message to my children that it is time to go. I walk toward the car, and soon enough the children meet me there, while calling their “goodbyes” over their shoulders to their friends. I admit, I feel a little awkward, sort of like Christopher Plummer in The Sound of Music. On the other hand, I marvel at the grace of God in the lives of my children, that it works. Until yesterday. I was at a picnic with my four biggest. The organizers of the picnic needed the children to gather around for some kind of event. I let my whistle fly, and soon enough all the children were descending from the woods toward the picnic grounds. So far so good. The one that was actually needed found his/her place, and the others sat near me. By the way, that whole “his/her” thing above, and which will continue for a bit, isn’t because the pc bug bit me (I’m still recovering from the y2k bug) but to protect the guilty party here. My rule is if I am speaking well of one of my children, I mention his/her name. If not, then it gets muffled. So one of the children lets me know what happened up in the woods. All the children were playing together, mine and some that are neither a part of my family, nor a part of the church where I serve. The whistle made its way up there, and one of the children rolled his/her eyes and said with clear complaint in his/her voice, “It’s my dad (hear the disgusted tone in the word dad, or else none of this makes any sense) calling us.” Big sigh. “I have to go.” One could argue that we have a tattling issue. I would rather argue that the sibling giving the report understood rather well the point I’m trying to make. The event that had precipitated the call went on as scheduled. As my child made his/her way back to me, both of us witnessed another child sass and flagrantly disobey his/her grandmother. The grandmother, who was nearby and didn’t need to whistle, called the child. The child looked right at her, sneered, and walked away. I took a little walk with my own child. “Child,” I said, “I heard about what you said up in those woods when I called you. I’m not in the least interested in explaining to you why it was good and right that I should call you. The issue is, where is your loyalty? When I bring you to events like this, where you have the freedom to play with your peers, you need to understand where your loyalty is. Is it to your father, or to a bunch of foolish x year olds? You heard how that child spoke to his/her grandmother. You need to understand that that is the way of death. It is,” and here I began to choke up,” because I love you that I want you to walk the way of life. I am for you, and I need you to be with me.” I read this morning an interesting discussion on mean-spirited patriarchs (they’re not that hard to find) (that is, the discussions. I believe mean-spirited patriarchs actually are hard to find) and age segregation. Though the only “movement” we in our house are a part of is the movement of the forces of our Lord, we believe a man is the head of his home, and that age segregation creates real dangers. I have met countless parents who are in anguish because they homeschooled, they dressed modestly, they read the right magazines, and they lost their children. The first question out of my mouth is always, “Were they involved in a youth culture?” And they always were. There is danger on both sides. A pathological fear that if you send your child to get a pop out of the machine in the lobby, that such might mean they might ride an elevator with a peer is just a little over the top. On the other hand, the notion that everything is just ducky because our teens are hanging out with teens of parents just like us is just a little head-in-the-sand. A seething child that is always at your side has already left you. And a child that cheerfully tips his or her hat at your values on the way out the door has already left you, even if they have a nice, respectable haircut. What you want is both proximity without apron strings, and a loyalty that runs through you to the King. This is how you grow men and women who will become brothers in arms. Otherwise you’re just whistling in the dark. [comments] |
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posted by HSC Webmaster 10:12 PM link |
Readers respond to R.C.’s “Land of the Lots” squib: Dear RC, Amen!!!! My husband had a similar issue with our local Roman school. He actually called the business that was sponsoring them, by allowing them to use their parking lot. He told them that they were putting these young girls at risk for pradators. He then went and talked to the teacher about prostituting minors. Then he called the school and shared his thoughts on the issue. The next step is writing a letter to the editor. There comes a point when we must look like a crazy prophet...calling sin, sin. Mrs. Koller Mr. Sproul: Before you extoll, en masse, the virtues of Rogers and Hammerstein musicals, you may want to watch "South Pacific." Plenty of comely, half-clad females in that one and lusty songs, like "There Ain't Nothing Like a Dame." And, "Oklahoma" is pretty cheesy if you