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A reluctant recycler

January 22, 2010

We recycle at our house. We wash the cans and bottles and remove the labels. We stack the Wall Street Journal by the door and carry out the compost.

The “we” here means Katie. I’m extremely reluctant to wash something that was designed to be thrown away, although I will carry things off to the recycling centers and landfills. Sometimes we do this together and call it a date.

But I keep telling her when she dies I’m calling the garbage company right after I call the undertaker. Then I can throw everything in one big can like everybody else.

This is a joke. I would probably keep doing what we’re doing. Stewardship is an important biblical mandate and it makes sense to reduce and reuse our waste.

But we are not Green with a capital G.

Take the Gaia people, for example, a new age movement devoted to Mother Earth. For them floods, fires and other natural disasters result from our eco-hubris. (I’m not sure about earthquakes.)

They are easy to make fun of, and Brendan Neill, an agnostic critic over at spiked-online.com does a nice job, although he is mocking Christians at the same time. He writes: “These days it is not acceptable to present terrible acts of nature as manifestations of God’s divine fury, but it is de rigueur to depict them as some kind of climatic payback for our greed and addiction to consumerism.”

But in “Green Guilt“, a more reasonable essay in the Chronicle of Higher Education, Stephen Asma argues that environmentalists can come across as self-righteously as the most repressive religionist.

A philosophy professor at Columbia University Chicago, Asma writes:

Instead of religious sins plaguing our conscience, we now have the transgressions of leaving the water running, leaving the lights on, failing to recycle, and using plastic grocery bags instead of paper. In addition, the righteous pleasures of being more orthodox than your neighbor (in this case being more green) can still be had—the new heresies include failure to compost, or refusal to go organic.

It even manifests itself in apocalyptic visions (see the Gaia people above) and neurotic guilt. He has students who believe the earth would be better off without us. He writes “in this extreme form one does not seek to reduce one’s carbon footprint so much as eliminate one’s very being.”

Asma, whose six-year-old son now turns the lights out on his father, even when he is using them, believes this creates a world where we can vent our aggression “as long as its justified by piety and the defense of [environmental] virtue and orthodoxy.”

In the end, Asma, author of the upcoming book Why I Am a Buddhist, wants to save the planet after all, as long as we temper our “natural propensity toward guilt and indignation.”

As for me, I’m content to let God save the planet, or at least the people in it. And I’ll be responsible for his creation without being neurotic about it. What’s a few more cans to wash in the grand scheme of things? I just think there are more important stories to tell and more dangerous sins to overcome.

But it kind of makes me want to call the garbage truck after all.

Posted in culture | Tagged , , | 4 Comments »

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What Robertson actually said

January 20, 2010

First of all, let me say I’m not a big fan of Pat Robertson.

His theology is a little too experiential for me, and his ego a little too large. I’ve met the man and I have friends who have worked for him. He insists on a level of loyalty I find frightening. And when I had the opportunity to work for him once I decided not to.

That’s not to say he hasn’t done anything good or important. The university he founded, for example, is the source of much thoughtful, Christian scholarship. I just don’t look to him for leadership.

His thoughts about Haiti may have been misconstrued, however. I understand the media may do this. In fact I expect it. It’s easy to find what one conservative says and let that represent what all conservatives think. I resent the stereotype and the over simplification.

But in this case Robertson didn’t actually say that God sent an earthquake to Haiti because they made a pack with the devil. He suggested they made a pact with the devil, which they did, and that this had resulted in deep poverty. He hoped that in this tragedy they might turn to God, which any thinking Christian might also hope.

Here is what he actually said:

Ever since [the pact with the devil], they have been cursed by one thing after another, desperately poor.…. They need to have, and we need to pray for them, a great turning to God, that out of this tragedy, I’m optimistic that something good may come. But right now we’re helping the suffering people, and the suffering is almost unimaginable.

You can see the video here.

He referred to a historical event and said it resulted in deep poverty. Voodoo, with its fatalism and spiritualism, is in fact culturally pervasive in Haiti. Many thoughtful people would agree that it contributes to their impoverishment.

But Robertson says he is optimistic something good could come out of the current situation, encouraging Christians to pray and acknowledging the suffering, while raising $2 million in relief funds.

