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Author Archives: Rob Harrison
The countercultural gospel of rest
Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
the watchman stays awake in vain.
It is in vain that you get up early
and go to bed late,
eating the bread of anxious toil;
for he gives sleep to those he loves.
—Psalm 127:1-2
One of the more memorable nights of my oldest daughter’s life (for me, at least) came when she was maybe a month or two old. It was right around 11 o’clock at night, and she needed her diaper changed—and when Sara got her cleaned up, we discovered that we were out of diapers. Now, we were in Surrey at the time—it’s one of the suburbs on the southern edge of the metro Vancouver area—and our local Safeway closed at 11 pm; the convenience stores were still open, but for some obscure reason they only sold size 3 diapers, which were way too big for her. Obviously, one of us needed to go out and try to find someplace that was still open that sold diapers in her size. I trust you don’t need me to tell you which one of us that was.
I spent a while hitting various big stores around southwestern Surrey, only to find that all had closed for the night. I could have headed north into the metro area, but I knew my odds wouldn’t be good, because Vancouver as a city doesn’t tend to stay open very late. So I headed south towards the border, for my home state of Washington, where even towns the size of Lynden, with 7,000 people, have grocery stores open 24/7. I drove down to Ferndale, north of Bellingham, walked into Haggen Foods, bought diapers, and drove home. If memory serves, I got back around 1 in the morning.
As I was driving around on my wild-goose chase—or should I call it a wild-diaper chase?—I was muttering imprecations under my breath about what kind of big city rolls up the sidewalks at 11 pm and what kind of country is this anyway? and other things of that sort. After all, I went to college in a town of around 50,000 people, and we had Meijer open ’round the clock—if you know the Midwest know Meijer, which has been out-Wal-Mart-ing Wal-Mart for a long time; for those of you who don’t, combine Wal-Mart and your typical big chain supermarket, then drop the prices—so why, if I was living in a metropolitan area of three million people, was I having to drive across the border to pick up a lousy package of diapers?
Now, you might be thinking that the fault was really ours, for not having another package of diapers on hand, and you’d certainly be right about that; as the saying goes, poor planning on our part didn’t constitute an emergency on anyone else’s. I felt pretty sheepish about that, which is one reason I was so irritated. In retrospect, though, I’m more interested in the expectations I had then, because I didn’t grow up with them. My hometown growing up wasn’t tiny, wasn’t an especially big town either; I was in high school when K-Mart came to town, and that was a big deal—and even then, while they were open later, they still closed at 9 pm. So I grew up with the idea that everything closes at night; the first time I ever heard the phrase “24/7” was in college. We just didn’t have that sort of economy.
In college, though, I discovered that I’m a night owl—and I discovered a world in which there are places open at 2 am where you can go to get food, or anything else; and I got used to that. I became accustomed to the idea (though I never would have put it this way) that there were people out there whose job was to stay up all night just in case I happened to want something. And I became an enabler, in a small way, of an economy in which people wind up doing just that: working at night, while the rest of the world sleeps, and sleeping during the day, while it works and plays, in order to make a living.
Now, it wasn’t news to me that some people work at night; my mother’s a nurse, and during our time in Texas she worked the night shift at the county hospital for a while. There are certainly some places—like hospitals—that really do need to stay open all night; if an appendix bursts or a baby needs to be born, you can’t very well say, “Hold that thought, and we’ll be with you at 9 am sharp.” But the idea that people need to stay up all night just so careless folk like me who don’t keep track of their supplies can buy a package of diapers at midnight—is that really reasonable?
From a human perspective, I don’t think it is; but from an economic perspective, if there are enough customers to keep the store profitable, the answer is “yes.” As a result, we’re increasingly moving to a 24/7 economy, one in which the rhythms of life as our ancestors knew it—work when it’s light, sleep when it’s dark, a day of rest each week, and so on—are being obliterated by the demands of making money; the net effect is that businesses stay open longer and longer hours just to keep up, and their workers perforce must do the same. It’s a treadmill, nothing more, and for many people, it defines their lives; after all, you have to do whatever it takes to make a living.
