Tuesday, February 23.
We spent four hours in Chile today, and didn’t get a stamp on our passport. We were in the international terminal in Santiago and never went through customs. I exchanged a 20 dollar bill for Chilean pesos, however,which are worth about 2 cents. I spent about 9000 pesos for lunch and got to play with pink currency.

The flight into Cordoba, Argentina from Santiago was about an hour and a half. Customs into Argentina was long but uneventful. Then we were on the road with Ivan in his 1992 Fiat Uno, a little crowded with five suitcases and our carry-ons.

But the air was warm and the grass was green and we were grateful. Kim and Ivan live in Villa Carlos Paz about half a block from the Lago San Roque, a huge man-made lake that rivaled the Eiffel tower in architectural significance when it was built in 1894. It’s now a popular tourist resort.

We sat on the patio and had tea.

Wednesday, February 24
Siesta. Now there’s an idea a man could get used to.

In Argentina they apparently have.

Most shops close in the afternoon about one and reopen about five or six. It’s the traditional day time sleep of Spain and, subsequently, most Latin American countries.

Its origins are obscure, often related to either the heat or the let down after a large midday meal. But in Argentina they still do it in the winter and have their big meal in the evening. Late in the evening. To night we are going to a traditional bar-b-que, called an asado, that doesn’t start until ten.

It’s a culture that runs late and starts early. You have to get your errands done in the morning before the stores close.

After our trip, Katie and I didn’t have any trouble taking a nap this afternoon. Their home, with a small walled yard like all the homes in their neighborhood, is peaceful and quiet.

How our bodies adapt to a new rhythm is another adventure.

Thursday, February 25
Today we met Oscar and Caesar, two young men studying for the ministry with Word of Life near Buenos Aires. They are here to help with the church while the missionaries are away at conference next week.

By young I mean 30ish. And by young I mean the challenges of youth- choosing a career path, finding a mate, searching for God’s will.

Oscar has a romantic interest and we talked about it. She is a pastor’s daughter, and Oscar has had a shady past- alcohol and drugs. He felt her dad was trying to keep them apart but Oscar had received a message to call the father and he was unsure about what to do.

Caesar wants a ministry to those who have been abused as young people. He runs into them all the time as a camp counselor.

Both men have fathers who are not men of faith and they seemed to appreciate our counsel, as both Ivan and I spent the better part of our siesta encouraging them.

The adventure? Conversations of the heart, in translation. It’s possible. And important.

Friday, February 26
I went into Cordoba with Ivan yesterday. Now that was an adventure, and I’m not talking about Ivan’s well-documented directional challenges.

We went through three police roadblocks on the way. It’s very common for the police, who apparently work on commission, to set up road blocks to check that your lights are all working properly and everyone is wearing a seat belt. Think of it as the low hanging fruit.

When we got to the city there were lots of police, some carrying very big guns, standing around everywhere. Traffic control does not appear to be on their list of assigned duties. When we asked the guard at the auto parts store if we could park by the curb, he said “You shouldn’t, but you can.”

Cordoba is Argentina’s second largest city, about 25 miles away from Carlos Paz where we are staying. Driving downtown, with lots of one way streets and double parked cars, reminded me of driving through the garment district in Manhattan, something I try not to do very often. Except in Manhattan there are stop signs and people tend to notice them.

Here people don’t ignore them. For the most part they don’t exist. If there is no traffic light, then every intersection is treated as through there were a yield sign, which can be a little disconcerting for pedestrians who aren’t used to it. That would be Katie and me on our daily walks in Carlos Paz.

For a driver I expect it is liberating if not dangerous. I have a new slogan to suggest to the tourism department.

Imagine a land with no stop signs.

Imagine Argentina.

Saturday, February 27
I turned 57 today. Happy birthday to me.

We had breakfast at a nice little café on Main Street in Carlos Paz. Everyone was eating pastries but me. Since I’m diabetic I try to avoid carbs, so I had luncheon plate of meat and cheese. A large luncheon plate. (Yes, I shared.)

It caused quite a stir, since the people here eat large, late dinners and small morning meals. The waiter wasn’t sure it was a good idea. In fact, a man at a different restaurant where we ate tonight remembered us from this morning as the people who ate too much for breakfast. (See photos on Kim’s blog.)

