He is SO Wrong! [100WW]

What do you do with ideas that smack your face as wrong, non-sensical, even (perish the word) idiotic? Something brings them to mind, and derision rises for the too “manyith” time.

It is like an addictive drug to find fault, see the wrong, ridicule the failing.

We all know our own failings, though inadequately. Perhaps, pained by our own frailty, we take the attention off ourselves by targeting others.

As always, Jesus knows. Give attention to your own failings, so close as to be in your eye. Then, when you can see clearly, you may be able to help another.

Friend Barack [10'TU]

I have a friend who was raised Quaker, much like Richard Nixon and the linguist John McQuorter, for two well-knowns that come to mind. The great Whittaker Chambers became Quaker and of course there are many others of note, including the Philosopher and Author, Elton Trueblood and perhaps the most famous of all, George Fox.

I once asked my friend what a Quaker person would say if the President, then Barack Obama, were to enter their meeting or otherwise encounter them. How would a Quaker address the President?

A Quaker would say (presuming he knew who he was), “Hello, friend Barack. Welcome.”

“Friend Barack.” Is this disrespectful? I am sure there are good reasons for the habit, perhaps not least the de-emphasis on individuality for which the Amish are well-known. I think with this custom the Quakers say all people are friends, fellow-travelers, neighbors in the sense of the great good Samaritan story. All have value and as such deserve the most basic and large human kindness when greeted.

“Hello friend.”

It should go without saying, but I will say it: this does not mean close friendship. How could it? It merely means the person is regarded as a fellow human being.

I take from this we can do better than “Crooked Joe Biden” or “Sleepy Joe,” “Crooked Hillary” or “Lyin' Kamala.” “Idiot Trump” or “War-Monger Bush” would be in the same category, though admittedly I can't think of catchy hateful monikers, though I know they are and were both hated.

If I had ever greeted the late Pol Pot could I say “friend Pol?” I do not know. But I am not sure the derisive names are better. Best, by grace of God, to give that grace to one another in every way possible, for as the Christian folks say, “All ground is level at the foot of the cross.”

Now to be a friend.

*FWIW, I am no fan of President Obama but think we should try to give respect to the office if not the person. And even then, we are all human, even the worst among us, whoever they may be. If I ever met him in a casual setting I hope I would have the spirit reflected in the expression, "Friend Barack."

His Mercy Endures Forever

O give thanks unto the LORD; for He is good: 

for His mercy endures forever. (Psalm 136:1)

Worship is the highest expression of life. Rational analysis, casual stories, "thin worn images" of the King all have their place. Flourishing work and exuberant play join in alike, with daily humdrum and rainy respites on the porch or in the woods. There is no way of living that does not fall, unavoidably, into worship. And there, in that awe-full place, dross is consumed and what remains is refined.

What is worship? To be "in spirit and in truth" Jesus told the woman at the well. A sincere awareness, though slim, of surrender to that which is both Maker and King; that from which we cannot run but would if we could; that which draws us helplessly though we feel a fear like thunder.

If it is this, it is far more. Worship sees infinite worth and falls face down. Worship dares to imagine infinite beauty and goodness and knows (barely) it has nothing to give or add. Worship responds with wild hope that self will be received by this goodness that surpasses all.

"His mercy endures forever."

I have no cute words, The best we have is kitsch before the Almighty.

"His mercy endures forever." 

I dare to believe this is true of Him: that He is good. Though He could snuff me and be done with me, instead He sees me and cares.

"His mercy endures forever."

There is no better ground for Thanksgiving.

Someday all things will be New

 When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream. (Ps. 126:1)

"God did it," we say; no other way to make sense of the gift.

Long waiting, dismay; Joy comes to stay for the tragedy missed.

All dreamers dream and know not why; reason is not sole purview.

They go beyond, with hopeful sigh; waiting is always a clue.

Of things to come, above the sky; metaphor mixing with true.

And we must join, this key to life; someday all things will be New.

Some Baseball Talk

A foray into my love for baseball, and an attempt to see what this amazing game means.

“You could throw a grand piano at home plate and he would find a way to put it into play.” So said the announcer as I watched the highlights of the Kansas City Royals the other night. He spoke of one Bobby Witt, Jr., who leads the MLB with a batting average of .344.

This year I have watched highlights from four teams: Reds, Phillies, Dodgers, and of course the Royals. For years I have more or less ignored baseball until the playoffs. And then if the World Series interested me I'd follow somewhat. But, being a Kansas native, I've always loved the Royals.

And because I loved the Royals, I hated the Yankees. I hated the Yankees because, in my memory, they always knocked the Royals out of the playoffs. In matter of fact, they faced each other for the pennant five times from 1976 to 1981. The Royals only won once, after which they lost 4-2 to the Phillies in the World Series. Did I mention I was no fan of the Yankees?

The Royals of my boyhood years, long before the World Series drought from 1986-2014, were a formidable team. Among many notable players they had Freddie Patek, Hal McRae, Willie Wilson, Dan Quisenberry, and Frank White. Gaylord Perry even pitched for them for a season, and there was the famous Manager, Whitey Herzog. And I am not forgetting George Brett and his quest to average .400 for the season in 1980. He finished with .390 and eventually wound up as a first ballot Hall of Famer in 1999.

As I watch baseball more than ever this year, I find myself wondering what it means. I am amazed at those who love it to the tiniest detail of statistical nuance. I marvel at the athletic prowess, the stunning difficulty of hitting, the finesse of pitching. I smile at the the emphatic calls, the occasional ejection, the surprising errors, and common-place fielding excellence.

I laugh when I read about rarest plays (unassisted triple play), follow arguments on arcane rules (Can someone score a homerun without recording a hit?), or make note of unwritten rules of decorum (best to avoid going for the fence if you are 10 points ahead in the 9th). And I thrill to see how games mimic life in ways quite serious and real. There is something deep and whole in games, and it rises to the surface as I watch baseball.

I watch the mix of rules, like doubling off the runner on a caught line drive. They work because everyone agrees on what is required. The game matters, has a purpose, and can be won (or lost.) Only one can win, and the other loses; and you learn to carry on regardless.