That leaves us with a lot of people who are, in effect, slaves to their work—their work runs their lives and determines their schedule. For many, it’s simply the need to make ends meet; we see a lot of that up here, where living is expensive and a lot of jobs don’t pay all that well, and so finding enough money to keep a roof over one’s head and food on the table becomes an overriding priority. Others have enough, but they want more than that—they want to keep up with the proverbial Joneses, and so they want the money to afford the kind of house, car, clothes, and lifestyle that Mr. and Mrs. Jones have. Then, of course, there are people who want to be important, for one reason or another; for them, it’s not so much the money that matters as the status, and perhaps the power and influence.
There are also people like a couple of friends of ours back in Washington, both engineers, who worked insanely hard; even after their first child was born, he was still regularly working 70- and 80-hour weeks. At one point, they were working different shifts and basically never saw each other awake, though I don’t remember how long that lasted. He would work those long weeks, then spend much of his weekend frantically enjoying himself on his mountain bike or snowmobile, depending on the season—he never skipped church, but church was about the only other thing he did, many weekends—and then it was back to work on Monday to do it all over again. He’s a devoted Christian, but that didn’t affect his view of work. Work was something you had to do in order to pay for the things you wanted to do, and so he got into that cycle of working long hours to afford a few hours of hard play to enable him to survive the long hours he was working to afford it.
Now, whatever the precise reward people have in mind, the bottom-line view in all these cases is the same, the one my friend articulated: work is something you have to do in order to get what you want, and however much it takes, that’s what you have to do. It’s up to us to make everything happen, to earn the blessings we want; it’s up to us to work hard enough and long enough and well enough to be a success, whatever we might define success to be. That’s the conventional wisdom.
God’s wisdom is another matter. The key to life, the psalmist tells us, isn’t how hard we work or what long hours we put in; all those short nights and long, anxious days, trying to keep up with the treadmill, are in vain, because we can’t make success happen on our own. We can’t build a good family, a good life, on our own; we can’t build a good nation, or keep it safe, on our own. Unless the Lord builds the house, unless the Lord guards the city—unless he builds our family, unless he builds our church—all our work is in vain. Ultimately, he’s the one who determines success, not us.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that we’re free not to work, which is how some have tried to take this psalm. Paul dealt with folks who took that position in his second letter to the church at Thessalonica; his response to them was, “Such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and earn their own living.” A couple verses before that, he laid down the law quite firmly: “Anyone unwilling to work should not eat.” We all have our work to do, and the responsibility to support ourselves if we’re able to do so; the Scriptures are perfectly clear on that.
The point of this psalm, then, is not about whether we work, but how, and how we regard our work. Even as Christians, we tend to work as if we believe that our success depends on us and our effort and the time we put in, and that if we fail, it’s because we didn’t work hard enough or do our work well enough. In our work, we carry the weight of our lives on our shoulders—and we shouldn’t do that. That approach to our work creates anxiety and deprives us of rest; it also breeds pride, if we do well, or despair, if we don’t; and it makes work, rather than God, the true lord of our lives, setting our priorities and controlling our time. As such, if we take this approach to our work, if we view our work from the world’s perspective, it isolates us from God and cuts us off from his blessings, leaving us to carry our burdens alone.
By contrast, the psalmist says, if you aren’t doing the Lord’s work, it’s pointless, and if you are, you don’t need to work so hard; either way, there’s nothing to be said for letting work rule your life. Now, a lot of folks would disagree, and there’s certainly no denying that a lot of people who work hard for long hours are great successes by the world’s standards; but besides all the stuff, what do they have, really? They can’t have any assurance that their success will continue—especially in this economy, where so many former successes have cratered—so how can they have any peace? And are they as rich in relationships and integrity as they are in money? From the psalmist’s point of view, financial wealth without the rest is a bad bargain; and this psalm was written by King Solomon, who certainly knew whereof he spoke.