Just four days ago Katie and I shared a similar lunch plate at the airport in Santiago, Chile. The airport was heavily damaged by an earthquake this morning. Kim and Ivan are joking that we won’t be able to return home in a few weeks because the airport, where we connect for a flight to Miami, is closed. We didn’t feel any effects of the quake, although there was another one in Argentina this afternoon.

But it did remind me of another birthday in another country. I turned 40 in Israel, visiting the Mount of Olives with my dad. According to Zechariah, when Christ returns “His feet will stand on the Mount of Olives, which faces Jerusalem on the east. And the Mount of Olives shall be split in two, from east to west, making a very large valley.”

Now there’s an earthquake that will affect us all.

Sunday, February 28
We had asado today, grilled beef and pork. Last night we had grilled beef and goat.

Asado is a culinary and cultural icon here, a social experience and expectation. Everyone has a grill and everyone uses it all year round. At the heart of this is meat: the mastery of it, the quality of it, the love of it.

At dinner last night a young man stopped by to practice his English. He was either the bus boy, the bouncer or both. He was passionate about agriculture. Everything depends on the farmers and the ranchers. When they do well, the country does well. He was concerned because the country is not doing well.

There was a national farmers’ strike a couple of years ago when the government raised the tariff on meat shipped out of the country to 33%. When the farmers struggle the nation struggles, he said. Meat, of course, is a major export.

I’m not qualified to make a judgment about the young man’s economic theory, but I feel safe in making an observation about his emotional one. Argentines love their meat. Whereas Katie and I might eat beef once or twice a week, they will eat it once or twice a day.

It’s an aspect of their security. They will overturn their government when meat is not available and affordable. It is not an appetite, it is a hunger for something rich and satisfying in their increasing poverty.

Jesus told his disciples he had meat to eat they knew not of. I’ve never understood this like I understand it now. He wants to fill us and to satisfy us, not with empty fillers, the husks of the field. He wants to fill us with a thick, juicy, substantial portion of himself.

My meat is to do the will of the Father who sent me, he said.

In doing this, we are all full.

It’s been a while, and I forget the details, but it was not exactly a literary tour de force. All the characters were flat, even God. The main character has a singular problem, not a complex one. And God has a singular solution, and not a very biblical one.

But I remember the breathless excitement with which the book was shared with me. Wow! It’s a book about God that everyone is excited about— 10 million copies, 34 languages, and almost 100 weeks on the New York Times best seller list. Surely, everyone thinking about God and forgiveness must be a good thing. Actually, not.

In a positive review of the book in the Chronicle of Higher Education, Timothy Beal, a professor of religion at Case Western, says the buzz is because “there is a lot more interest in serious theological alternatives to sappy, simplistic devotional and religious self-help books than many would have presumed.”

I think he’s right about the buzz and wrong about the value.

Consider the metaphorical models of God; there is “Papa,” as Elousia insists Mack call her, a large, happy African-American woman; Jesus, a clumsy handyman who likes to fish, and Sarayu, the new-age petite, Asian woman with a green thumb.

Yes, Mack, who lost his daughter in a tragic murder, meets the Trinity. But it’s a Trinity of mixed metaphors, suggesting that God is a linguistic conception and not a real person. Frankly, God can manifest himself as a large black woman if he wants to. But that’s not the problem with this book. The problem is it doesn’t take seriously the way he has manifested himself in Scripture. (Papa tells Mack that she often manifests herself as a father because men are weaker than women and need a role model.)

But there’s more. According to Sarayu, “We have no concept of final authority among us, only unity. We are in a circle of relationship, not a chain of command.”

To believe as I do that the members of the Trinity are co-equal is not to believe that within the Godhead there are not roles, responsibilities and authority. But in The Shack, as Beal notes, this follows from liberation theology, a theology which maintains that this “exchange of love” means that the Trinity is “offended” by social inequity. And in the end this is God’s only concern.

I’m not theologically astute enough to deal with all the implications of this, but one is it under cuts the notion of authority in every aspect of life, including the authority of God himself. Papa doesn’t care if people obey her; she just wants everyone to get along.