think courtship is a better alternative to dating. Bring on the crank pot prophets. Leave the pub ed boosterism to the amateurs. Sincerely, Izzy Lyman I was so thankful that you posted about this topic. I live in Edmond, Oklahoma. This summer I have seen these car washes frequently. The girls that stand on the corners holding the poster boards to advertise are scantily clad. It has really bothered me and I say something about it to my husband everytime we drive by them. I think that it really does reflect poorly on our community. It is like we are saying that Edmond, or America, is a great place to live, however as a city or as a nation, we feel it is quite alright to flaunt our young girls' flesh on the street corners under the excuse that they are doing car washes. I can't make sense out of it no matter how I try. And whenever we drive by them, I think about it and I know that they dress this way for the pools too. I realize that the parents don't see any problem with it. In the name of summer activities, they are allowing their daughters to go around with barely anything on and thinking that no harm will come from it. It is sad that they are so blind. Just because it is hot doesn't mean that girls clothing need not cover their bodies so that their is nothing left to the imagination. And those parents who don't have a problem with a "bikini" wash really do not have a clue at all, do they? And you are right, even the liberals don't put up a fight about it. But if you dared to compare it to prostitution they would really get uspset and be completely in denial! But, when I see a female standing on a street corner with not very much clothing on it, prostitution is the very FIRST thing that it reminds me of! Rebecca Ball RC, Here's one even better: Yesterday morning as my family was traveling to church, we passed several people - kids and adults - waving signs announcing a car wash being put on by a local community church. The signs told us these people were trying to raise money for their Christian school's playground ("Help us build our new playground!"). It's one thing when the world acts like the world as in the bikini car wash for the local high school in your area; why are we surprised or shocked? It's another thing entirely when the church acts like the world. And they were still there dancing and waving their signs as we drove past them on our way home. . . Carry on, D & L Seifert |
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Thursday, June 23, 2005 posted by R.C. 8:19 PM link |
Land of the Lots When you have six small children and a wife recovering from surgery (she is doing very well, thank you), the importance of multitasking can’t be exaggerated. It was time for my son to have baseball practice, an event that happens rather often, twenty miles of winding country road away. But the field is close to town, so I planned a stop to get gas, to drop off a video, to pick up a few things at Lowe’s. Oh, and my truck needed to be washed. As I drove down Lee Highway I noticed a forlorn looking teenage girl standing on the side of the road. She held a sign advertising “free” car washes. I would have stopped, but this was a fundraiser for a United Methodist Twice the Child of Hell Missions Trip, something I wasn’t eager to support. As I got closer to town, however, I discovered that the relative lack of business with the Methodists wasn’t because of careful theological discernment in the Bristol community, but because of unfair competition. Just a few miles down the road I had the opportunity to get my car washed for $5 by the Virginia High School cheerleaders. If that wasn’t inducement enough, their signs told me that this was a “Bikini Car Wash.” Now I know that I have already complained in recent weeks that even rural Virginia isn’t immune from sexual insanity. I know that complaining about Caesar’s School System is a regular diet of mine. But have these people completely lost their minds? Parents, who are supposed to protect their daughters, and administrators who at least are supposed to be liberal, and therefore have their knickers in a twist about the objectification of women, must have approved this little fundraiser. “Come ogle our jail-bait, so we can raise some money.” What’s next, lap dances to raise cash for the marching band? Coupon books offering discounts on child pornography? Starring Miss Grundy’s Fifth Graders? I want to be a good neighbor, to minister to our local community. While I wish Virginia High would close down tomorrow, as long as it is open, I’d love to see them win state championships, and put on lovely Rogers and Hammerstein plays. Believe it or not I don’t yearn to be known throughout the county as a crank pot prophet. And so my outrage has been tempered by a deeper sadness. They really don’t get it. They are blind. They are dead. They hate Him, and therefore love death. May God have mercy on their souls. [comments] |
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Wednesday, June 15, 2005 posted by R.C. 10:20 PM link |