This is all true enough. We take it for granted and sport is only possible with it. How does one make a unity of 95 mph pitches from 62 feet, screaming grounders or lofty fly balls, rounded bases, failed steals, running catches, blown calls, and scored runs? It's a daily miracle: which is to say, it's a game.

We know the reality in our bones. That's why we love to watch. Games assume a goal really matters and focus everything on that one purpose. Games assume risk – great risk. They require the whole person, and that pesky but vital annoyance of learning to work well together.

Games assume winning is a good idea. And they insist -- believe it or not -- that playing your very best matters more than winning.

In the end you put the glove away, toss the sweaty cap on the hook, get a shower and go home. When I played Little League I was always looking to the next game and just could not wait. Something way bigger than me drew me in.

Games matter, I say, and they teach us more than we ever know. I am going to keep watching. And as I enjoy the vicarious journey, I will learn again what matters, and revel in the path of going there.

Maddow, Vance, and Abortion

“The object of the open mind, as that of the open mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” (GKC)

I have been on a long journey to attempt even-handedness in all discussion, political or otherwise. This is hard because I am more opinionated than average (I think). And I easily forget, for example, that opinions are to be shared, not imposed through various juvenile rhetorical techniques.

This journey toward openness and even-handedness means I try to avoid the following:

• Intensity of speech – aka yelling – as if that alters truth or lack of it.

• The all-to-common ad hominem – ridiculing the person, name-calling or some such.

• The also ever-present whataboutism where we set aside the question at hand to find inconsistencies in the other person's argument.

• Another ever-present ditch of dismissing an idea because you dislike the one speaking it, rather than considering it on its merits.

• Ridicule or incredulity – reactions that often masquerade as argument but are nothing of the sort.

• Reductionist dismissal as in, “You only think that because you're an atheist.” No they may actually think it to be objectively true.

• Equivocation – fancy word for adjusting the meaning of terms to serve your argument.

• And, among others and closely related to the last, I try to avoid bearing down on an argument when the terms and definitions are not clear or not mutually agreed upon.

This is a tall order, most of us fail in various ways. Often we may find it best to avoid argument all together. Indeed, I am learning to avoid argument, seeking to find clarity and term definition rather than press forward with my pre-assumed point. And I won't say where I got that insight because the one who said it is disliked by many and so they can't hear it, true or not. Ugh!

But perhaps there is an illustration of what I am trying to learn, as well as an additional lesson. I am trying to learn to be clear with what seems true and not simply dismiss it because others disagree. This doesn't mean I do not listen. But it does mean I try to be clear in what I think -- and be willing to say so.

I had this in mind when I heard Rachel Maddow's direct take-down of the GOP Vice Presidential nominee, J. D. Vance. Among other presumed extreme ideas, Vance has been found to say, “I certainly would like abortion to be illegal nationally.” Maddow was not coy about her dismay over such a position.

But I found myself thinking, “OK, with the slightest of nuance in questions of legal application – hardly a minor detail I will grant – I am agreed with Vance. Why? Because I think abortion, in principle, is immoral. I think the argument, “My body my choice” is literally non-rational because it ignores a major piece of data, i.e., it ignores the fact that there is another body (to say nothing of the father).

Further, I believe abortion, in principle, is immoral because it precludes responsibility for a life created. I believe neither father or mother has the right to avoid responsibility for the life they created within the womb. I believe when we allow man and woman to avoid this responsibility we undo one of the most basic of human obligations and sow seeds for the undoing of civilization itself.

Underlying this belief is the crucial but seemingly oft-denied idea that the world really is a certain way and we violate this to our peril. I think abortion fundamentally violates the way the world is designed to be, and is therefore immoral.

Was I even-handed in my effort to discuss the issue? I don't know. It is just what I think to be true. And I have lived long enough to hear opposing views at great length. I have even read some of the better academic efforts to support the right to abortion, but I just can't go there.

I do want to be open. But as Chesterton said, “The object of the open mind, as that of the open mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” That seems right to me, and so I am seeking for that which is solid, for that which corresponds to truth no matter how difficult it may be. I do not say I achieve this flawlessly – who does? But I am trying.

I hope you are, too.

God is Near [100WW]

I love the Lord, because he hath heard my voice and my supplications. (Psalm 116:1)

Here we have cause again, a reason for love. It is not a legal rendering, a quid pro quo. Rather it is simple human rationale: “Why do I love Him? Here's why.”

It evokes a soul pain: “Has He heard? Is He hearing?” And then in first person: “Where are You now?”

In this I reveal need, and enter relational reality. “You have heard. You call forth love. Though I cannot see you, I am confident you are present even now, and working.”

“Alleluia.”

On Birthdays [10'TU]

Today is my birthday and I am grateful for the gift of life. Indeed it seems a grace of God to be thus thankful. The prayer from Maria in Sound of Music comes to mind: "Lord, help us to be truly thankful."

There is little more than the usual 'consciousness streaming' today, or some such. That is, I am not sure what to say on purpose except that which comes to mind regarding this happy day. Life is good and I hope I can say that with genuine gratitude until the day I die. Indeed, I think to lose gratitude for life is almost its own death.

On this birthday I would share a marvelous essay by the great G. K. Chesterton, gifted British journalist who wrote regularly for nearly 40 years. I have pasted it below and it is a musing on the occasion of the 10th birthday of a publication he edited in his later years. A synopsis would be something like this:

When we celebrate our birthdays we touch the soundest sense. When we remember we were born we remember we have not always been. We remember, or should, that we are contingent. A birthday observed teaches us, again, that we did not create ourselves; much less did we create the cosmos. And since we did not (in his words) "create the cosmos that created us" it is essential to sound thinking we consider what it means to 'be created.' 

It means honor your parents. It means consider that which is written-in. It means, again, we are not cause, but caused. We are contingent and should live accordingly.

In the words of the great modern writer, Wendell Berry, born 2 years before GKC died, "All that I am I owe to those who have gone before."

And of course we can add a reminder of how much we owe to those walking this life together with us.

"Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift," the gift of life.

