In a mirror, darkly

Since I don’t get HBO, I haven’t seen Alexandra Pelosi’s documentary Friends of God, though I’d be interested to watch it; at this point, though, I don’t know much more than what I read in Michael Linton’s post on the First Things blog, On the Square. Linton’s post, though, is plenty and enough to spark reflection—mostly grieved reflection, unfortunately. I’m in no position to pass judgment on Pelosi’s work one way or the other, but it seems that those of us who call ourselves evangelicals (and really, any serious Christian) ought to take a long, hard look at what she shows us of ourselves. The parking-lot scene Linton cites, in which Pelosi is talking with Ted Haggard and two of his church members about their sex lives, looks particularly painful, and not just because of the subsequent revelations of Haggard’s gay infidelity. As Linton puts it,

The possibility that it might be deeply indecent for a Christian minister ever to ask a man to reveal the most intimate nature of his relationship with his wife in front of anyone else—let alone in front of a camera—is apparently not within his ken. And the idea that these men should protect their wives’ privacy and refuse to answer isn’t in their ken either. They boast about their . . . well, you fill in the blank (we’ve all been in locker rooms). It feels so great. It’s all for the Lord. High fives, everybody.

Yeah. For all the fuss many evangelicals make about our country’s moral decline, we too often accept the same assumptions and impulses that have driven that decline; as someone put it, instead of being in the world but not of it, too often we manage instead to be of the world but not in it, creating our own little subculture with “Christianized” versions of everything the world has—including, all too often, its misdirected desires. As such, there’s all too much truth to Linton’s charge that

We, “us,” the Evangelicals with the capital E, have become thoughtless, sensualistic braggarts. . . . What doctrinal rigor we might have had has been progressively smothered by sensuality draped with arrogant irresponsibility. We don’t think; we feel. If it feels right, it’s the Lord’s working, and if it’s the Lord’s working, we can be proud of it.

I don’t want to beat up on evangelicals; I am one, and I make no bones about it. But we have enmeshed ourselves far too deeply in the culture and system of this world, this present age, and we have come to think far too highly of ourselves. To quote Linton again,

We’ve forgotten the Scriptures and allowed ignorance to characterize our preaching, and delirium our worship. In our confidence in God’s grace, we have become presumptuous in our salvation. And we’ve too often confused salvation in heaven with right voting on earth. We need to change. We need to repent.

We need, I would say, to remember that the true gospel is countercultural and costly; we need to set aside the idea that we can, or should, be comfortable with God. We need to go back to Isaiah 6 and remember the reaction of that great prophet when he really saw the glory and holiness of God: he cried out in terror, for he saw his sinfulness for what it really was. And maybe, just maybe, we need to stop singing “worship” songs about how wonderful we are and put the worms back in our hymnody. May God have mercy on us for our presumption.

Lenten Song of the Week

This being Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, it seemed appropriate to move this to a Lenten theme; and given that, the logical place to start seemed to be with the first hymn we sang at our Ash Wednesday service this evening. (If you aren’t familiar with this hymn, check out the Oremus Hymnal website; the link is below.)

Lord, Who Throughout These Forty DaysLord, who throughout these forty days
For us didst fast and pray,
Teach us with thee to mourn our sins,
And close by thee to stay.

As thou with Satan didst contend
And didst the victory win,
O give us strength in thee to fight,
In thee to conquer sin.

As thou didst hunger bear and thirst,
So teach us, gracious Lord,
To die to self, and chiefly live
By thy most holy word.

And through these days of penitence,
And through thy Passiontide,
Yea, evermore, in life and death,
Jesus! with us abide.

Abide with us, that so, this life
Of suffering over-past,
An Easter of unending joy
We may attain at last! Words: Claudia F. Hernaman, 1873
Music:
Day’s Psalter, 1563
ST. FLAVIAN, CM

An insurgency divided against itself cannot stand

From the “Things the US Media Won’t Tell You” Dept.:

Our Islamicist opponents in Iraq are turning on each other, and their “premier jihadist propaganda tool” has now launched an all-out attack on al-Qaeda. This shouldn’t surprise us–one of the best arguments for standing firm in Iraq is that the uneasy alliances among our enemies there can’t hold together if we keep the pressure on–but unfortunately, it also shouldn’t surprise us that no one in the West is interested in reporting this. Kudos to Nibras Kazimi, a visiting scholar at the Hudson Institute, for breaking this story on his blog Talisman Gate; this is the sort of thing we need to know if we’re going to have any chance at all to evaluate the situation in Iraq rationally and helpfully.