The Ethics of Ethics Here I was, pouring my heart out at a homeschooling convention. I delight to have the opportunity to speak to these good folks, and to encourage them to get better, to sweep away all the garbage left in their brains from their own government education. I plead with them to follow this path not because it is a faster route to personal peace and affluence, but because this is how we and our children come to know God better, and we know that to know God is life. I speak with passion, because this is a passion of mine. I walk off the stage utterly exhausted. People are still clapping, and some slap me on the back as I head out of the auditorium. Many try to catch my eye, and one succeeds. “R.C.” he says, “I really appreciate what you had to say.” “Thank you,” I said, “I like it that I get to say it.” “Have you even thought,” he goes on to ask, “about talking about pragmatism versus principle?” Now I’ve done this enough times that I generally know what to expect, but I didn’t know where that came from. I thought for a second, smiled, and replied, “I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve been doing this whole time.” There is a danger with the hooks we use. I’m sure this fine gentleman either read or gave a lecture built along this fine distinction, or wrote or read a book in the same manner. But the hook was so compelling to him that he forgot what it was supposed to lead him towards. Talk all day about the difference between doing the right thing and manipulating circumstances to get what you want, and he would grumble that you weren’t talking about these two p’s in different pods, principle and pragmatism. I say all this, however, not to grumble at this fine man, but to please him. Pragmatism is a school of thought in the study of ethics. Deontological ethics is another school of thought, roughly translated as “Do the right thing because it is the right thing.” Trouble is, when we study ethics as ethics, we have already stepped away from doing the right thing. While we believe in objective right and wrong, we don’t want to objectify our choices, turn them into something we study. In other words, doing the right thing is good, deontological ethics is merely good in two dimensions. Of course pragmatism is bad in two or three dimensions, the former if we’re merely talking about it, the latter if we are practicing it. I think, however, it is more prevalent backward than forward. It takes on life in the past, but stays abstract in the future. What would you do if you were in a lifeboat, and had food for ten, but had twelve people in the boat? This can be answered in a pragmatic way, wherein you weight the relative gifts of the twelve people, and toss the old man and the pastor overboard because they won’t do you any good. Such a response is telling, but precious few of us will ever find us in that circumstance. What is far more common is the implicit, immediate and insidious temptation to pragmatism when looking at our past. That is, when trying to find the right and the wrong, most of us start with this presupposition, “If I am doing it, or have done it, it can’t be wrong.” When I wrongly suggested a month or so ago that women might should steer clear of blogging about theology, I found some very good arguments against my position. Enough so that I changed my position, and apologized for my previous error. Many of them, however, amounted to this, “Well, if he’s right, then I’ve been doing wrong lo these many years.” And there the argument stopped. When it comes to homeschooling, it is a toss-up which group is more vehemently opposed, members of the teachers’ union or grandparents. Grandparents often find their pragmatisms at war here. They want their grandchildren to be pleasant and well-behaved. Most homeschooled children are. But, grandparents don’t want to face the fact that they sent their children off to godless state schools, because that would mean they did wrong. The real argument behind the grandparents’ arguments isn’t qualifications and socialization, but “Are you saying I did wrong?” There are any number of ways to get at the ontology of Christians. Jesus said they would know we are His by our love one for another. Certainly we ought to be set apart by our compassion, by our zeal for the lost. But we begin to become what we are when we repent and believe. Repentance is the entrance to what we are, and should be a mark of what we continue to be. We are the people who, if we know anything, know that we do wrong. So let us concede that we have succumbed to the temptation of constructing an ethical system whereby we have this virtual analytical certainty—if we did it, or are doing it, it can’t be wrong.” Then let us turn from our sin, and embrace goodness, because it is good. [comments] |
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Saturday, June 11, 2005 posted by R.C. 9:06 AM link |