Consequently, obedience doesn’t matter because salvation is for everyone, without condition or faith. Papa says the whole world has been reconciled to her. When Mack says she must mean those who believe in her, she says, “No, the whole world.” The Shack’s Jesus says he has followers in every religion and has “no desire to make them Christians.” Apparently he didn’t remember the Great Commission thing about making disciples. In the end, even the criminal who murdered and raped Mack’s daughter has neither to believe or obey God. It’s all good.

Beal believes the popularity of this book suggests a “real hunger for alternative theologies.” He’s very excited about this.

I’m not. I believe the popularity of this book suggests the lack of theological discernment by people who should know better.

Genesis 11: 4. Let us make a name for ourselves.
That’s pretty much the whole problem, isn’t it. We’re all so full of ourselves, babel-ing away about our self-sufficiency. So they built a city “lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth.” But God already told them to “fill the earth.” Pride is the root of disobedience.

Genesis 11: 6. This is only the beginning.
What an interesting commentary on the power of language. Because they have one language “nothing they propose to do will now be impossible.” Language is a wonderful gift, easily corrupted.

Genesis 12: 2. And I will make of you a great nation.
Babel he disrupts. Abram he blesses. It’s the difference between “we will” and “he will.” The problem at Babel is “we will make a name for ourselves” and the blessing for Abraham is “I will make your name great.” Pick one.

Genesis 12:6. At that time the Canaanites were in the land.
“There was a famine in the land,” too (12:10). People are watching how we respond to tests of our faith. In this case Abram fails. God brings him to Canaan and he flees to Egypt with “all that he had.”

Genesis 13: 4. To the place where he had made an altar at the first.
We often have to go back where we started, to the altar of sacrifice and renewal.

Genesis 13: 6. Their possessions were so great that they could not dwell together.
Stuff always gets in the way. Here Lot and Abraham part ways. “Let there be no strife between you and me,” Abram says. The Canaanites were still in the land, watching. This time they see Abram trusting God.

Genesis 14:23. I would not take a thread or a sandal strap of anything that is yours.
When offered the bounty of war, Abram chooses the blessing of God. “Fear not,” God assures him. “I am your shield; your reward shall be great.” That should be enough.

Genesis 15:6. And he believed the Lord.
Abram believed God, and God counted it to him as righteousness. Righteousness comes from the inside out, as God changes us. The only alternative is to make a name for ourselves. See Babel above.

Genesis 16: 2. And Abram listened to the voice of Sarai.
Usually a good idea, listening to your wife. But in this case Abram was abdicating his responsibility for his unborn child. Sending his concubine alone into the desert was sort of a low-tech abortion. God intervenes. “I have seen him who looks after me,” Hagar says.

Genesis 17:7. To be God to you and to your offspring.
God changes Abram’s name here and reveals the true purpose of the covenant: to be God to you. I will make, I will establish, I will give. And I will mark. Through circumcision the covenant “will be in your flesh.” So Abraham and his son and his servants were circumcised “that every day.” As Calvin’s motto puts it: “My heart I offer to thee, O Lord, promptly and sincerely.” (The other Calvin, the one in the comic strip, says “If I’m not going to be eternally rewarded for my behavior, I’d like to know now.”)

Genesis 17:17. Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed.
He was 86 when he had Ishmael. Now, another son, with Sarah, who’s 90? Sarah laughs too, but denies it. “After I am worn out, and my lord is old, shall I have pleasure (18:12)?” Is anything too hard for the Lord? This is not a rhetorical question; it is a real one we face every day.

Genesis 19: 16. But he lingered.
Faced with God’s wrath and judgment at Sodom, Lot lingers. And his wife looks back. Commanded to flee to the mountains he seeks refuge in a city. “It is a little one,” he says. And then, in chapter 20, his role model Abraham (for the second time) lies about his wife. She is my sister, he tells us Abimelech. It was a lie, “a little one” from Abraham’s perspective. She was his half sister, but that wasn’t exactly the point. (And why, exactly, was Abimelech wanting a 90-year-old woman? She must have been a good looking woman, that Sarah. And one whose youth was restored so she could have a promised son.)

Genesis 20: 6. It was I who kept you from sinning against me.
God protected Abimelech from the consequences of Abraham’s deceit. “I thought there was no fear of God in this place,” Abraham explains. But there was God’s mercy, for a king who humbled himself. Pride, after all, is the root of disobedience.