And so the media piles on. In an interview with the Haitian ambassador, who twice referred to Haiti’s “pack with the devil” as having positive consequences for the U.S., Rachel Madden says Robertson is “an unintended consequence of the First Amendment.”

But Christians are piling on to.

Many of them point to a post by Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz. Miller, who “doesn’t want to debate the theological implications of Robertson’s statement” because he likes to “speak of faith the way I speak of personal matters.” He says he “pities” Robertson for trying to show us how “tough” he is.

I suppose you should judge for yourself.

But while I might find Robertson’s timing off or wish he was more empathetic or wish the media didn’t assume I shared every aspect of his theology (see my views here), it would be hard for me to describe his tone or demeanor in this video as “tough.” Or condescending or judgmental or any of a number of things he is being accused of.

Miller pities Robertson.

I pity us all.

Posted in communication, faith | 3 Comments »

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What happened in Haiti?

January 18, 2010

The mountains quake before him
and the hills melt away.
The earth trembles at his presence,
the world and all who live in it.
Nahum 1:5

Now that Pat Robertson has weighed in on Haiti, relating the tragedy there to a pact the Haitians made with the devil, the media is weighing in on his pronouncement, often at the expense of any thoughtful theological response.

In the New Yorker, for example, George Parker says the earthquake’s “malignant design” reflects a history of suffering for the Haitian people “so Job-like that it inevitably inspires arguments with God, and about God.”

He contrasts Robertson’s response with a humanitarian one, and all the long-term international obligation that entails. “To patch up a dying country and call it a rescue would leave Haiti forsaken indeed, and not by God,” he concludes.

Writing in the Wall Street Journal, Kevin Rosario, author of The Culture of Calamity: Disaster and the Making of Modern America, takes a more comprehensive view. When Lisbon collapsed from an earthquake in 1775, the religious response was that it was a judgment from God, while more “fashionable thinkers” argued it was a blessing in disguise, part of God’s benevolent design, allowing new growth and prosperity by wiping away the old and making room for the new.

At the time, Voltaire rejected both views, insisting on a moral imperative whereby any civilized response would be to learn from the mistakes and weaknesses such disasters reveal and use human intelligence and sympathy to make a better world.

In fact, however, the outcome of the Lisbon disaster was a new city, a marvel of human ingenuity and imagination. Rosario believes since then it has been a cultural response in America to see such things as both a spiritual correction, calling us back to virtue, as well as the ultimate urban development project, as seen in both San Francisco in 1906 and Chicago in 1871. Creative destruction, as it were.

But Katrina’s devastation of New Orleans has shaken our optimism, revealing that the implications of any such calamity for the poor has been little understood and seldom accounted for. In the haste to rebuild Chicago, for example, more people died as a result of unsafe construction practices than died in the fire itself.

Something like this could easily happen in Haiti, and in the end Rosairo comes down on the side of Voltaire: a thoughtful, deliberate response by the nations is Haiti’s only hope.

For a Christian this is not sufficient. Haiti’s hope is in God, as is ours. But if the earth trembles at his presence, what is he doing in Haiti? While there is no completely satisfying answer, there are some very unsatisfying ones.

Consider a recent worship service at Hillsdale college where one of the musicians assured the audience that this was a natural disaster and God was not involved in any way. This is a God who is limited by his own creation, and who is not sovereign or purposeful at all.

I can only imagine one thing worse than presuming to understand the divine calculus and that would be to discount it altogether.

This much seems true. God is intentional in his dealing with Haiti as a nation. But he is also intentional in each individual life there. If he knows when a sparrow falls from a nest, he certainly knows when a child is trapped in the rubble. It’s humbling to trust him when we don’t understand him, but if I can do something and know how it will affect two or three people, God can certainly do something and know how it will affect everyone involved.

I think of a friend with cancer. I can see what God is doing in her life and in her faith. I can see what is happening in her husband’s life as well. I have some sense of how it is affecting her children and our congregation. And I have some sense of how it is affecting me. In all this I know God is working out his sovereign purpose. At times I’m not very happy about it, but ultimately I can rest in it.

Such a God is big enough to be at work in each citizen of Haiti. All I can do is believe this, and rest in it, while I continue to love him and love my neighbor as myself.