Those who build the house themselves, those who guard their little empires alone, must stay up late and rise early, for they can never relax their vigilance or let their effort slack; but those who trust in the Lord are free to sleep, for he gives sleep to those he loves. He may not give great financial success, but he gives enough; and along with it he gives peace, and rest, and assurance. The lives of those who pour themselves into their work are unbalanced, as the goods that work produces are overemphasized while others are neglected; in contrast, God offers us a balanced life, a life with time for both work and family, both work and rest.The best example of this is the Sabbath, the weekly day of rest, which was set aside in part for reasons of economic justice. Within the economy of Israel, the Sabbath—the Hebrew word is shabbat, which means “rest”—served (when honored) to ensure that masters didn’t work their laborers seven days a week, 354 days a year, but that they got the time off they needed. As the website Judaism 101 puts it in its entry on Shabbat,
In modern America, we take the five-day work-week so much for granted that we forget what a radical concept a day of rest was in ancient times. The weekly day of rest has no parallel in any other ancient civilization. In ancient times, leisure was for the wealthy and the ruling classes only, never for the serving or laboring classes. In addition, the very idea of rest each week was unimaginable.
It was unimaginable to the rest of the world because the rest of the world was ruled by money and its demands, which tends to be the world’s default position, but God knew what he was doing when he wrote that into his law; he knew we need a day set aside to rest and recharge our bodies, by not working, and our souls, by coming together as his people to pray and worship him. He knew that we need that to keep our lives balanced, and keep everything in its proper perspective. And of course, while we’re called to be in prayer all the time and to worship God with every part of our lives, with all he’s done for us, he deserves to have us gather once a week to worship him together.
From the world’s perspective, it makes no sense—if you want to make a living, if you want to keep up with the Joneses, if you want to have the money to live the life you want to live, if you want to be prepared when things go sour, you can’t afford to take days off!—but from the Christian perspective, it makes perfect sense, because we know what the world doesn’t: that God is in control, and that ultimately only his work, done his way, in accordance with his will, meets with final success; and that while the world goes on working 24/7, scrambling to stay one step ahead of the game, those who serve him can step back, confident in his care, take some time off, and rest, for he gives sleep to those he loves.
The prosperity gospel and the bursting of the American bubble
The latest issue of The Atlantic has a big cover picture of a cross against a blue sky with a “Foreclosure” sign on it, and the lurid main headline, “Did Christianity Cause the Crash?” As is so often the case, the article in no way justifies the headline; it does, however, make a compelling case that a particularly pernicious American heresy, the so-called “prosperity gospel,” may have been a significant contributing factor.
Many explanations have been offered for the housing bubble and subsequent crash: interest rates were too low; regulation failed; rising real-estate prices induced a sort of temporary insanity in America’s middle class. But there is one explanation that speaks to a lasting and fundamental shift in American culture—a shift in the American conception of divine Providence and its relationship to wealth.
In his book Something for Nothing, Jackson Lears describes two starkly different manifestations of the American dream, each intertwined with religious faith. The traditional Protestant hero is a self-made man. He is disciplined and hardworking, and believes that his “success comes through careful cultivation of (implicitly Protestant) virtues in cooperation with a Providential plan.” The hero of the second American narrative is a kind of gambling man—a “speculative confidence man,” Lears calls him, who prefers “risky ventures in real estate,” and a more “fluid, mobile democracy.” The self-made man imagines a coherent universe where earthly rewards match merits. The confidence man lives in a culture of chance, with “grace as a kind of spiritual luck, a free gift from God.” The Gilded Age launched the myth of the self-made man, as the Rockefellers and other powerful men in the pews connected their wealth to their own virtue. In these boom-and-crash years, the more reckless alter ego dominates. In his book, Lears quotes a reverend named Jeffrey Black, who sounds remarkably like Garay: “The whole hope of a human being is that somehow, in spite of the things I’ve done wrong, there will be an episode when grace and fate shower down on me and an unearned blessing will come to me—that I’ll be the one.”
THEOLOGICALLY, THE PROSPERITY GOSPEL has always infuriated many mainstream evangelical pastors. Rick Warren, whose book The Purpose Driven Life outsold Osteen’s, told Time, “This idea that God wants everybody to be wealthy? There is a word for that: baloney. It’s creating a false idol. You don’t measure your self-worth by your net worth. I can show you millions of faithful followers of Christ who live in poverty. Why isn’t everyone in the church a millionaire?” In 2005, a group of African American pastors met to denounce prosperity megapreachers for promoting a Jesus who is more like a “cosmic bellhop,” as one pastor put it, than the engaged Jesus of the civil-rights era who looked after the poor.