OUR BIRTHDAY (by G. K. Chesterton)

As this is a Birthday Number, I propose to write about birthdays in a futile and irresponsible manner, as befits a festive occasion; and to leave for a later issue some of the serious questions that are raised in this one. I remember that long ago, in one o£ my countless controversies with Mr. Bernard Shaw, I commented on a scornful remark of his that he did not keep his own birthday and would not be bothered with anybody else's; and I argued that this exactly illustrates the one point upon which he is really wrong; and that if he had only kept his birthday, he might have kept many other things along with it. It will be noted that, with the magnificent magnanimity in which he has never failed, especially in dealing with me and my romantic delusions, he has contributed to this special number an article dealing with very vital matters. I hope to answer that article, in greater detail, in due course; here I will only give a very general reply upon the particular aspect which is excellently and exactly represented by Birthdays.

For one happy hour, in talking about Birthdays, I shall not stoop to talk about Birth Control. But when Mr. Shaw asks why I doubt that he and I, not to mention Mr. H. G. Wells and Mr. Bertrand Russell, can form a committee to produce a creed, not to say a cosmos -- my general answer is that the difference begins with the very birth of the conception. A Birthday embodies certain implicit ideas; with some of which he agrees and is right; with others of which he disagrees and is wrong. In some matters the difference between us seems to amount to this: that I very respectfully recognise that he disagrees with me; but he will not even allow me to disagree with him. But there is one fundamental truth in which I have never for a moment disagreed with him. Whatever else he is, he has never been a pessimist; or in spiritual matters a defeatist. He is at least on the side of Life, and in that sense of Birth.

When the Sons of God shout for joy, merely because the creation is in being, Mr. Shaw's splendid Wagnerian shout or bellow will be mingled with my less musical but equally mystical song of praise. I am aware that in the same poem the patriarch Job, under the stress of incidental irritations, actually curses the day he was born; prays that the stars of its twilight be dark and that it be not numbered among the days of the year; but I am sure that G.B.S. will not carry his contempt for birthday celebrations to that length.

The first fact about the celebration of a birthday is that it is a way of affirming defiantly, and even flamboyantly, that it is a good thing to be alive. On that matter, and it is a basic matter, there really is a basis of agreement; and Mr. Shaw and I, giving our performance as morning stars that sing together, will sing in perfect harmony if hardly with equal technique. But there is a second fact about Birthdays, and the birth-song of all creation, a fact which really follows on this; but which, as it seems to me, the other school of thought almost refuses to recognise. The point of that fact is simply that it is a fact. In being glad about my Birthday, I am being glad about something which I did not myself bring about. In being grateful for my birth, I am grateful for something which has already happened; which happened, sad as it may seem to some, quite a long time ago.

Now it seems to me that Mr. Shaw and his school start almost everything in the spirit of people who are saying, “I shall myself select the 17th of October as the date of my birth. I propose to be born at Market Harborough; I have selected for my father a very capable and humane dentist, while my mother will be trained as a high-class headmistress for the tremendous honour and responsibility of her position; before that, I think I shall send her to Girton. The house I have selected to be born in faces a handsome ornamental park, etc., etc." In other words, it seems to me that modern thinkers of this kind have simply no philosophy or poetry or possible attitude at all, towards the things which they receive from the real, world that exists already; from the past; from the parent; from the patriotic tradition or the moral philosophy of mankind. They only talk about making things; as if they could make themselves as well as everything else. They are always talking about making a religion; and cannot get into their heads the very notion of receiving a revelation. They are always talking about making a creed; without seeing that it involves making a cosmos. But even then, we could not possibly make the cosmos that has made us.

Now nobody who knows anything about my little tastes and prejudices will say that I am not in sympathy with the notion of making things. I believe in making thousands of things; making jokes, making pictures, making (as distinct from faking) goods, making books, and even articles (of which, as the reader will sadly perceive, there is no end), making toys, making tools, making farms, making homes, making churches, making sacred images; and, incidentally also, making war on people who would prevent me from doing these things. But the workshop, vast as it is, is only one half of the world. There is a whole problem of the human mind, which is necessarily concerned with the things that it did not make; with the things that it could not make; including itself. And I say it is so with any view of life, which leaves out the whole of that aspect of life; all receptivity, all gratitude, all inheritance, all worship. Unless a philosopher has a philosophy, which can make tolerable and tenable his attitude towards all the actualities that are around him and before him and behind him -- then he has only half a philosophy; blind, though he is the wittiest man in the world, he is in that sense half-witted.

Mr. Bernard Shaw is certainly one of the wittiest men in the world, and about whole huge aspects of life, one of the wisest. But if I am to sit down with him at a committee of evolutionists, to draw up a creed for humanity, I fancy I foresee that this is the line along which I shall eventually come to issue my Minority Report. I shall find myself the representative, and I suspect the only representative of the implications of my Birthday. I do not even mind calling it the pride of birth, which of course has nothing to do with the pride of rank; so long as it involves the humility of birth also.

Politics: What is it?

I wonder at the quantity of political commentary. People think and people talk and for some reason politics is fascinating -- to some. Chesterton is not alone in saying so but he is the first who got my attention when he claimed politics is over-rated. I think he meant it means so much less than our personal character, our work habits, our families.

And yet some say to disparage politics is to exert privilege, meaning, I think, that politics matters a great deal to some because of its direct effect in their life for good or ill. This seems true in measure. That is, some people's path in life is far more vulnerable to political matters than others.

I think I still prefer the principle of keeping things as close as possible to individual responsibility, leaving the government and politics for the most tangential but necessary duties. This is a political opinion, one that says the machinations of politics are necessary but should not be relied upon for good or ill in most of the daily functions of life.

Political machinations, rather, should be in the background. These matters would be military, local and state police, court and justice systems. Those elected to public office would be responsible to the electorate to maintain support in the background: support for freedom and protection from molestation either foreign or domestic.

I disparage more than that in politics because I think it actually hinders the human person. Acts of mercy must be carried out close to home. Involve government if necessary but keep all things close to home. The family should do it first. Barring that, local community, then the state. There can be interplay between the levels.