According to the USA article by della Cava, the common theme for the exodus is “the nagging sense that a time-sucking habit was sucking the ‘real’ out of life.” She quotes Leanna Fry who says, “I’ve discovered I don’t need to know what hundreds of people are doing. Now I have time for the people who really matter in my life.”

Personally I use Twitter to keep up with some of those people who really matter, and to share relevant links about advertising and journalism with current and former students. And I announce new entries on my blog. But Twitter itself is becoming one big spam machine. I have over 1000 followers on my professional account, mostly people trying to sell things to people who are trying to sell things to them.

On Facebook the problem is clutter. An old college friend told me he was about to quit because of all the people who wanted help on their farm. I explained how he could “hide” certain applications and he went home to get rid of all the Farm, Aquarium and Mafia requests.

Other people take different approaches to this overload problem. One of my sons has 72 unanswered friend requests. And I know lots of people who are “defriending” distant or unnecessary friends.

Checking Facebook less often is another approach. A woman in our church has a sister-in-law who is quite upset when she doesn’t respond to her on Facebook immediately, which is difficult since she now only checks it once a month. I update my status with Twitter but often look at Facebook just once or twice a week, although I am notified if someone writes on my wall.

The clutter recently spawned a “I don’t care about your pony” fan page, which had 4 million fans in just a few days, at one point picking up 40 new fans a second. Actually I had a draft of this post, with this title, two weeks ago, before the fan page started. The gist of it? Seriously, folks, it’s not a real pony.

But not only do I not care about your pony I don’t care about your “I don’t care about your pony” fan page. I tend to ignore all requests, both for games and causes, the same I way I ignore forwarded emails. And if someone is particularly annoying I “hide” them.

Life is short and I can’t be a part of every cause, and just accepting an invitation is no way to solve actual problems. Real problems require real solutions, real causes require real sacrifices, and real ponies require real work.

Community can exist online, but it’s not a game. It requires shared values and thoughtful communication. Even a little restraint. Here’s how Proverbs 25:17 puts it:

Let your foot be seldom in your neighbor’s house,
lest he have his fill of you and hate you.

This is true, even if it’s a virtual foot. And especially if it’s a virtual pony.

This is not my essay.

But I find the collection interesting and useful. It’s a good read, with over 80 perspectives. There’s even an app for that, with 65,000 essays now available on your iPhone. The rules are interesting as well. Be positive. Avoid dogma. Focus on one idea.

For Sarah Adams that one idea is “Be Cool to the Pizza Dude.” Adams, an English professor at Olympic College writes clearly and expressively about this philosophy of life. Her essay shimmers with generosity and perspective. This is, among other things, a practice in empathy, she writes, grateful for the fact that when she had such a job she didn’t have to share her Cheerios with the cat.

Coolness to the pizza dude requires her to be humble and forgiving, honoring the virtue of work itself and the equality of all peoples. Tip the pizza dude, she advises, “for that which you bestow freely and willingly will bring you all the happy luck that a grateful universe knows how to return.”

That sounds like dogma to me. Karma anyway.

And there’s more. Unlike the greedy executive, the pizza dudes “sleep the sleep of the just” she insists.

Unfortunately her pizza dude is at least as likely to be greedy as the executive, he just lacks the power to harm as many people. She may be forgiving when he cuts her off in traffic, but that sort of proves my point. Our fallenness betrays us all.

I’ve got nothing against pizza guys. I want to be as forgiving and as gracious toward them as I can be. Being cool to the pizza dude can be and should be a discipline of life; for Adams he is clearly a device for remembering how important kindness is.

But in the end her ideals are rooted in her dogma.

They always are.

“The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest….Only a person who is congenitally self-centered has the effrontery and the stamina to write essays.”
- E.B. White

In a recent post, pastor and author Kevin DeYoung referred to the “fetid pool” of self promotion in social media. He writes:

With all the tools of social networking and all the trappings of evangelical celebrity culture (whether in a hall with thousands of people or in your own circle of friends), we must all be vigilant against shameless self-promotion. Especially those of us who have a blog.

Now, aside from the fact that anyone using the word “fetid” is just looking for attention, he raises some interesting questions about the dangers of pride, especially for writers in a world where publishers and editors insist that promoting our own work is a necessity. As my colleague Mary Darling’s editor told her, her Midwestern humility was charming but she was going to have to get over it.