More recently, critics have begun to argue that the prosperity gospel, echoed in churches across the country, might have played a part in the economic collapse. In 2008, in the online magazine Religion Dispatches, Jonathan Walton, a professor of religious studies at the University of California at Riverside, warned:
Narratives of how “God blessed me with my first house despite my credit” were common . . . Sermons declaring “It’s your season of overflow” supplanted messages of economic sobriety and disinterested sacrifice. Yet as folks were testifying about “what God can do,” little attention was paid to a predatory subprime-mortgage industry, relaxed credit standards, or the dangers of using one’s home equity as an ATM.
In June, the Supreme Court ruled that state attorneys general had the authority to sue national banks for predatory lending. Even before that ruling, at least 17 lawsuits accusing various banks of treating racial minorities unfairly were already under way. . . . One theme emerging in these suits is how banks teamed up with pastors to win over new customers for subprime loans.
The emphasis there is mine, of course. Read the whole thing; it makes me think that part of the crash this country suffered may well be God’s judgment on the idolatry of his people.
Re-Defeat Bill Owens in NY-23
Or, Why Sarah Palin’s Coattails May Have Been Bigger than Credited
- There was a virus discovered in some of the voting machines in NY-23, which were reprogrammed just before the election; none of the other voting machines by that manufacturer used across the district were checked.
- “In Jefferson County, inspectors from four districts claim that ‘human error’ resulted in their ‘mistakenly’ entering 0 votes for Hoffman in several districts, resulting in Owens leading Jefferson County on election night though the recanvas of the computer counts now show that Hoffman is leading.”
- “Doug Hoffman, the Conservative candidate in this election says that he was forced to concede after having been given erroneous election results on Nov. 3rd, in particular from Oswego County. Oswego County’s election night results were off by over 1,000 votes. . . . Hoffman is raising funds for a possible legal challenge to the results and requesting that the Boards of Election hand-count every vote. On Tuesday, he ‘unconceded’ the race. In light of the current concerns over the accuracy of the machine-counted votes, Hoffman may now have a legitimate reason to contest the election results.”
- “The ImageCast machines have one more significant and scary flaw: USB ports. . . . [Using these ports,] software hacks or remote control of the voting machine could be implemented or a virus introduced. Since standard count audits are only done on 3% of the machines unless there is a malfunction, a functional hack or software change could adjust election counts with the County or State Boards of Election none the wiser.”
- “The manufacturer of the machines, Dominion/Sequoia Voting Systems is the same company that Dan Rather accused of causing over 50,000 votes to go uncounted in the 2000 Presidential Election in Florida due to intentional oversight. Rather’s report claimed that Sequoia was well aware of the issues but proceeded into the election utilizing an inferior product and told election workers and technicians to ‘ignore the problems.'”
And it goes on, and on, and on . . .
What we don’t get about the gospel
It’s no wonder that self-help books top the charts in Christian publishing and that counseling offices are overwhelmed. Our pride and our neglect of the gospel force us to run from seminar to seminar, book to book, counselor to counselor, always seeking but never finding some secret to holy living.
Most of us have never really understood that Christianity is not a self-help religion meant to enable moral people to become more moral. We don’t need a self-help book; we need a Savior. We don’t need to get our collective act together; we need death and resurrection and the life-transforming truths of the gospel. And we don’t need them just once, at the beginning of our Christian life; we need them every moment of every day.
—Elyse Fitzpatrick and Dennis Johnson, from Counsel from the Cross
(Emphasis mine.) That is, I think, the crux of the American church’s cultural resistance to the gospel; that’s the thing we don’t want to hear.
Give me a home among the gum trees
One of my enduring memories of Regent is one Fall Retreat (my first year there, I think), seeing the school’s entire Australian contingent, led by our utterly irrepressible Australian Pentecostal NT professor Dr. Rikki Watts, perform the song “Home Among the Gum Trees”—as a sort of chorus line, no less. I’ve had that rattling around in my brain today for some reason, and decided to post it. It says a lot about Australia and its people that this performance was from the memorial service for Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter, who I’m sure would have mightily approved.