But politics should not be the aggregate entity upon which we rely. Rather it should always be a respected and necessary role to be carried out by those best for the job and in support of the common good. If it is a matter of privilege to proffer such a notion, then I am privileged. Such a moniker says nothing of the veracity of the claim, however.

I wonder at the vast quantity of political commentary.

Limits

Limits. We have them. We do not like them. The ones that pain us the most often keep us from most cherished activities.

Life would teach us to live with limits.

This does not come easy for some, perhaps for all. I do not know why, but as I think on it I have a clue.

The book of Ecclesiastes has an observation something like this: "God has put eternity in our hearts." There is some question as to translation and precise meaning, but I think the expression as it is stands theological muster. That is, given the Biblical idea of being made in God's image, it follows that we would have eternity in our hearts.

I take this to mean we long for more than we are. We know we are made for more. We know we have a large calling, a "reach that exceeds our grasp." We know in our bones we are made for heaven, and we know this ol' world ain't it.

We are faced with limits that grind and grate and would make us doubt and dismiss the eternity in our hearts.

Christ came to restore. If it can be done, only he can. He succumbed to that greatest of all limits -- death -- and in doing so, conquered it once and for all.

I don't like limits. I want to do everything, live forever, be what I dream to be, overcome all things that hinder.

In Christ I am becoming; and someday, I will be.

Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift.

The Greatest is Love

About a thousand things a word and words can say. And one could even delve into a form of verse if one should wish. And when one must send a word or two that strings together into sense so one can meet a quota self-imposed from week to week and month to month -- well, then, one will do so, or not.

This matter of doing or not, choosing or giving way, persevering while wondering if it matters, walking in a world where wisdom is exception rather than rule -- this journey, never done, is fraught with trials and unknowns, and only faith wins the day, or one should say love, which is deeper, per St. Paul.

Without faith one never steps out. What does love have to do with it, to be greater? Perhaps love is greater because it makes it worth it, says it is worth it, gives the right genesis or reason. Love answers the reason why, but so does faith. Faith pushes one forward but love is a deeper reason.

In real life language what does this mean? I get up and face the day because I believe life makes sense and at its core is still good. This is faith. The greatest is love. How so? Perhaps because it is love that proves faith, gives it substance. WHY is life worth living? WHY is there good in the world? Because of love – the love of God which he shares with us and dares us to learn and live.

Now abides faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love. Without love there is nothing, for love is the fullest expression of God: love between and among the eternal Trinity, love that gave birth to all creation, love that makes all possible. Without it there is no faith; without it there is nothing.

I wonder if that is true. Enough to feed the soul today and give the mind a happy journey.

My Psalm for the day can close this. “He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

Faith says it is so. Love makes it possible.

“The greatest of these is love.”

"Big Hat...no cattle"

There comes a final day for all of us, an ultimate reckoning.  On that day we may rejoice or tremble in the hat we wear.  On that day I want cattle.

"Big Hat...no cattle."

I heard this expression on the radio the other day, apparently common in Texas, true of human nature everywhere.

It brought to mind a tragedy from Olathe, Kansas nearly 32 years ago today. Mark Manglesdorf, student leader at nearby Mid-America Nazarene College, murdered his lover's husband. The case went cold for 20 years and then in 2005 or so he was finally convicted and served a prison term which ended in 2016. He had been the big man on campus. After graduation he went on to Harvard and became a high level business executive, married with family, respected by those who knew him. He lived all those years with a damning secret in his heart, the guilt of murder.

Big Hat, no cattle. It speaks to the human condition. We know in our bones that we're made for something great, that we are stamped with the very image of God, that we were Created. This speaks to purpose, to meaning, to significance, and yes, to good, loving behavior. This is our Big Hat...and our cattle. We know we have substance, that we matter, that we are born for a reason. We know we have cattle. So we don the Big Hat. But, alas, the cattle die or run away. We find we cannot really own them. We find we are not what we are supposed to be.

This is sin, the tempter bruising the heal of the Deliverer, tricking Adam and Eve. This is Adam betraying his Maker, Cain killing his brother. This is "no cattle."

But we keep the Big Hat.

Yes, indeed, the Hat is fake if the cattle are not there. But we want the Hat more than the cattle. We want to look good even when we are not. We act in ways our heart betrays. 

Big Hat...no cattle.

This is the human condition and if Jesus does not have an answer for it, then He is a fake. I believe He is real, that He is who He claimed to be, and that He has an answer. So I'm going to leave off musing, read the Gospels, and find some answers.

Why does this matter?  There comes a final day for all of us, an ultimate reckoning. On that day we may rejoice or tremble in the hat we wear. 

On that day I want cattle.

Words [100WW]

There are things to talk about and things not. “Many words, sin is not absent” goes the Proverb. "Always best to be quiet" is not a bad start, but some times silence is wrong, to be sure. A good friend is as perfect of speech as anyone I have met. You have to pull the words out of him sometimes. I often wonder about wordiness, amused by the charge a teacher made of a classmate: “inebriated by his own verbosity.” And I wonder about posts like this, written merely to reach my quota per day, which is 1, save Sunday.

   

Beginning to Meditate: That's all Ten Minutes Will Give [10'TU]

In Judah is God known: his name is great in Israel. (Psalm 76:1)

I have been doing one verse readings in the Psalms. Brings to mind Dallas Willard's comment regarding Scripture: "Not so important to get through the Scripture as to let the Scripture get through you."

Meditation should do this, letting ideas enter deeply in the soul; just as food, well-prepared and carefully eaten permeates the body.

How to hear a text like this without undue analysis, like hearing a friend's words for what they are rather than extruding them into something else. Requires quiet. Requires -- can it be? -- setting aside thought.

One cannot really set aside thought of course, but I've struggled to understand this, much as with the text, "Lean not on thine own understanding." Isn't that impossible? Of course not! But it is hard and we resist it.

If I hear this text, not as a sort of Talisman or secret code, yet with due consideration of divine inspiration, I see God as subject. And the Bible ever does bring Him to the fore: background, periphery, forefront, everywhere. As Chesterton says in his remarkable introduction to a commentary on Job: "God is almost the only subject of the Old Testament."