Carl Trueman’s rant on the subject seems a little over the top. He describes some of the self-promotion he sees, particularly by Christian authors, as “madness, stark staring, conceited, smug, self-glorifying madness of the most pike-staffingly obvious and shameful variety.”

It’s not a new problem, of course. Calvin seldom spoke of himself and was buried in an unmarked grave. Spurgeon, however, perhaps the most prolific preacher of all time, spoke of himself often and people lined the road for miles at his funeral. The Apostle Paul, while downplaying his pedigree defended his apostleship vigorously.

So here I am, trying to build a readership for my blog, sending out announcements on Twitter and posting an announcement on our church website. How does one think about this? Where does one draw the line?

At the ever-present risk of rationalizing, I do feel responsible for the stewardship of a gift, long recognized and encouraged by others. And I feel responsible for my message as well, and for the discipline of crafting it carefully.

So when someone links to my blog on Facebook or Twitter I’m happy. If they subscribe to my blog or forward the email I’m happy too. But is that the same thing as pride?

OK, so I admit that checking the metrics on my readership every fifteen minutes is a little obsessive, but shouldn’t I want people to read what I’m writing? And how will they hear without a Twitter?

Seriously, I could be just as proud of not asking people to read my blog. DeYoung notes: “Whatever humility I evidence, I bet half of it comes from not wanting to look proud.” But once we become proud of not promoting ourselves we’re right back where we started.

I like DeYoung’s solution- to look at Christ much more often than we look at ourselves. Ultimately a successful Christian blog depends on the integrity of the message and the messenger. Motives always matter. And readers will respond.

Speaking the truth in love will go a long way. But will it double your readers? Only if those who find it and like it refer it to others.

This is part of a new project, an occasional commentary. It’s something I’d like my kids to have someday. I’m just highlighting phrases as I read, because they delight me. Or scare me. If I left out your favorite phrase or image feel free to chime in.

This feature will show up about once a week, tucked in with the other posts on faith and culture. I wouldn’t be making any doctrine out of this stuff if I were you.

Genesis 1:20. …and let the water swarm with swarms of living creatures.
I know about this. I grew up on the coast in South Florida, where fish ran in schools and fiddler crabs swarmed along the shore and shrimp “ran” with the tide at night. In swarms, a picture of the richness of creation and the immeasurable grace and glory of God.

Genesis 2:18. …I will make him a helper fit for him.
Thank God for that. A helper fills in what is lacking in the “helped,” which in my case is a lot. This is a good thing, God says. And being alone is, well, “not good.“

Genesis 3:11. Who told you that you were naked?
A rhetorical question, maybe the first. It was the cool of the evening after all. I like the way no one actually answers the question. Eve gave me a piece of fruit? That’s not an answer. But the shame was palpable. It was the end of our transparency and the beginning of our vulnerability. (This word, naked, is pronounced with an “e” where I come from, by the way. As in “neck-ed.”)

Genesis 4: 1. I have gotten a man child with the help of the Lord.
Eve was fallen but not stupid. She recognized immediately that every good thing we get is with the help of the Lord. She says this when she has Cain. Then she lost Abel and had Seth. When Seth has a son of his own we’re told “At that time people began to call on the name of the Lord (4:26).” Few things are more miraculous than a birth, nor as thought provoking as a grandchild. Tabitha, Timothy, Andrew, Sarina—they all provoke this response, recognizing the help of God and calling on the name of the Lord.

Genesis 5:29. …this one shall bring us relief.
“This one” is Noah. What a wonderful name Lamech gives him. It sounds like the Hebrew word for rest, although if you were (are) outside the ark, the cure is worse than the disease. But Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord. We all can, but we all don’t.

Genesis 6:2. The sons of God saw the daughters of man were attractive. And they took as their wives any they chose.
Saw and took. Adam and Eve saw and took too. Leads to trouble, apparently. In this case, the Nephilim, the “Fallen Ones.” These would be the bad guys. Mighty warriors in an “earth filled with violence (6:11).” It would be a mistake to think the taking here was civil. “Any they chose” does not suggest reciprocation. Rape, maybe. They start with something good and twist it into something bad. We haven’t learned much.