Wretchard at The Belmont Club picked up on this, via a thread on Small Wars Council in which it’s noted that al-Qaeda’s actions on the ground have outraged not only fellow jihadists but at least some of the tribes on whose cooperation they have depended. The key for us in Iraq, it seems to me, is to use a sort of large-scale judo on al-Qaeda and on other groups involved in the insurgency, to do everything possible to use their strength against them and assist them in defeating themselves; and if Wretchard’s right, that might be just what we’re doing. Now might not be a bad time at all to significantly reduce our troop presence, but it’s definitely not the time to pull out and abandon the field to our enemies. Stay the course, but sneakily.

Atheism and its discontents

Interesting meditation over on the First Things website by one of their junior fellows, Ryan Anderson, on the question, “Are Atheists Victims of Discrimination?” He concludes that in some ways, yes, they are, but that much of it is self-inflicted (and much of the rest is in reaction to the public bloviations of folks like Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, and Peter Singer); and he ends with this:

Atheist discontent still bears a seed of redemption, though, as it points to the fundamental human longing for community, shared values, and shared lives. That they feel this need goes unfulfilled isn’t surprising, since it’s a large element of what religion is all about. Far from unjustly discriminating, then, believers ought to water that seed by charity and prayers so that its seedling might one day be grafted onto the one true Vine.

Amen.

Song of the Week

Andrew Osenga is probably best known as the guy who replaced Derek Webb with Caedmon’s Call; others might recognize his name from his work with Andrew Peterson. To an unfortunately small number of us, though, he is first of all the frontman for The Normals, who released three albums between 1998 and 2002 before breaking up; with strong lyrics and a sound all their own, they naturally weren’t a big hit. After all, what do you expect a DJ to do with a song titled “We Are the Beggars at the Foot of God’s Door,” anyway?

We Are the Beggars at the Foot of God’s Door

We are gathered in cathedrals on a Sunday;
We are shrouded in our pride and lust’s despair.
We have heard that You said, go to where your hearts once were,
Trusting we’d arrive to find You there.

We have known the empty senses of a funeral;
We are haunted by the promises of death.
We have asked to see Your face and noticed nothing
But a well-timed honest smile from a friend.

O we of little faith, O You of stubborn grace . . .
We are the beggars, we are the beggars,
We are the beggars at the foot of God’s door.

We have grown cold to the kisses of our lovers;
We have rolled the windows up and driven through
The forests of the autumn, the innocence of snow,
The metaphor of Jesus in the dew.

We have known the heated passion of the cold night;
We have sold ourselves to everything we hate.
We’re hypocrites and politicians running from a fight;
We’ve cheated on a very jealous mate.

Chorus

We have known the pain of loving in a dying world,
And our lies have made us angry at the truth–
But Cinderella’s slipper fits us perfectly,
And somehow we’re made royalty with You.

Chorus

And You have welcomed us in.

Words and music: Andrew Osenga and The Normals
© 2000 Starstruck Music/BMG Songs/Northern Shore Music
From the album
 Coming to Life, by The Normals

 

Not a bad appetizer

One of our elders here at Trinity has asked me several times over the last number of months if I’d read David Gregory’s book Dinner with a Perfect Stranger. I hadn’t, nor did I want to (though I didn’t say that–no need to be rude, after all); it struck me as something of a Christian parallel to Mitch Albom’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven, just a piece of well-intentioned schlock.

Well, it seems Steve finally decided I’d had long enough, or something, and loaned me his copy. At least, he gave me his copy with the expectation that I would read and return it; can you really call it a loan when the other person doesn’t want to borrow it? Whatever you want to call it, though, the book was on my desk, and it’s short enough (100 small pages) that I didn’t have any real excuse not to read it; so I did. I was pleasantly surprised–quite surprised, in fact. It’s not great literature by any means, nor is it likely to be mistaken over the long haul for one of
C. S. Lewis’ works (though Gregory clearly admires Lewis–I caught a couple nods to Mere Christianity over the course of the book); for that matter, I wouldn’t even put it with Peter Kreeft‘s work. Still, it’s clearly and cleanly written, and far shorter than I feared on the preciousness one so often finds in Christian fiction. More importantly, the book goes far beyond the sophomoric popular theology I expected to find; Gregory manages consistently to be simple without being simplistic, which is an important and difficult line to walk, and his apologetic is wide-ranging and thoughtful–and deeper than most contemporary Christian nonfiction. On several points (such as the discussion of heaven), his book can even serve (and will, I hope) as a useful corrective to the poor theology served up in many places around the American church.

All in all, I was pleased and impressed: Dinner with a Perfect Stranger is indeed an “invitation worth considering,” for non-Christians and immature Christians alike. It’s not great fiction, but it’s probably good enough writing and storytelling to please most non-academics these days, and it’s not just milk (or chicken soup), either–there’s a lot of good, solid food for the soul here. Recommended.

Note: fans of Dinner with a Perfect Stranger might be interested to know that there’s a sequel, focused on Nick’s wife Mattie, called A Day with a Perfect Stranger.