A lesser note here, perhaps, is observing that God is large in the consciousness of a nation, and of his people. How to understand this without making it too religious? It is a mere observation.

What to Think, What to Do?

Tragedies on large scale arrest us, stop us in our tracks, help us cut to the chase, like a terminal diagnosis or an ultimatum from a friend.

I've read enough on the attempted assassination. It is shocking news in an information mileau where very little is shocking anymore.

The implicit result of all tragedy is gravity, or to put it better, gravitas. We live and love and laugh and suffer and die. Most of us seldom stop to wonder what it means, or when we do we trust others to tell us.

And so it has ever been. We know what matters because our parents told us, or the church, or that special Grandpa, the gifted boss, a book that went straight to the soul. Sometimes the things that shape us are tragic, what social scientists call malevolence. There's enough of that in this old world to dampen the most cheerful of spirits.

But tragedies on large scale arrest us and stop us in our tracks. Or they should. They help us cut to the chase, like a terminal diagnosis or an ultimatum from a friend. All of the sudden we know what matters, and we leave off all the silly stuff we dabbled in.

What arrests us in this near-assassination of a presumed Presidential nominee? This, maybe:

• Stop slinging arrows. Even if they are right (they probably aren't.) Even if you know the cause is righteous (it likely has serious problems.) Just stop, at least for now. "Cease fire" has its wisdom. It might free you from some nonsense in your outlook, and that's bound to be good.
• The best and worst among us -- yes, even that nominee you despise -- is human. He or she has failed egregiously, feels it painfully, has tried to overcome. If you hate a person you succumb to the sickness you think you are fighting. So stop. Dare to believe Mr. Trump and Mr. Biden are both human.
• The oldest and deepest ideas matter most, all the more true for their time-tested character. "The milk of human kindness." "Err on the side of mercy." "Act as you wish others would act." 
• In sum, to paraphrase a constant theme in the biblical book known as the Psalter, A most fundamental expression of God is His mercy: a willingness to suffer long and treat others with loving-kindness. This is world-sized thunder. If God is mercy, you and I have a chance. But as Jesus says, If we would have mercy we must show it.

I need a confessor, that desire itself a happy result of being arrested by tragedy. I confess to God and others my lack of mercy. I cannot conceive how others can disagree with what is obvious to me. I take affront, opprobrium, exception.... Ok, I despise the ideas and beg for grace not to despise the person.

I cannot walk this road very well. When a fellow human embraces an outlook I find not only wrong, but destructive, I am at a loss. I am sure they feel the same about me. It cannot be otherwise.

I can only say I am arrested, stopped, stymied, needy. I want peace and a stable nation. This can never be if we do not learn to live humbly in quiet diligence and care for our families and those in our community. Will one be elected I do not like? Maybe. The only halting, faulty conclusion I have is something like this:

If a Gavin Newsome or a Donald Trump is elected, our path is clear: learn quietness, love your neighbor, go to work, pray, care for your family, love your country.

That is all. Lord, have mercy.

Ode to a Four-Legged Gift

Somewhere in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky a puppy was born. No one knows where, except God, and I am sure He gave attention for this particular pup was both broken and blessed.

He appeared at our home in rural Breathitt county as a “bag of bones” – my wife's apt description. He made friends with our youngest son, nine years old at the time and already devoted to a young Cur named “Betty.” They were friends, Betty and our son, biding time together on the sweet hillside that was our backyard. And now they had another friend.

It was an early Fall day when this black Lab/Beagle mix showed up. He was fine with our sons and my wife, but not so with me. Perhaps this dog – he appeared to be a little over year old – had suffered at the hands of a man. Whatever it was about me, he would not let me touch him for a solid three months.

It had only been 3 years since we had lost our first family dog, “Shadow,” and I had never gotten over it. I feel it still. But life goes on and here came this gift out of the mountains, a dog in need of rescue, a family with two boys who needed him. Healing was in the offing for all, though hard to explain, deep and layered.

Our older son gave him a name: Oreo. A common name I am sure, for how many black dogs are there with touches of white? Oreo soon became one of the family and we had to find a new home for Betty. “You will have a much better experience with him if you get him 'fixed,'” the vet said. I'm sure he was right, and our walk with Oreo could not have been better.

That was a full fifteen years ago and in “dog years,” I'm told, Oreo is now over a hundred years old. He has lived well and he has been showing his age: the circling long and slow before sitting, the naps that seem endless, clear bodily ailments, loss of hearing and sight. He still gets around, even scampers, and he controls himself reasonably well. But we know it is almost time, and I am not ready.

Oreo is the one who has tried as much as anyone to teach me the value of being with. He doesn't know anything, really, except the constant sense that speaks in dog talk something like this: “Let's do something, just you and me. See my tail wagging. I can't wait! Let's do it just because. Not to do, but to be. You know. To be together. To have fun. It's easy, let me show you!”

I'm a slow learner. What is this thing of simple joy, simple being with, laying aside the serious, the pursuit, the project, the push? What does it mean to simply be? How could this dog lay for hours, content, in our living room. Doesn't he have something to do?!

Yes he does. His job is to be with.

For the rest of our lives there will be Oreo stories. His sweet skitishness, something that seemed to always say, “Take care of me, please!” And his loyalty, of course! Once when I was away for several weeks he laid across our bedroom door every night as protector. When I returned he resumed his regular place of sleep. His simple love...but anyone with a dog knows these things.

While there are countless memories and they would not be hard to dredge, I find this Oreo of ours had a life defined by a sort of consensus rather than highs and lows. He was always there, defining our lives, making us know our lives would be different, thinner, more sad without him. He made no claim nor complaint. He just wanted to be a friend, to let him love us with himself: that fun-loving, quiet, always hopeful Oreo.

I'm no fan of what is next. There will never be another Oreo. But maybe there will be a better me. I really did learn from Oreo, and it was none too soon. I learned my sons needed me, that work was necessary but they mattered more. My wife, too, of course, only more yet.