Genesis 6:9. Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation.
How do we do this? Same verse: Noah walked with God. The formula hasn’t changed and it’s not any easier. You have to build a boat and wait for the rain.

Genesis 7:9. …and the Lord shut him in.
I’m a little claustrophobic, but I like being shut in in this way. In the ark. In the covenant. In the place God wants me to be. Please Lord, shut me in.

Genesis 8: 1. But God remembered Noah…..
And here we are, still being remembered.

Genesis 8: 21. …for the intention of man’s heart is evil from his youth.
See also 6:5. Clearly we’ll need more than a boat. I first saw this when I read Lord of the Flies in ninth grade. I finally faced it when I saw myself in a mirror as a young college student who had emotionally defrauded a young woman. I’m just beginning to understand it. Thankfully, there is more grace in this book than in the other one.

Genesis 9:3. Every living thing that moves shall be food for you.
Sorry, PETA. Can’t go there.

Genesis 9:7. Teem on the earth and multiply in it.
Swarm all over the earth, recognizing the “help of the Lord.” And here’s a rainbow, by the way. And a covenant, too. Here’s more grace, swarms of it.

You’re going to need it.

————————-
All references from the ESV.

The joys of heaven will surely compensate for the sorrows of earth. Hush, hush, my doubts! death is but a narrow stream, and thou shalt soon have forded it. Time, how short—eternity, how long! Death, how brief—immortality, how endless! Methinks I even now eat of Eshcol’s clusters, and sip of the well which is within the gate. The road is so, so short! I shall soon be there.
—Charles Spurgeon, morning thought, January 29.

Happy Birthday to Katie.

I won’t tell you how old she, although she wouldn’t mind. I just don’t want to put up with all your comments about how rude it was of me to say, projecting your insecurities on her.

But I will say this. We got married when I was 21 and we’ve been married 36 years. (Notice I didn’t say how old she was when we got married.) The point is we’re both getting to the age where we finally understand how much more we have to learn and appreciate how little time we have to learn it.

Each morning we get up and have tea together, reading books out loud. We just finished Piper’s This Momentary Marriage and we’re looking for a new book, probably a novel this time. (I’m thinking a L’Engles’ A Wrinkle in Time, no pun intended.) We’re also reading Spurgeon’s Morning and Evening and talking about whatever Scripture we may be reading on our own.

Quite frankly most mornings one or both of us has wiped a tear or two away, not because we’re sad but because we are overwhelmed with the grace of God and the opportunities we have to share in his work and contemplate his glory.

We’ve been thinking about our kids, talking about how we might encourage them in their marriages. And we’ve talked about people in our church or college students we know who may need encouragement as well.

Hospitality is a large part of this, and it seems like two or three times a week we are feeding strangers and friends, other pilgrims besides our son Pilgrim who is still at home.

And I think the thing that’s most overwhelming is that we have the strength and resources to do it. We’re grateful. And we’re grateful that God might use our faithfulness to each other to display something about his own covenant keeping love with his people.

But all week I’ve been mostly celebrating Katie. Peggy and Jim prepared a wonderful brunch for us yesterday and we had tea with Pilgrim and some of his friends today. Tomorrow we’re headed to Chicago to spend time with our son Michael and his wife Karina.

I had done some sneaking around to surprise her today with some artwork she had admired. She thought I was at the office Tuesday but I was in Ann Arbor picking it up. She was delighted.

I am too. Katie is a rare treasure, more wonderful than she ever imagines, which is part of her beauty.

I’ve been listening to her talk about Deuteronomy most mornings, grasping the big picture of God’s holiness and our need. She asks a lot of questions, which is better than having all the answers. And she is perfectly fine when I don’t know the answers either.

We’ve long since become co-journers, if I can coin a word of my own. We started our journey together aware that we were looking for a city, which hath foundations whose builder and maker is God. Frankly, the skyline of that city becomes clearer everyday.

Looking forward, Spurgeon says in his devotional for this morning, “the believer’s enlightened eye can see death’s river passed, the gloomy stream forded, and the hills of light attained on which standeth the celestial city.”

And so age is not our enemy. And fear is not our friend.

There is much joy to be had, in this life and in the one to come.

Doctors recommended that Pam Tebow terminate her pregnancy when she contracted an infection on a mission trip to the Philippines. But she carried her son to term.