Politics and fuzzy math, cont.
When Sen. Obama, on the campaign trail, made his gaffe about having been in 57 states (and having two to go), I think most of us figured it was just the sort of thing that happens when someone’s brain is wearing down from too much stress and too much travel. Given the fuzzy math skills his administration is showing in trying to track the stimulus, though, I’m not so sure; there seems to be a pattern here:
Here’s a stimulus success story: In Arizona’s 9th Congressional District, 30 jobs have been saved or created with just $761,420 in federal stimulus spending. At least that’s what the website set up by the Obama Administration to track the $787 billion stimulus says.
There’s one problem, though: There is no 9th Congressional District in Arizona; the state has only eight Congressional Districts.
There’s no 86th Congressional District in Arizona either, but the government’s Recovery.gov Web site says $34 million in stimulus money has been spent there.
In fact, Recovery.gov lists hundreds of millions spent and hundreds of jobs created in Congressional districts that don’t exist.
I appreciate the willingness of ABC, home of Jake Tapper, to report this. Read the whole thing—it’s beyond belief.
Trust in the Lord
(Deuteronomy 11:13-17; James 1:2-4, James 5:7-11)
Back when I was in seminary, I had the chance to watch a video of the great preacher E. V. Hill. The Rev. Dr. Hill, who died not long after that, was one of the greatest of the great black preachers in this country, a fine example of a preaching tradition that I truly admire. I’ll never preach like an E. V. Hill or a Gardner Taylor, but I’d love to be able to. Dr. Hill was a Baptist, the long-time pastor of Mt. Zion Missionary Baptist Church in Los Angeles, and the sermon I got the chance to see was delivered to the general convention of some Baptist denomination or another. I don’t remember which one, but I do remember this much—it was one of the historically white Baptist denominations. The choir stood behind him on the stage, and their robes were white, too, so you can well imagine that Dr. Hill appeared as an incongruous figure up there. It didn’t bother him any—this was a man who’d marched with Martin Luther King, he was a friend of Billy Graham and a confidante of presidents—but he was clearly aware of the incongruity; so he started off with a joke.
As Dr. Hill told it, there was an old black farmer out with his mule, working not far off the side of the road, when a half-drunk cowboy came riding by. The cowboy stopped, looked at him, and said, “Hey, old-timer, do you know how to dance?” The old man said, “No, sir, I don’t.” The cowboy responded, “Well, you better learn quick,” pulled his revolvers off his belt, and began firing into the dust at the old man’s feet. The old man, of course, began capering around as the cowboy fired off a dozen rounds, laughing himself silly. When both hammers clicked down on empty chambers, the cowboy, still laughing, looked down and re-holstered them. A moment later, he looked up to the sound of another sharp click—and found himself looking down the barrels of a double-barreled shotgun. The old man asked him, “Mister, you ever kissed a mule?” The cowboy answered, “No sir, but I always wanted to.”
Dr. Hill segued from there into talking about how he’d always wanted to speak at his fellow Baptists’ general convention, which never exactly seemed to me like a compliment; but the joke has stuck with me for a different reason. They say that the thing that makes jokes funny is the sudden reversal of expectations at the end—you get hit with something you didn’t see coming—and that’s certainly the case here; but what makes this joke particularly satisfying, I think, is the way that that reversal of expectations moves from injustice to a sort of rough justice, as the old black man is humiliated by a younger white man, but then gets his own back. That’s not just a joke, it’s a morality play of a very old type, which expresses an impulse which we might even call biblical in its essence.
Though James isn’t joking, we see that same reversal in our passage from chapter 5 this morning. “Therefore,” James says, “be patient until the Lord’s coming.” In other words, “because of this”—because of what? Look back up the page, what do you see? You see James laying out God’s judgment on the arrogant; in particular, right before this passage, you see judgment pronounced on the rich who have oppressed the poor and the vulnerable. During my time in Colorado, one of the restaurant owners in Grand Lake closed down for a month during the spring for inventory—nothing new about that, every restaurant did it; they staggered things a bit so that someone was always open, but the spring was so quiet in town that even if we were down to one restaurant, they still weren’t all that busy—but what was new was that he told his employees that they weren’t allowed to file for unemployment during the month he was closed, and if they did, he’d fire them. They couldn’t afford to lose their jobs—it was one of the few really stable businesses there—so they did as they were told, and our food bank was even busier that month. That’s the kind of thing James is talking about in the first part of chapter 5—and he makes it clear that God will not tolerate it, that his judgment is coming and cannot be stopped.