Perversion on Parade You know I’ve been around. I didn’t grow up in Ligonier, the village of the happy people, and then move off to southwest Virginia, the region of the happy people. I spent many long years in plenty unpleasant places, among lots of folks who didn’t see things quite the way I did. In the middle 1980’s I spent a fair amount of time in San Francisco. Not “the Bay area,” but in San Francisco. I even rode the cable cars to work. I was an odd duck out of water there. People thought I dressed funny. Me, of all people. I knew I didn’t fit in. But I never knew it more than that Saturday evening in the Castro district. I was in that part of town to see a movie, but stopped by the local Walgreens. I was standing in line when the dress in front of me caught my eye. It was faux leopard skin, cut like caveman wear, you know, with only one shoulder strap, and a diagonal cut on the hem line and cut rather short on the thighs. Of course, any dress would seem short in the thighs on someone who stood about six and a half feet tall. There are only a few women in all the world that are that tall, and this person wasn’t one of them. He was a tall, muscular man, in a leopard skin dress. No one else seemed to notice. This morning my son and I headed into Bristol to get haircuts. While we waited we picked up a few groceries. (I won’t tell you where in Bristol you can get haircuts and groceries, but I bet you could guess.) As I pushed my buggy down the big center aisle, coming toward me was a man pushing his buggy up the center aisle, while wearing a push-up bra. Well, truth be told, I don’t know what kind of bra, if any, he was wearing. But he was in a dress, and hose and heels, and a wig. This time it bothered me, so much so I almost became a theonomist on the spot. No, I wasn’t eager to kill him, but I wished for a moment to have the power of the sword such that I could have marched him out of town, and made him go somewhere else. Thankfully, I quickly reverted to my more libertarian self, stopped fuming, and started musing. The world, though it will not call such by its proper name, is constantly bickering over what causes such perversion. Is it nature, or is it nurture? The Christian right has cast its lot with the nurture crowd, because the nature crowd uses its understanding of origins as an excuse for the perversion. I can’t help it, I was made this way. We, rightly rejecting Watson and Crick’s genetic determinism hop into bed with Skinner and his environmental determinism, perhaps because we think we’re better adept at changing environments than genetic codes, so far. We forget that we who are Christians have already been given the answer. What causes perversion? Worshipping the creature rather than the creator, refusing to acknowledge God, and, in the same text, a lack of gratitude. See Romans 1. They do this, however, falling into these extremes, because we do this in polite and refined ways. We worship all manner of creatures, the demi-gods that drive our days. We refuse, in turn to acknowledge God, fools enough to think we earned what we have. Were it not so, pride would have no place in us. More than all of these, however, we lack gratitude. This man, proximately walked amid the staggering array of stuff, because he wasn’t grateful to the God who made all the stuff, and would rather worship the stuff. This man, pen-ultimately walked amid the staggering array of stuff, however, because we aren’t grateful to the God who made all the stuff, and worship the stuff instead. And this man, ultimately walked amid the staggering array of stuff, for God’s glory and our good, perhaps that I might learn that he was me, minus the grace of God. [comments] |
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Monday, June 06, 2005 posted by R.C. 9:50 PM link |
Reading Glasses On my bed stand sits a book I have taken up a time or two, but haven’t made much progress through. It is still yet too early to tell if the third time is a charm. The book is volume two of An Outline of World History, by H.G. Wells. Wells and George Bernard Shaw played the black hatted tag team in a delightful intellectual wrestling match with Hilaire Belloc and G.K. Chesterton a hundred years ago. This particular volume, presumably, is the left’s version of The Everlasting Man, Chesterton’s outstanding exposition of the Lord of Space and Time, from the perspective of space and time. With Wells we get none of the magic that flows from Chesterton’s pen, and a decidedly dark view of history. It is not the triumph of the second Adam, the Groom securing and cleansing His bride. Instead it is nasty, brutish, and short in narrative form. King of the Hill becomes an all too deadly game as assorted pretenders to the throne not only risk their own necks, but send hundreds of thousands of the lower classes to die. I am appalled, which makes me wonder why I should be appalled when the same things happen in our own day. We can look at history in one of three ways. We can, if we are given to nostalgia as I am, think that the olden days were the golden days, that the Middle Ages looked rather like Middle Earth, and that the Pax Romana was really peaceful. On the other hand, if we have an optimistic eschatology like I do, we can look at the past as one long Dark Ages. Here we look forward to another American Century, and look backward in horror. No