Someone died in Haiti last week because of their involvement in voodoo and its effect on others. And someone else died so their faith, and their family or friends’ faith, would bless many. And each individual who lived does so with responsibility to and mercy from a just and holy God.

So does each person who hears their cry and turns away.

Posted in faith | 4 Comments »

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Look who’s sorry now

January 14, 2010

Who’s sorry now? Apparently everybody.

Elizabeth Bernstein’s column on relationships in the Wall Street Journal last Tuesday explores the growing tendency to track down people on the web and apologize for something that happened years ago.

As she points out, email or Facebook makes us braver and more impulsive. And there are even websites, such as ThePublicApology.com or Perfectapology.com to help us achieve absolution.

Forget to return a library book? Date your ex-roommates ex-boyfriend? Tell your brother-in-law not to marry your sister? No problem. One guy, she reports, contacted a university that admitted him 13 years ago and apologized for not filling out the questionnaire they sent him about why he chose not to attend.

As Bernstein points out:

We live in a self-help culture, where therapists, 12-step programs guides and talk show hosts are forever reminding us that forgiveness and gratitude are the way to happiness (and sobriety). Many times, a long overdue apology, like a confession, does more for the person offering it up than it does for the one receiving it.

That’s the problem, isn’t it. Things often get messy when we do them for ourselves. As I’ve pointed out, our fallenness is not about our inability to do anything good but about our inability to do anything wholly good. The self always gets in the way.

And while confession is good for the soul, it’s often a self-centered project. Forgiving is the really hard work.

Yes, I can see the need in some cases to set things right. A former student sent me a check last year for $150 I had loaned him years ago and, quite frankly, had forgotten about. He clearly needed to set things right for his own conscience sake, and as it turned out, I needed the money. But the point here is not about the apology- it’s about setting things right.

But what the Scripture really requires of us is forgiving others. Seventy times seven. Even when they didn’t ask. “As the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive,” as Paul so aptly puts it in Colossians 3.

The world isn’t always a better place because we track people down and tell them we are sorry, although saying we’re sorry can be a good thing. But it is always better when we stop keeping score, harboring grudges, keeping track of our emotional or material debtors, and nursing our bitterness. The word for forgive Paul uses here is charizominoi—to freely and graciously give, without expecting or exacting a payment.

We don’t need a website to do that.

Posted in communication, faith | 6 Comments »

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What kind of multifunction printer would Jesus buy?

January 12, 2010

And the king said unto Araunah, Nay; but I will surely buy it of thee at a price: neither will I offer burnt offerings unto the LORD my God of that which doth cost me nothing. So David bought the threshingfloor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver. —2 Samuel 24:24

“I don’t want it,” Katie said.

Her two friends murmured their agreement and quickly left the room.

“Why would you want something with a big gouge in it,” she asked.

“Because it doesn’t matter to me,” I said.

Let’s just say the rest of the conversation quickly went downhill.

So let me first say, that one woman’s gouge is another man’s scratch. It wouldn’t have looked that bad to me under better circumstance.

But these were not better circumstances. I’d just spent six hours over two days setting up a new printer I’d bought for her home office. This included way too much time on the phone with tech support, running meaningless diagnostics to prove what I knew from the start: the machine didn’t work. I’d read the manual, used the online chat support, and called the help center.

They had finally concluded it was in fact a hardware problem and I would have to return it to the store. So, two days, 80 miles and some frustrations later this was the second printer, and it worked perfectly.

So, we had two options. We could leave this cool multifunction printer where it was, spitting out copies and scans on both sides of the paper. Or I could take it apart for the second time, put it back in its complicated packaging and go back to the store, asking for yet another one to set up. The setting up process itself took about an hour.

“I’ll take it apart and put it back the box,” I said. “But I’m not taking it back to the store.” This may have been the nicest thing I had to say about the subject.

So I sat down, cooled off, took it apart, put it back in the box and headed back to town. The nice people at Office Max apologized for my trouble and I came home again with the third printer, which works fine and is dent free.

Here’s why.

Ephesian 5 says my job is to love my wife as Christ loved the church, which is a whole lot. And I understand that Christ did this by laying down his life for her. What’s a few hours compared to that?