I learned that brokenness can end us or, by the mysterious grace of life, it can mend us. Oreo was broken and could do nothing about it. He let us heal him and in turn he brought joy to us. It might sound cheesy but I don't care: I always knew no matter what I was going through, Oreo would understand. He knew what trouble was, and he knew when things were hard. In those times his gift for being with was a sweet grace of life.

So sometime in the coming months we will cross that bridge and say goodbye. And we will give thanks for a chapter in our lives that was a gift from God by way of an unknown “rescue dog” from the Kentucky hills.

Our Merciful God

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: 

according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. (Ps. 51:1)

On what basis does God act? There is no answer but character. God acts in accordance with His character.

Theology, noble enterprise and inseparable from living, tells us God is the highest possible conception. Yet, how do we trust these minds of ours to know what that is, or to know it is not self-serving? "God told me" is all too often the same as "I sure would like to do this."

Back to character. And back to Scripture. Yet, God is not a book, and "the letter kills but the spirit gives life." Scripture is astounding, and a lifetime with it leaves one in wonder. Yet, the Living Word is both written and living and when we think of the character of God we must go to the expression of Himself to which all Scripture points: the Incarnation.

This is character writ large and writ in our language. Who abandons privilege, who suffers- with, who submits to the worst ignominy to deliver ungrateful and undeserving subjects?

The God of the Bible does. That is His character.

According to...chesed: lovingkindness, tender mercies. "Because this is the kind of God you are, and in light of the fact I am wholly subject to you, have mercy on me."

How do you see God? Is he like us, out to get the offending person? Or is his character in keeping with one who willingly took on our flesh so he could "rob our sins and make us holy?"* Is he out to get you or out to restore His image in you?

Today, in this very moment, I know nothing more than to dare to believe in the mercy of God that endures forever. That is who He is and I can trust Him to be infinitely good with me.

* Chris Rice "Welcome to Our World." In a world filled with lyrics and music, this is one of the finest I have ever heard.

Genetic Fallacy and Etymology

Thursday brings to mind "Thor's-Day," the genesis of our 5th weekday's name and cause of infinite genetic fallacies.

 
You've heard the charge, something like, "Well if this is a Christian calendar established by Christian monks you'd think they would avoid paying homage to pagan gods." Same could be said for Sunday (Ode to sun-worshippers), Saturday (worship of Saturn), and probably others I'll not bother to look up. 

The genetic fallacy is the trap of basing the meaning of a thing on its genesis -- it's beginning.

This happens all the time with word meaning and etymology. Take the word "woke." It applies to all kinds of hard-left ideological positions today but its genesis was the idea of being aware, cognizant, tuned-in-to injustices of culture. To insist on that meaning today is not only to commit the genetic fallacy, but to equivocate: insisting a word have the same meaning in different contexts, or, perhaps more common, using the same word with different meanings in the same context.

One of my favorite examples of this error happens with the discussion at Christmas time and the word Xmas. Most folk who scrawl this word on a sign or a note are doing so for ease -- X writes easier and more quickly than Christ-. Unbeknownst to most who use that abbreviation, X is the first letter in the Greek word for Christ, and in some contexts X is used to refer to Christ. The error comes when we imagine all who write Xmas are doing so as an abbreviation of the Greek word for Christ. That's simply not the case.

Same with holiday. Holiday was originally holy day, but that hardly means the greeting "Happy Holidays" means "Happy Holy Day" as it was originally used, though it is true that since "holy day" simply means a day set apart, the common usage is still very near. But the point is that etymology does not determine meaning. Usage determines meaning.

Dictionary editors examine usage and so, for instance, study the way "Happy Holidays" is used and come up with the following: "The phrase happy holidays is a festive, secular greeting used most often during the winter holiday season." Etymology, on the other hand, tells us what it meant in its genesis. It does not tell us what it means now.

So when I use the word Thursday am I paying homage to Thor? Hardly. No more than when I write "Xmas trees for sale" do I mean Xristos trees for sale or when most use the expression "Happy Holidays" do they invoke Christmas as a Holy Day in the sacred sense. It's possible a person is doing that in each instance, but the use of a word with that genetics (genesis/etymology) does not require it.

There, aren't you blessed to know that?!

:)

Did Moses Sin? [100WW]

Did Moses sin when he slew the man, adopted kinsman giving great grief to Moses' true blood? He acted in haste, in youthful and justifiable rage. Did he mean to kill? If murder, in what degree? All parties felt the deed's wrongness: his own kinsman the next day, Pharaoh who came after him for it, Moses himself who fled. The law expresses the eternal character of God: therefore, murder is always wrong. Vigilante justice may be right sometimes, but it's not legal. Does Moses' sense of guilt mean he sinned? Perhaps not. I think he sinned. What do you think?

A Verse for Love [10'TU]

Ten small minutes for a verse.
How could anything be worse?
Showing off attempted gift?
Knowing flaws the longer list.

Sunday morning calls to me.
Silent voice engenders plea.
Something more from deep inside.
"Something more" lest spirit die.

Well-worn meter serves the rhyme.
Forcing shape of every line.
Is this worth the being heard?
Is it only self to serve?

Yes, and yes the answer be.
Dual is not all you see.
Needy minds would bifurcate.
Healthy answer combinates.

Ten short minutes leave me bare.
Dare to land the verse in spare.
Knowing it's in God I live.
Happy He is here to give.

More of David's Reasoned Pleas

 In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness. 
(Psalm 31:1)

David pleads like this over and over. Maybe 40 times in the Psalms depending how you paraphrase the thought. Maybe one hundred. He is always saying, "I am counting on you, Lord. Do not let me down."

One question always rises, hard to explain. Something like this: 

    Which is it?    

• I am trusting you, Lord. In light of that don't let me down. OR
• I am trusting you, Lord. I am relying on you, I am crying out to you, I need you. If I do not have your help I will be ashamed. I need your deliverance.

The first is a causal reasoning: "Because I am relying on you, be sure to prove good on the trust." It isn't exactly "you owe me" but it could feel like that.

The second is more of a continued plea, with each word giving it shape.