That would be Tim Tebow, the star quarterback for the Florida Gators who led his team to two BCS championships and won the Heisman Trophy in 2007. She’s glad she chose to have him. He’s glad too.

But CBS is being pressured to not air a 30-second commercial during the Superbowl that tells this story. The ad, sponsored by Focus on the Family, is offensive to women, some claim.

Here’s what they are saying, according to Fox News:

“This organization is extremely intolerant and divisive and pushing an un-American agenda,” said Jehmu Greene, director of the Women’s Media Center, which is coordinating a campaign to force CBS to pull the ad before it airs on Feb. 7.

“Abortion is very controversial, and the anti-abortion vitriol has resulted in escalated violence against reproductive health providers and their patients,” Greene said.

“The Women’s Media Center is coordinating a campaign with the National Organization for Women and other women’s groups to launch an online petition and letter-writing campaign targeting CBS,” Fox reports. It’s an extension of their “don’t throw women under the bus” campaign for abortion rights in government supported health care.

So apparently this pro-choice organization doesn’t think Pam should talk about the choice she made.

There’s not a little hypocrisy here, not to mention a complete disdain for the First Amendment. No one in these organizations has seen the ad to which they are so vehemently opposed.

Most of the ads banned from the Super Bowl have been because they were too racy or suggestive, including one by PETA that featured scantily clad women. But some advocacy ads have been shelved before, like one by the United Church of Christ that showed them “admitting” a gay couple.

But in a world where the Supreme Court just ruled that limiting campaign donations by corporations was an infringement on free speech, perhaps even CBS wouldn’t want to take a chance on limiting Focus on the Family’s freedom to “Celebrate Family-Celebrate Life,” as the ad is named.

But just in case, you can thank CBS for airing the ad here.

And feel free to pass this post along.

Scott Nelson is writing a book called Crash: An Uncommon History of America’s Financial Panics. In an essay last week in the Chronicle of Higher Education, Nelson argues that American culture is shaped by the anger of such men, showing the contexts which gave us things like the Constitution, bankruptcy protection and the national guard.

And he thinks the current anger will result in better policing and improved intelligence networks among credit rating agencies to identify bad risks. (I feel safer already.)

“The American political system has been jiggered and rejiggered through two centuries of angry, impulsive violent men,” he writes. “Sometimes political institutions have been calibrated to deploy that violence, sometimes to redirect it, sometimes to squash it.”

Theologically this could be referred to as common grace—the way in which government and family, both institutions of God’s design, keep us from destroying ourselves.

But angry men are a problem in every sphere. And I don’t mean men as in the human kind but men as in the male kind. Workplace and school shootings, domestic abuse, road rage—all usually men. Where does the rage come from?

There is even a name for it: intermittent explosive disorder. An improperly functioning brain chemical supposedly affects 16 million of us, mostly young men.

I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t have it.

I can count on one hand the number of times I saw him angry in his whole life. When I start counting my own outbursts I have to take off my shoes, but I’m not an angry man either. My wife agrees, and she is in the best position to know. Neither are my three sons, for which I’m thankful.

Now I have a lot of sympathy for people with chemical imbalances. But quite frankly I don’t think 16 million of us have bad brains. I do think many of us have bad role models. And all of us have bad hearts.

I’m grateful for the good example my dad provided and its influence on me and ultimately my sons. But anger is rooted in our nature. We are selfish, rebellious and angry from the beginning. We are angry because we don’t get our way. You don’t have to teach a two year old to throw a temper tantrum.

And men in particular, emaciated by things they can’t control, respond by shooting things and yelling at everyone. The one gender-specific instruction that Paul offers parents is “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger.”

We overcome this anger only through the grace of God. Dad had reason enough to be angry. The child of divorced, alcoholic parents, he lived on the streets for a while—the sort of person who often ends up in prison.

The gospel transformed him, however. And with the “new nature” that it promises, he was able to do what Romans 13 requires: casting off the works of darkness and putting on the armor of light.

I don’t think it was always easy for Dad. Or for any of us, as far as that goes. But that’s how the gospel works. God had every reason to be angry with us. Instead he sacrificed his own Son, opening a stream of grace and forgiveness. To accept this is to be changed by it, little by little, day by day.

In the long run, it’s more powerful than Prozac.