But what I don’t always understand is how it works. Or why. Ephesians says the point of this was so that Christ would “to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.”

I’m not always sure how to love my wife like that.

But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t start with a blemished printer. Only a pure, unblemished lamb will do for a sacrifice. The truth is, she hadn’t asked me to solve her printing problems, which were many. But I had promised to do so. It was a gift.

And a gift always costs us something, often more than we expected.

Posted in faith, family, generosity | 2 Comments »

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I gave at the grocery

January 9, 2010

“Gifts much expected are paid, not given.” Poor Richard’s Almanac, 1753.

Columnist Eric Felten, writing in the Wall Street Journal (January 8), questions the effectiveness of charity drives at the cash register.

In just the past holiday season he had experienced opportunities to give at Ann Taylor, CVS, Kmart, Williams-Sonoma, Safeway and other stores. Safeway, which runs month long solicitations each quarter, recently raised $18 million in one month.

At his local Safeway the cashier actually draws attention to each gift on the intercom. He’s glad those who don’t give don’t get the same treatment. “But can’t I just get a gallon of milk in peace?” he asks.

Felten is not just being churlish. He wonders if there might be a backlash against such solicitations, where, like with the phone ringing at dinnertime or the panhandler on the street, we just all get better at saying no.

He asked Leslie Lenkowsky at the Indiana University Center for Philanthropy what he thought. Lenkowsky likes these pitches, since the donor has to make a decision to give, getting “both the product and the warm fuzzy glow.”

“Well, I’m not glowing,” says Felten. He doesn’t feel generous when he does it, and he feels like a skinflint if he doesn’t. “Are these the emotions businesses want to produce in their customers?” he wonders.

Generosity is, of course, a much admired but little practiced virtue. It is central to any Christian ethic, a reflection of God’s grace poured out on us through the sacrificial gift of his Son. Whatever we can give or do seems small in such a context.

But giving so your generosity is announced over the loudspeaker, or engraved on the side a building, has long been suspect. Jesus himself encouraged us to do our good works in secret. And giving out of embarrassment or pressure (think United Way at work) is equally suspect.

This is why 1 Corinthians 13 observes that we can give all our goods to feed the poor and still lack charity. In the end generosity is not an action but an attitude.

It’s worth cultivating, but not coercing.

Unfortunately you don’t have to go to Safeway to be manipulated in this way. Churches and Christian organizations can do the same thing in different ways, focusing on the transaction rather than the transformation.

A changed heart is a generous one. Thoughtful giving is responsible stewardship. It flows out of a life that holds the temporal lightly and delights in mercy. In the end, it is the cheerful giver that God loves.

This means we can give at the cash register.

But it doesn’t mean we have to.

———————
Recommended reading: A Revolution in Generosity: Transforming Stewards to Be Rich Toward God

Posted in generosity | 1 Comment »

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Modesty matters

January 4, 2010

And the man and his wife were both naked and they were not ashamed. —Genesis 2:25

In 2000 a young feminist named Wendy Shalit published A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue. Why,” asks Shalit, “is sexual modesty so threatening to some that they can only respond to it with charges of abuse or delusion?”

Kirkus Review said of the book, that she argues modesty “puts women in control of access to their bodies, allows them to preserve the beauty of their romantic aspirations, compels men to invest themselves in relationships, and enhances the erotic potential of eventual intimacy.”

It struck a cord, and she launched a blog, modestlyyours.net. And she followed it up with a book in 2005, The Good Girl Revolution: Young Rebels with Self-Esteem and High Standards.

The books are not from a Christian perspective. In fact, in A Return to Modesty, she spends more time examining the issue from Jewish and Islamic traditions. But modesty is certainly something we ought to talk about often and loudly, to both men and women. Young men are often immodest in their dress as well.

But a biblical response goes deeper. Modesty is not about women’s self esteem, although that’s affected without a doubt. And it’s not about being in control, although that is important.

It is about God’s purpose and design, and ultimately about his glory.

In Piper’s book, This Momentary Marriage: A Parable of Permanence(which I am still reading and recommending) he posits that Adam and Eve tried to cover themselves with fig leaves because they were no longer able to be “naked and not ashamed.”