Therefore, James says, be patient—because you can trust God for what he’s going to do. Be patient in the face of suffering, be patient in hard times, be patient in dealing with injustice, because it’s all only temporary; the Lord is coming, and his justice is coming with him, and all will be made right. This is a new development in the thought of this letter. It ties back, of course, to what he says in chapter 1, but there his focus is on the rewards of patience under trial; as we read again this morning, he tells them—and us—that having our faith tested helps us develop the ability to persevere, it builds up our spiritual endurance, thus helping us grow to maturity. In verse 12 of chapter 1, James adds to that the promise of reward: blessed is the one who perseveres under trial, because “when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.” Different focus, same basic idea: yes, trials are hard, but if you don’t give in, the benefit you get out of them is more than worth it.
Here, though, James goes further: be patient and strengthen your hearts, because the Lord is coming—and he is coming not only to bless us, but he is coming as the one who will judge the world. We will not be immune from his judgment, for even the best of us are sinners—this is why James says, “Don’t grumble against each other,” for if we let our frustrations in hard times turn us against each other, we are liable to judgment for that—but for those who follow Jesus, though the day of judgment will not leave us unscathed, it will be a time of joy nevertheless, for it will be the time of our vindication, and the time when all that is wrong will be set right. We can be patient in dealing with trials and suffering, we can endure the injustice of this world—though not without doing what we can to create justice, but in the understanding that even our best efforts will be both flawed and limited—because we know that perfect justice and an end to all suffering are coming. As such, we are to work actively for what is good and right in every way that we can, trusting that God is coming, and when he comes, everything will be put right, and our efforts will not have been in vain. Like Paul, James encourages us not to lose heart in doing the work God has given us.
The first image he offers is that of the farmer who “waits for the land to yield its valuable crop”—but not passively! No, we might say the farmer is actively patient, waiting for God to provide the early and later rains, waiting for the land to respond to the rain with a crop, but at the same time hard at work to do everything possible so that the crop will come, and so that it will be large and healthy. The interesting thing about that language of early and later rains, which the NIV translates as autumn and spring rains, is that this is Old Testament language, used in a number of places talking about the faithfulness of the Lord to provide for his people and keep his promises. In the way he phrases this, then, James is reinforcing his point: God is faithful to do what he said he will do, he is faithful to take care of his people, and we can trust him to do what he has promised. As such, we can persevere, we can hold fast, we can keep going, trusting that Jesus is coming, that the work to which he has called us will not be in vain, and that though the wicked seem to prosper now, their victory will not endure.
James also offers examples from the history of the people of God, first of the prophets, then of Job. Both of these are interesting. The prophets, of course, are strong examples of active patience—none of them passively waited around for God to do something, or simply endured suffering, but all actively and stubbornly went about proclaiming God’s word, often to people who really didn’t want to hear what they had to say. Indeed, for most of them, that was the cause of the suffering they faced—if they’d just been willing to shut up and go hide in a corner, they could have had much more peaceful lives. They would not. They saw injustice, and they spoke out against it; they saw unrighteousness and disobedience of the will of the Lord, and they would not be silent. Because they condemned injustice, they suffered it, and because they did the will of God, they faced significant trials; but that did not cause them to give in. Instead, it only strengthened their resolve, and their commitment to be faithful to God who called them to be his messengers, trusting that he would vindicate them—as, indeed, he has.