showers, no trial by jury, no United Nations. Can anything good come out of that? On the third hand, if we are given to cynicism, or perhaps merely amillenial, both of which I pray I’ll never be, we can look at history and conclude that the more things change, the more they stay the same. We had tyrants then, we have tyrants now, and we’ll keep on having tyrants until the end. It is a good thing to look to the future with hope, just as it is a good thing to look to the past with thanksgiving. It is likewise a good thing to throw off our rose colored glasses wherever we look. We should not be surprised by the evil of evil, wherever it turns up. We do not balance naivete with cynicism. The trouble with naiveté is that it is dishonest, foolish and romantic. The trouble with cynicism, however, runs deeper. The problem with the cynic isn’t that he looks at the world through ebony colored glasses. He sees the world as it is. The evil of the cynic is that he just doesn’t care. He cannot give thanks, nor have hope, not because he sees no reason for such, but because his heart has grown cold. And he cannot, in turn, weep or repent, not because he sees no reason for such, but because his heart has grown cold. Evil should be expected, but never, because it is expected, accepted. When we see it, wherever we see it, shock is inappropriate. Outrage, however, is always in style. Jesus is not coming back soon. He still has too much to do, too many enemies to break into footstools. But He is at work, and He will come back. May we have hearts grateful enough to always see Him at work and brave enough to always be used by Him. [comments] |
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Wednesday, June 01, 2005 posted by R.C. 9:40 PM link |
Stupid Is as Stupid Does My dear wife and I are back a few days from a delightful week’s vacation. When she was diagnosed with cancer a year and a half ago I told her that when she got well, I would take her wherever she wanted to go. She, graciously, not only got well, but chose where I wanted to go. We took a cruise to Alaska. It was a wonderful time, so much so that I actually lost sleep near the end worrying about the hard truth that it would be a long time until I could come back. If you’ve never been on a cruise ship you may not know that they are marvels. This particular ship carries with it more than ten times as many people as reside in my hometown of Mendota, Virginia. Food, of course, is the main event. The fancy dining room where we ate was on the fifth floor. Our cabin was on the tenth floor. But every ship I have been on has a big, buffet style restaurant, a casual one that is open virtually twenty-four hours a day. It was on the fourteenth floor. One of the strategies for fighting the bulge on a cruise ship is to make a habit of using the stairs. It was five flights down, from ten to five, for the fancy restaurant, and three flights up to the less fancy place. Did I say three? How can it be three floors from the tenth floor to the fourteenth? Because this cruise ship, like many hotels and office buildings, has a particular market. They focus on stupid and foolish moderns. We are foolish because we worry about being on the thirteenth floor. We live in a culture that is so superstitious that businesses must lie to their clients about where they are. How weird is that? But we are stupid because somehow we think that naming the thirteenth floor the fourteenth floor will make everything all right. What do these people think, that the bad luck fairy shows up on board, looks over the floor plan, fails to locate the thirteenth floor, gets frustrated and goes home? Of course, it obviously doesn’t take much to pull the wool over the eyes of folks who might object to being on the thirteenth floor. I have been promoting of late what I pray will be a lasting contribution of mine to the field of biblical interpretation. I call it, with all due humility, the R.C. Sproul Jr. Principle of Hermeneutics. It goes like this- whenever you see someone in the Bible doing something really, really stupid, don’t ask yourself, “How can this person be this stupid?” but ask yourself, “How am I as stupid as this person?” Now you can see why I named the principle after me. The same principle applies, however, to our current lives. We may not have a hang-up about thirteen, and we may know that the floor above the twelfth floor is the thirteenth floor, no matter what the elevator says, but we too have our own stupidities. Like Adam before us, who had the brilliant idea of “hiding” from the all-knowing, omnipresent Lord of all things, we think that if no human sees our sins, that God won’t see them. Just like we think calling the thirteenth floor the fourteenth floor will make it so, we think calling our sins weaknesses, or mistakes or worse, virtues, will make them so. Rather than resting in the joy that we are justified despite our sins, we determine that it would be better to justify our sins. We’re satisfied, and fools enough to think God will be too. How do I know all this? Because my momma did raise a stupid son. [comments] |