Before the fall, they were not ashamed because they were able to trust each other. After the fall, they were not. They were vulnerable and exposed, not only physically but emotionally. How could Eve trust Adam, who had failed to protect her from the Serpent’s lies? How could he trust her, when she had herself tempted him to evil?

God responds by making them better clothes, not to conceal their failure but to confess it. And he does this with the skin of animals, requiring the blood of sacrifice, pointing to the sacrifice of His own Son to restore our relationship with Him and with each other.

Properly understood, marriage allows us to return as much as possible to a relationship where over time we can be naked and not ashamed. But the real issue with immodesty is that it leaves us vulnerable again, unable to trust each other, always making comparisons and imagining more or less than might be true. This doesn’t require air-brushed models; we compare ourselves (or our spouses) whenever we focus on how others dress, and though we are not naked we are often ashamed.

But taking our clothes off, or wearing low cut blouses or too tight pants, is not the only way we create this problem. Using clothes to get attention or to leverage our power and prestige in such a way as to diminish others is equally dangerous. That’s why, Piper points out, God’s answer is simplicity and, well, modesty. (See 1 Timothy 2:9-10 or 1 Peter 3:4-5.)

Here’s how Piper concludes his short discussion of modesty:

Clothes are not meant to make people think about what is under the clothes. Clothes are meant to draw attention to what is not under them: merciful hands that serve others in the name of Christ, beautiful feet that carry the gospel where it is needed, and the brightness of a face that has beheld the glory of Jesus.

Go ahead. Buy the book.

Posted in faith, marriage | 4 Comments »

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First comes love, then comes…

January 2, 2010

“It is not your love that sustains the marriage, but from now on, the marriage that sustains the love.—Dietrich Bonhoeffer”

In an interview in the Wall Street Journal today, Elizabeth Gilbert discusses her new book: Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage.

Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray Love, is in her second marriage. She has a prenuptial agreement and says “sometimes it is an act of love to plot an exit strategy before you enter the union, to make sure that not only you but your partner as well knows there will be no WWIII should hearts and minds, for any sad reason, change.”

But clearly she has made peace with the idea of marriage, which has, she says “a Darwinian ability to endure.” In her view, our modern notion of a private and romantic union still carries the weight of tax laws and religious implications, which guarantees an almost instant social legitimacy, a “huge shortcut to social respectability” with “countless tangible and intangible benefits.”

Her tone is not cynical, however, and she makes some compelling points. She makes a distinction between a wedding and a marriage, for example, and wisely points out how the wedding itself can by idealized in ways that are neither practical or beneficial.

She says “Marriage is not a game for the young,” because maturity brings the ability to survive its contradictions and disappointments: “Marriage is, among other things, a study in contradiction and disappointment, and inside that reality there is space for us to truly learn how to love.”

But as much as I applaud the respect she gives it, in a culture that often seem to give it none, there is much more to it than that. It’s not about us in the end. It’s not about the respectability and responsibility of being committed to each other.

When the Apostle Paul says marriage is a mystery that refers to Christ and the church, he is saying the ultimate purpose of marriage is to picture this truth—that Christ is in an eternal, covenant relationship with his people.

This is the argument of John Piper’s new book, This Momentary Marriage: A Parable of Permanence

“Marriage is meant by God to put that gospel reality on display in the world….That is why all married people are married, even when they don’t know or accept this gospel,” Piper writes. For him it is a momentary gift, a mere shadow of eternal realities.

That marriage is God’s work and that it results in His glory should come as no surprise to us, but it does. Piper hopes his book will help set us free from “small, worldly, culturally contaminated, self-centered, Christ-ignoring, God-neglecting, romance-intoxicated, unbiblical views of marriage.”

Gilbert finds marriage “miraculous and kind of inspiring.” Piper finds it a momentary but glorious gift. His is an eternal perspective that trumps evolving social conventions every time.

And makes me glad Jesus has no pre-nup with his church. Or with me.

Posted in church, family, marriage | 3 Comments »

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who is Jesus

August 24, 2009

I’m posting a series of essays as preparation for my upcoming ordination council. You can find these at http://bit.ly/1ps22J

Here is an excerpt from “who is Jesus and why does it matter?”

the king thing? We have no idea at all, even though Christ as sovereign Lord is where an understanding of who Jesus is must lead us in the end. This isn’t about Queen Elizabeth and Prince Henry, bound by Parliament and centuries of human reason and regulation. We’re talking Darius, with power of life and death, as less than a choir boy. Ultimately Jesus is the King (Revelation 17:14, 19:16) before whom the heavens and the earth will melt.