The balance of the Psalm is a wonder of reasoned pleading while keeping one's place. Reminds me how Job pled with God while keeping his place, always with respect, never insisting but making his case. Then God spoke.

I weary of overthinking these things, but I cannot avoid the question. Which is it?

I fear the reasoned part, the hint of insisting God act a certain way: "Because I am acting this way, therefore...." It does not seem right to do that with God. Yet, yesterday's reading has David declaring his own integrity as a basis for God's response.

There are always larger principles that order the smaller questions. I would see the principles laying out like this:

• The reality of God is primary to all and His character is implied in that primacy.
• Any expectation we have of God must be grounded in His character, not our need.
• It is normal for any child to express need to his Father. It is normal for the Father to hear, be interested, and meet that need if doing so in this particular is in keeping with His character.
• If we did not have reason to think God would give attention to our need we would not be speaking it to Him.
• Therefore, it is reasonable to make a reasoned prayer which suggests, "Because this, therefore this. Please?"

I finish believing it is an example of the classic "both/and." And David gives it that healthy balance of fear and love. There is chutzpah in David that God seems to love and honor. There is healthy pleading which knows he is subject and God will do as He will. But according to His character.

It is to the character of God David appeals. And here I land this morning.

Because God is un-erringly good, because his mercy endures forever, because He has made a world of reliable cause-and-effect I can believe God will do me good no matter how things look at the moment. 

I should always pray with God's reliable character in mind.

I close with this echo of another Psalm in my mind, often expressed in song: "Let me not be ashamed; let not my enemy triumph over me!" (Psalm 25)

Wondering About Trust

Trust is given, a shape of one's soul.
It means, "I believe
this person will not let me down.”
“He means what he says,” trust says,
and there is more. "He means well for me."
Still more.

Trust requires relationship.
Relationship enables, builds, strengthens, shapes.

No trust, no relationship. No relationship, no trust. Chicken and egg and who's on first.

It is primal, as in primary, this thing that fuels
all else. Zeal for the day insists there is good
to be had and maybe I will have it. That is trust.

Trust says it is so and then acts accordingly. And it never gives up.

This is trust. Once broken may never return.
Once crushed, never again given.
When lost, perhaps never found.

Why?

We are wounded and can't bear the risk.
Trust always takes a chance and the healthy soul
is one learning to trust. The more it trusts,
the more whole it will be.

Preserve Me, O God: A Reasoned Prayer

Preserve me, O God: for in thee do I put my trust. (Psalm 16:1)

This prayer of David echoes throughout the Psalms. He asks, and gives reason why he should receive.

“I am trusting you, Lord. Therefore...” One must ask, “Does the preposition 'for' bear the weight I give it?” That is, can we really say David means “I trust you, therefore you must honor the terms of my trust.”

It would be wrong to say it is a straightforward cause and effect, wouldn't it? I think the answer relies on terms – terms of trust. What has God promised and what does He expect? God the Father almighty has promised protection and care but if we do not trust we will conduct our lives in ways that complicate that. On the other hand, trusting Him means we attune our lives to Him: we lean in to his protection and care with expectation.

Is this presumption? Maybe...but I say no. God has a character, a way of being. We can never shape that to our whims, but insofar as we are aware what He is like and attune our expectations – our trust – to that, we can expect Him to respond accordingly.

I believe that God will preserve me because I am trusting Him to be true to who He is. That is trust, however feeble, and I affirm it today by the great grace of God.

A Halting and Faulting Prayer on the Fourth

O beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain;

for purple mountain majesties above the fruited plain!

America! America! God mend thine every flaw....

I feel overwhelmed today. First, by the simple words of this hymn that reveal the soul. A country is a soul, birthed and shaped by all who live and die there. People of the country share that soul, participate in it, comprise it. When it is healthy, it sings, and it sings for love. This is really what it means to be a patriot: to love your fatherland. 

And so as a child of the midwest prairie I not only see the waves of grain, I feel them. And I know the mountains of Colorado from the first time I saw them as a 5 year-old boy. "Are we in Colorado yet?" Eventually, misty purple images emerged in the distance. We stayed that night in a creek-side cabin together, up in the mountains, free and safe. It went deep in my soul. I loved my family. And without knowing it, I loved my country. Why wouldn't I?

The beauty of it all overwhelms me, and I am thankful.

The second thing is not so clear and clean and happy. I find myself overwhelmed by the negative, those who let faults eclipse good, those who claim to love country but never speak well of it, those who clamp down every time one expresses genuine love. Who knew we err when we love our country? You can't really love something that is imperfect, can you?

This hurts. As I've tried to say before, I want to love my country. Am I aware of its faults? I think so. But I don't camp out there, just as we hope no one “camps out” with our own personal faults. That is an ugly way to live. One of my boyhood friends recently told me that, after learning of some of our national woes, he could no longer be a patriot.

This almost undoes me. Is there nothing to love? If we are so very bad why are countless people trying to come here? You can see the difference between good and bad when you look at the borders. Some countries won't let people leave, others can't let enough in.

It is ludicrous to speak of how bad we are and at the same time insist we welcome the millions who are desperate to join us. If we're so bad, urge them to go elsewhere. Maybe those who threaten to leave if the election is not to their liking will take them along to all those better places.

The response seems to be something like: “Of course we love our country. We just want it to be better.” How about lay aside the critique, then, and tell me something you love about this great land? How about sing the hymn and and ask God to refine the gold of our land – the gold of opportunity, freedom, beauty, sacrifice, character, dreams, and wonder. It's gold, and the world knows it. Why don't we?

I love my country, and I am thankful to live here. I think we are truly a shining city on a hill, a great beacon of hope for this world. I don't feel I am half the man I should be in tribute to those who gave their lives in service and ultimate sacrifice to make it so. But remembering them makes me want to be better.

And so I sing the hymn. And I pray for wisdom and courage to be the kind of person that makes a more perfect union for my fellow-Americans today, and in all the tomorrows.

“America, America, God shed His grace on thee.”

Freedom [100WW]

On Independence Day in the US we celebrate freedom. Freedom means we get to do as we please, with limits.