Knocking on Heaven’s Door

For the last few weeks, I’ve been working my way through David Crump’s book Knocking on Heaven’s Door: A New Testament Theology of Petitionary Prayer. Dr. Crump’s a religion professor at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, MI, and he’s written a truly superb book; there’s more meat in the introduction alone than you’ll find in many books on prayer. I picked it up after reading Lauren Winner’s review, thinking it could give me a useful frame for a sermon series, and that’s been one of the better decisions I’ve made lately. I will indeed be leaning on this book in my preaching this summer, but it’s done me a lot more good than just that; I can honestly say my prayer life is stronger and deeper as a result of the reading I’ve done so far, and I look forward to seeing what Dr. Crump draws out of the rest of the New Testament. Highly recommended.

Song of the Week

Another favorite of mine is fellow member of the Regent College community Carolyn Arends. There’s a lot of good songwriters up there in Canada, and she’s one of the best. She’s way under the radar at the moment because she went indie and stopped touring a few years ago to give herself time and space to raise her kids, but she’s still writing and singing and putting out albums (which are available through her website); her recent albums are more uneven than her studio work, but still well worth listening to, and better than a lot of the material out there. After all, to say that an album isn’t as good as Feel Free or This Much I Understand isn’t exactly an insult. Here, for instance, is my favorite lyric off Arends’ second album, Feel Free (a cut which reminds me of the late, much-lamented Rich Mullins):

Do We Dare?The prayers that we pray in foxholes and funerals,
The songs that we sing in delivery rooms,
The questions we ask when nobody’s listening
But the man in the moon . . .
The way our hearts beat–faced with a sunrise,
Like maybe they know something we don’t;
But it’s all in code, and we can’t decode it–
Or maybe we won’t.Do we dare pay attention, dare even mention
The mystery we find ourselves caught in?
And do we dare to remember
All that we have forgotten?
Each breath that we take, we take for granted,
So if there are clues, we remain unaware.
All the days of our lives burn down like matches–
Vanish into thin air.
But there are dreams that we dream when we least expect them,
And memories that come like unbidden tears,
All the things we believed when we were still children–
It’s been so many years . . .ChorusBridge:
We are battered and torn from the day we are born
In a world that has blinded and bound us;
Is it any surprise we don’t open our eyes
To the truth that’s disguised all around usLike the secrets we keep we don’t know we’re keeping
From before there was time, before there were lies;
Can we find you again, this far from the garden?
Do we dare even try?Chorus
Words and music: Carolyn Arends
© 1997 Running Arends Music/New Spring Publishing (a division of Brentwood Music Publishing, Inc.)
From the album
Feel Free, by Carolyn Arends

Washington politics at their oddest

No, I don’t mean D.C., I mean my home state; which tends, politically speaking, to be strange, but not as strange as Oregon to the south or British Columbia to the north. This gambit, though, is the sort of thing you might expect to see come out of Oregon:

New initiative: No children? Then no marriage
‘Absurd’ idea aims to start discussion

I may comment on this later; right now . . . I’m speechless.

Song of the Week

These days, I think my favorite active solo artist (with all due apologies to Sufjan Stevens, who was a couple years behind me at Hope College) is Andrew Peterson; I enjoy his music, and I appreciate the depth and thoughtfulness of his lyrics. His second album, Clear to Venus, is still his best, I think, with several songs that are as good as anything he’s written; here’s my favorite, which opens the album.

No More Faith
1 Corinthians 13:13

This is not another song about the mountains,
Except about how hard they are to move;
Have you ever stood before them
Like a mustard seed who’s waiting for some proof?

I say faith is a burden—
It’s a weight to bear;
It’s brave and bittersweet.
And hope is hard to hold to;
Lord, I believe,
Only help my unbelief

Chorus:
Till there’s no more faith,
No more hope;
I’ll see Your face and Lord, I’ll know
There’s no more faith,
No more hope.
I’ll sing Your praise and let them go,
‘Cause only love,
Only love remains.

Have you ever heard that Jesus is the answer
And thought about the many doubts you hide?
Have you wondered how he loves you
If he really knows how dark you are inside?

I say faith is a burden—
It’s a weight to bear;
It’s brave and bittersweet.
And hope is hard to hold to;
Lord, I believe,
Only help my unbelief

Chorus

So I will drive these roads in thunder and in rain,
I will sing Your song at the top of my lungs,
And I will praise You, Lord, in glory and in pain
And I will follow You till this race is won.
And I will drive these roads till this motor won’t run
And I will sing Your song from sea to shining sea,
And I will praise You, Lord, till Your kingdom come
And I will follow where you lead

Chorus
Hallelujah!


Words and music: Andrew Peterson
© 2001 New Spring Publishing (a division of Brentwood-Benson Music Publishing)
From the album
 Clear to Venus, by Andrew Peterson