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A tale of three fathers

August 9, 2009

Personal influence on art and craft

(Note: there is a brief video of me lecturing on this topic on my professional blog. You can view it here.)

“In my beginning is my end.” T.S. Eliot

In his classic essay “Why I Write” George Orwell says we write for sheer egoism, aesthetic enthusiasm, historical impulse and political purpose, an observation with which I completely concur.

But this explains little about why we write the way we do. Clearly one aspect of this is the influence of other writers, writers who have moved us and awed us with the tangible delight of words on a page.

Their work becomes in some collective way a source of our craft, as argued so elegantly in Francine Prose’s book Reading Like a Writer, a Guide for People who Love Books and for Those who Want to Write Them. Prose (what a happy name for such a task) argues convincingly for the value of reading literature closely for the necessary models for writing it well.

But our motivation and process are more likely influenced by people we actually know, like our fathers.

Take William Zinsser, for example. In his classic volume On Writing Well, he provides practical, useful advice for writers who want to write clearly and effectively. But in his final chapter, “Write as Well as You Can,” he points to the influences of his early life, including a mother who liked to clip thing out of the newspaper that delighted her for their style, wit or vision.

His dad, on the other hand, owned a company that made shellac and had been in the family three generations. He was a man who loved his business, an art “to be practiced with imagination and only the best ingredients, and who clearly expected his son to follow in his footsteps.

It was not from his mother’s love of literature, however, but from his father’s world of business that Zinsser inherited his craftsman’s ethic. He says “When I found myself endlessly rewriting what I had endlessly rewritten, determined to write better than everybody who was competing for the same space, the inner voice I was hearing was the voice of my father talking about shellac.”

The poet John Leax tells a similar story in Grace is Where I Live. He remembers visiting his home after his dad died. His dad, who bought and tamed four treeless acres outside of Pittsburg with woods and gardens and ponds, was not a poet at all. In fact, he once confessed to his son that he had never read a work of fiction.

He remembers his dad as one who seldom rose to self consciousness, who lived in the present and found pleasure in what he could touch, free, as it were, “of the burden of finishing that diminishes the working.” In such work Leax says his dad reached for holiness, “setting aside what one is to become what God wills.”

“My father was a craftsman who cared more for the act of making, for the assault on perfection, than for the finished product,” writes Leax, and this has become true of Leax himself, “although I work not in woods but in words.”

Fortunately for me, my own father’s craft was words. And wood. As a pastor, builder, artist, writer, he was in fact a multi-talented entrepreneur who taught me that words were powerful channels of vision and grace.

I learned much about craft from him, even before he used to edit my papers in college. He was an English major in college who always took words seriously and prepared sermons thoughtfully.

He was forceful but gracious in the pulpit, with a southern style that reflects the best possible understanding of the term. Think of the elegance of the King James version crossed with the plain style of a builder’s son and you have only begun to understand what it was like to hear him preach.

But what I learned from him as a writer was more about motivation than craft. Dad believed the gospel could change others because it changed him. He never gave up on people, and believed long after I had given up on them that they could be transformed by the truth of the gospel.

Understanding that what we say has the ability to change what others think and do is a great gift for one who writes. This was especially true of my dad, whose integrity and humility were framed by the biblical mandate that we “speak the truth in love. (Ephesians 4:15)”

I’m reminded of another preacher, the author of Ecclesiastes, who says in chapter 11:

The Preacher sought to find words of delight,
and uprightly he wrote words of truth.
The words of the wise are like goads,
and like nails firmly fixed are the collected sayings.

He goes on to say that “of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness to the flesh.”

Writers understand that. That’s why in the end we are as concerned with the power of words as with their beauty, otherwise why would we do it? And if we write with passion and intensity, we focus on the why as well as the way.

It helps to reflect on those who have nurtured these things. Style may reflect a confluence of influences, but motivation is usually more personal.

And important.

Posted in family, poetry | 3 Comments »

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