Who guarantees my freedoms? Magistrates, policemen, functionaries of business, government and military. Indeed, official persons do a great deal to ensure our freedoms are protected, but the responsibility is also shared by all.

For example, when I bear with an outburst of anger I enable freedom of speech. I may leave or rebuke, but I do not disallow.

I am thankful for freedom and those who make it possible. And I pray I can ensure it for myself and others.

The Eyes We See With [10'TU]

O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. 
(Psalm 6:1)

This kind of language in the Psalms has always interested me. It seems too human, as if anthropomorphizing the divine.

Is it OK to think of God in human terms? Perhaps we should say there is no other way to do it for human terms is all we have.

It is true, of course, that divine is a category of thought and we must engage it, even if skeptics say it is a false category, a body of concepts that is not even real.

Chesterton says the Apostles' Creed could be worked out from the implications of the first sentence: "I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth." Whether GKC is correct, I do find such a robust doctrine of Creation very appealing.

If God is Creator it follows there is conceptual interplay between Him and all else. Creator and creation are always connected. And if He is described fundamentally as Father, well, game on. We have basis for our use of human concepts to understand the divine.

Do we fear God may be done with us, kick us to the curb? Of course we do because that's the world we live in. Theology in its most basic expression would say something like, "Wait a minute, though. If God is Father He would be the best possible. Would the best possible be vindictive and short-tempered?" 

We know what good is - better than us to be sure. So we reach, grasp exceeded. And we take solace. God is better! He does not kick us to the curb though we deserve it. And so, still, in our human ways, we ask Him not to do it.

For His part, I believe He listens and understands, just as with our children we can engage with their struggles to trust and believe our love and intentions for them are good.

Tinker Creek in Spring

It is past time to write of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek again, and I can't do it justice. There's a force of nature going on in this book and yes, that's a play on words.

Who knows this much about nature? Annie did her homework, wedding observation with research and notes and long musing. The detail of insects and plants is mind-numbing if you're in a hurry, which is no doubt the easily-missed point.

Of a newt (I wasn't even sure what a newt is) she speaks thus: “The concave arch of her spine stretched her neck past believing; the thin ventral skin was a bright taut yellow.” And that's one of many sentences on newts, these creatures around us in spring that we never see or imagine it matters whether we do.

This does remind me of something like newts in my own life. We called them tadpoles and they lived in mud puddles in Big Bow, Kansas. I never examined their “thin ventral skin” but we would sometimes catch them in a jar for who-knows-why. I remember wondering how they became frogs – or did they? And what happens if the mud puddle dries up too soon? Western Kansas is a long ways from lush Tinker Creek.

But Annie is far from done with the newts. Did she never tire of being in nature? I can believe the long time in the middle of it all, seeing instead of taking pictures, made awareness possible. Of course it did, but who does it, and what is the benefit?

Chapter Seven – Spring – gives a veritable catalog of nature scarcely imagined by the layman, which accounts, I suppose, for most of us. It wearies my dull mind but I dive in, needy.

• Flowers: redbuds, sassafras, tulips, catawbas, and pawpaws. Who knows these things by name?

• The leafing of trees, Annie insists, is a thing. Surely, though, the leaves just appear. How could it possibly matter how it happens or how they look up close? Leaves give rise to words like etiolate, translucent, lambent, minute, pale. And that's all in one sentence.

• The seal in the Bering Strait gets audience in Annie's imagination and reading, and she shares: the hunt, the seal habits, the hunter's success find their place in the telling of all the wild scenes we knew not, of glaciers calving and “water sky.”

• She spends time with algae required by its reality, which is a lot. The frogs try to jump out of the algae-covered pond and can't quite. They become “jumping green flares” about the pond until finally they find an open place and break free.

• And when the happily unobservant are ready to move on already, Annie takes us deeper in the pond: midges, snails, turtles, herons, muskrats, bladderwort, diatoms, insect larvae, nymphs are there she says. Who knew?! And there was more, much more.

Annie isn't done until the microscope comes out and the smallest life is known to the eye. And one wonders – maybe – if this is going too far. How would I know? I wouldn't.

In it all there is slight tribute to the forest of the trees. She says, for example, “There is a muscular energy in sunlight corresponding to the spiritual energy of wind.” Few things are larger in our life than sun, so I rejoice for relief from the tiny things. And she speaks plainly of the necessity of this sun “fashioning a new and sturdy world,” always, so that the pond can be “popping with life.”

It's a delightful, mysterious read: an American treasure. And more than once in this chapter she throws a bone to those who ignore the proverbial trees because we imagine we already know the forest. And she does it when speaking of trees no less.

Trees transform dirt, gravel and water into beauty. A large elm can make six million leaves in a season, she says. “I can't make one.” A tree may use a ton of water in one day. And these mysterious creatures live among us by the millions, replenishing the earth, doing their thing quietly, unheard, unnoticed, vital.

Makes me wonder what we can do – the human body, soul and spirit. We often have to make much of naught, work with faults and pains and confounding nonsense. And then enter other people. Can we make something beautiful? That's the dream, and if I go there I land in a place to which Annie amply alludes: I land in life itself and the gift of children.

This almost undoes me as I try to reflect humbly on the amazing work of art that is Tinker Creek. Friends might say I just leapt to the most obvious. But induction lets things rise to the surface and this rises. Trees make leaves in miraculous ways. People make people, and the miracle is beyond wonder.

It is the gift of life that sneaks in when we ask ourselves, “What can I do that is beautiful? What gravel and dirt can I turn into something that answers the unspeakable gift of life?” I may be able to create a life to bless the world – that is, I may become a parent, and then game on!

Perhaps more fundamentally – for not all can or will become parents – we can dare to believe, paraphrasing Solzhenitsyn as he reflected on the dirt and gravel of his imprisonment, that “the object of life is to become a beautiful person.”

Are you becoming beautiful? Am I? I wondered what benefit there was in Annie's minutia. It leads me to this question and inspires a hopeful answer.

I think life itself does that if we stop long enough to listen and learn.  And that's more than enough benefit for today.