And then there’s Job. People will often talk glibly about the patience of Job, and I’ve said more than once that anyone who can do so has clearly never read the book; I wouldn’t particularly call him “patient.” However, that’s not what James says. He talks, rather, about the perseverance of Job, about the fact that Job endured suffering. If you’re familiar with the book, stop and think about that for a minute. Job as we see him in the book isn’t an especially pleasant man, though certainly he has reason not to be. He has a great deal to be angry about; he lived a righteous life, he followed God faithfully, and all of a sudden, his entire life was destroyed; and then, to make matters worse, his three best friends come along and start telling him it’s all his fault, that obviously he was really a terrible sinner in disguise. You could see why he’d complain. But complain he does—at God, to God, about God, to his friends, about them, and all in a rather self-righteous way—again, understandable, but still, a little grating.
But what’s the one thing Job doesn’t do? He doesn’t follow his wife’s bitter counsel to “curse God and die.” He doesn’t change sides, and he doesn’t give up. The one thing he has left to him is the faith that somehow, someway, God is still out there and still good, and that God can be called to account to Job for what he’s done to Job. It’s bedrock faith stripped down to the absolute bedrock, nothing left standing on top of it. I think James holds the endurance of Job up as an example because Job’s endurance wasn’t particularly pious, or pretty, or meek and uncomplaining, but it was uncompromising. It didn’t look holy, and it gave his friends plenty of room to criticize him, but he never let go of God. Job didn’t understand, and he raged about it, but he raged in faith . . . and God loved him for it, and blessed him for it.
And as a consequence, James says, “You have seen what the Lord finally brought about” in the life of Job—which is twofold. First, through his trials, God refined Job, bringing him to greater maturity and a deeper understanding of and relationship with God, which is the sort of thing James is talking about in chapter 1. And second, God vindicated Job and restored his fortunes, giving him back everything he’d lost. As such, the example of Job reminds us that our present suffering and our present struggles are not the end of the story, and do not have the last word. When Christ comes again, God will transform our situation for good. Why? Because the Lord is full of compassion and mercy. He cares for us, he suffers with us in our suffering, and his love for us never fails; he is absolutely faithful to us, he will never let go of us, and his commitment to us never wavers. This explains his forbearance with the unjust, for he loves them, too, and is at work seeking to bring them also to repentance; but he will only let them go so long before at last his justice comes. We will be vindicated in the end, and all that is wrong will be made right, because our Lord is faithful, and he loves us.
Cap-and-tax under fire—from the left
We have a center-left grassroots political action organization here in Indiana, focused on state environmental and energy issues, that comes around once a year wanting petition signatures on whatever their latest issue is—so far, it’s always been something beating up on the energy companies and always something to do with coal-fired plants. I was amused to note that this year, they have two big pushes: one against the local utility, and one against the American Clean Energy and Security Act, better known as Waxman-Markey or the cap-and-trade bill. I wouldn’t have expected that second one, but here was this self-labeled hippie solemnly explaining to me that Waxman-Markey is a bad bill because it’s nothing more than a massive bailout for the coal industry; the way he talked about it, you would have expected to find it was a Republican idea.
The sheet he handed me described the bill thusly:
While Americans have been clamoring for a national energy policy that helps their pocketbooks and the environment, Congress has caved to special interests and drafted a bill that is nothing more than a massive giveaway to the utility industry. ACES . . . was railroaded through the U. S. House (by a vote of 219-212) without proper public input. Now in the U. S. Senate, the bill is subject to even more manipulation from coal and utility lobbying.
The claim is that ACES, drafted in large part by Duke Energy, will protect ratepayers, reduce carbon emissions, and help solve global warming. But it is an attempt to maintain business as usual in the electric utility industry.
The reason for ACES is that in the past 2 to 3 years numerous coal plants have been cancelled because lenders would not assume the risk of financing overly expensive and polluting coal-fire power plants that take years to build. . . .
Coal plants are already financially unviable. Now utility companies need ACES to keep their coal plants running and have an excuse to build more.
Not “a” reason, mind you—“the” reason. The folks who put this together seem completely convinced that there is no environmental motivation behind the cap-and-tax bill at all, only the desire to do favors for coal and energy producers. I don’t have a very high opinion of Nancy Pelosi (who hails from that noted coal-producing city of San Francisco) or Harry Reid (I’m sure coal is king in Nevada, too), but even to me, that seems unduly cynical. Still, if what they’re saying about all the loopholes that have been written in for utility companies is correct, that is indeed another good reason to oppose this very bad bill; and if those of us who oppose it from the Right can make common cause with folks on the Left to bring it down, so much the better.
Look for the smoke machine
You’ve probably heard it before: “Where there’s smoke, there must be fire.” Like most proverbs, it makes a lot of intuitive sense; it fits the balance of probabilities. Follow it, and you’ll be right most of the time.
But not always, as I learned from the same source where I first ran across this proverb: Agatha Christie. Both of her main detectives, Hercule Poirot and Miss Jane Marple, dealt at various points with domestic mysteries in small villages, which usually featured “spinsterish old cats” (not unlike Miss Marple herself, actually, save for the latter’s complete absence of malice) declaring that Dr. So-and-so must have murdered his poor wife, because everyone was saying so, and “where there’s smoke, there must be fire.” Usually, in those stories, there proved to be no fire at all, but someone else determinedly laying down a smokescreen.
To be sure, those were mere fictions to entertain an evening, but they highlight an important fact: certain kinds of people, and people in certain kinds of situations, find smokescreens very useful. They can misdirect the attention of people who might be watching; they can cover one’s activities; and of course, they can conceal evidence, including evidence of one’s own guilt. And because people are generally predisposed to think, “If there’s smoke, there must be fire,” one can often use them to convince the public of negative things about one’s enemies.
This is, I think, the basic strategy of the Left for dealing with Sarah Palin. Should they ever find any actual fire in her life, you may be sure they’ll pull every alarm they can reach and turn it into the biggest media conflagration in recent memory; but in the absence of that, they’ve settled for taking every chance they can spot, twist, or invent to blow smoke at her. It doesn’t matter whether there’s even the thinnest shred of a reasonable justification for doing so—they’ll do it anyway.
In one recent ludicrosity, they’ve taken her observation about “In God We Trust” being moved from the face of the presidential line of dollar coins to the edge and put words in her mouth to accuse her of falsely blaming the current administration for that act. Before that, they tried twisting Mississippi Gov. Haley Barbour’s words to make it look like he was dissing Gov. Palin. They falsely accused her of trying to force the Iowa Family Policy Center to pay her for a speaking event. They twisted her statement about death panels in the Pelosi/Obama/Reid health care plans. They continue to peddle old lies such as the accusation that she tried to ban books. (And yes, the “they” in these cases usually includes Politico‘s Jonathan Martin.) And the list goes on, and on, and on, and on . . .
Why are they doing this? They’re creating a smokescreen, figuring that people are conditioned to think there must be a fire around somewhere; if Gov. Palin’s enemies can just keep the smoke thick enough around her, they expect voters to infer a fire, never mind that they’ve never seen any actual evidence of one. Meanwhile, those of us on the Right (who aren’t in thrall to one of the other 2012 contenders, or enthralled by the bright lights of the Beltway media) keep hooking up our fans and trying to blow the smoke away. Which is a laudable and necessary thing to do, and certainly we’ll be hard at it from now through November 2012 and, very likely, beyond. Lies must be fought with truth, and liars must be answered; the sincerely misled must be given the opportunity to clear their eyes of the smoke. It is a worthy exercise for its own sake.
At the same time, though, we need to recognize that our fans aren’t big enough to clear the air; and as such, we need to find ways to make another point to the electorate: watch the smoke. Watch the smoke and realize that it keeps changing—the color and direction are never the same twice. The storylines keep shifting, new accusations keep being made—often contradicting previous accusations. One might start to wonder if all this smoke is in fact coming from the Caterpillar‘s famed hookah, given the way it seems to enable one to believe six (mutually) impossible things before breakfast. Watch the smoke and realize it’s all implication, allegation, suggestion, prediction, and third-hand claims; realize that for all the smoke, no one has yet actually found any fire. Watch the smoke, and learn the real lesson: when there’s a little smoke, or a fair bit of smoke, yes, there’s probably a fire; but when the smoke just keeps on billowing by without a hint of a spark or any cinders on the breeze, stop expecting a fire—and look for the smoke machine.
(Cross-posted from Conservatives4Palin)