Song for the Christmas season

I don’t care for most Christmas songs written during the last century or so, but there are exceptions; this year, we received a copy of Carolyn Arends’ Christmas: An Irrational Season, and added a few more to the list. This one’s my favorite, I think.

Come and SeeHave you heard, have you heard,
All the rumors are true.
Spread the word, spread the word,
This is such good news:
The dream is not a dream anymore;
Nothing is the same as before.Come and see, come and see,
He is lying in the straw;
He’s a new baby boy
Who’s the hope of us all.
Come and hear, come and hear—
It’s a sound both sweet and strange:
It’s the great love of God
In the cry of a babe.
It’s the great love of God
In the cry of a babe.
See the star, see the star,
It will light our way;
Hear the song, hear the song,
Hurry to the place,
‘Cause if his mama says that it’s alright,
We can see the face of God tonight.ChorusSeeing is believing, yeah;
Believing is seeing, yeah . . .ChorusWords and music: Carolyn Arends
© 2004 Running Arends Music
From the album
Christmas: An Irrational Season, by Carolyn Arends

The Great Counter-Attack

Even people who couldn’t tell George Santayana from Carlos Santana are familiar with some form of his dictum that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Like most famous comments, it’s been overplayed, and many people tend to quote it glibly, without thinking about it; but it’s still an important warning of the consequences of failing to understand our history. To this, we might add that those who don’t remember the past will have no sense of perspective about the present.

I was reminded of that truth recently in reading the novelist Sandra Dallas’ review of the book Verne Sankey: America’s First Public Enemy, by South Dakota circuit judge Timothy Bjorkman. As the title indicates, Sankey was the first person ever to be named Public Enemy #1 by the FBI, “because he was the first to realize that in the wake of the Lindbergh baby abduction, kidnapping could be a lucrative gig”; he’s little remembered today because he wasn’t flashy, while so many of his criminal contemporaries were. As Ms. Dallas writes, “This was the Great Depression, when the rich were held in low esteem and the robbers and others who preyed on them were rock stars, glorified by the press. It was the era of Bonnie and Clyde, Pretty Boy Floyd, John Dillinger and Machine-Gun Kelly.” That set me thinking, because there’s much complaint in certain quarters about the glorification of street thugs by segments of American culture—which I certainly agree is a bad thing; but it’s often joined to the assumption that America is in decline from some past golden age when these things didn’t happen, and that just isn’t true. One might, I suppose, argue that the thugs some people glorify these days lack the style of past generations of celebrity criminals; but if we’re honest, we have to admit they’re really very little different.

The reason Santayana’s comment is largely correct is that if we don’t understand our past, we really can’t understand our present, either—which leaves us vulnerable to those who would use a skewed picture of the past against us. Granted, a truly unbiased understanding of history is probably beyond our grasp, but we need to get as close as we can in order to defend ourselves against those who interpret it to serve their own agendas (whatever those might be).

Perhaps the most significant example of this nowadays is in regard to Islam, where the Crusades are often presented as a great crime by Christendom against an unoffending Moslem world, launched for no apparent reason. The truth of the matter is far different. As Hugh Kennedy shows in his book The Great Arab Conquests: How the Spread of Islam Changed the World We Live In, the early 7th century AD saw a new propulsive force break into world history: the conquering armies of Islam. Within the first hundred years, they had spread across most of the Christian world, and as Dr. Philip Jenkins notes in his excellent review in Christianity Today, “Before the Crusades”, this “tore Christianity from its roots, cultural, geographical, and linguistic.” The Islamic conquests essentially created the Western Christianity we now know, as the church was forcibly disconnected from its Asian heritage and character; and the Muslim armies didn’t stop there, occupying most of Spain, invading Italy and the Balkans, and even reaching as far as the gates of Vienna.

However wrong the Crusades went over time (such as the Fourth Crusade, which conquered and sacked not Muslim Jerusalem but Orthodox Constantinople, in whose defense the First Crusade had been launched), they began as a defensive action, a grand counter-attack intended to roll back the Muslim armies before they conquered all of Europe. In the end, they didn’t succeed; it would not be until the breaking of Ottoman power at the Battle of Vienna in 1683 that the tide of Islamic conquest would finally turn for good. Still, though we must never gloss over all the wrongs committed by Crusaders, it’s important to understand that the Crusades as such were an eminently justifiable military and cultural response to Islamic military aggression; they were a counter-attack launched in a great war begun by the other side.

Settling in

Well, we started moving into our house on the 11th, and I started here at the church on the 16th, and now enough stuff is out of boxes and put away that it’s possible to get around; I still have a lot of books to get organized on my office shelves, but it’s beginning to look like someone actually works here. I keep getting sidetracked, though. This morning I pulled some of Stan Grenz‘ books out of a pile and put them in their place, and then I just sat down and looked at them for a while, and remembered. I can still feel the shock I felt in March 2005 when I was surfing the Web and tripped over the fact that he had died the day before, of a dissecting brain aneurysm. I can’t claim any sort of special relationship with him or his family; he was one of my favorite professors at Regent/Carey, and I met his wife Edna on a couple of occasions around the school, but if he’d been asked to make a list of his favorite students, I have no reason to think I’d have been on it. He was just good to all of us, that’s all, and I learned a tremendous amount from him, and enjoyed him greatly as a professor; you never quite knew what was going to happen when you walked into his classroom. He might be sitting there with his guitar, or the TV might be set up for Star Trek (he was a big Trekkie) or X-Files, or it might be a theological evaluation of a Gloria Estefan song. I won’t say anything was possible, but he was never completely predictable, either.

And while I don’t want to get into the arguments back and forth over the emerging church (at least, not today, anyway), I do want to say this. Dr. Grenz’ name is conjured a lot these days in those arguments, and he’s criticized pretty harshly by those fighting the emerging church; and I don’t recognize the straw man they’re holding up. The Stan Grenz they attack and vilify just doesn’t sound all that much like the one under whom I studied. It’s too bad; I learned a great deal from him, and I think those who consider him their opponent probably could too.

On the move

The movers are here early this morning. They’ve already gotten started (they were here Saturday), and the hope is to get most of the packing done today; I think the computer will be up until Wednesday (they have to be down in Denver Tuesday), but I’m not sure. In any case, the roots are coming up, and we’ll be transplanting soon.

Five things I’m thankful for

bearing in mind that “the best things in life aren’t things” . . .

For starters, and by way of introduction to this post, I’m thankful for Hap, who tagged me with this meme. Mind you, that’s not the reason I’m thankful for her, though it isn’t a bad thing, either. She’s been a dear, firm friend for—what are we on to now, fourteen years? a good chunk of my life, anyway—a woman steeped in the presence of God who’s as faithful as the sunrise and as true as eternity, and after my family, one of the people I love most on this planet. Glad you didn’t go to Spring Arbor, sis. 🙂

Carrying on, in reverse order . . .

Bronwyn, my youngest, currently snuggling on Daddy’s lap, chattering at me unintelligibly and pretending to drink water out of the cup in her older sister’s ball-and-cup toy. Almost 20 months and a complete Chaos Child, she’s also a complete charmer and something of a clown; I know she gets away with more than her sisters did because of it, but sometimes it’s hard to help.

Rebekah, my middle daughter—the original Chaos Child, she’s four now and more manageable, since she can be reasoned with (not that she always buys the reason). Absolutely fearless about most things, which is a good corrective and counterbalance to her older sister, she’s our rampant extrovert. We spent an hour or so one night standing in the hallway of a hotel in Ogallala, NE because of a tornado warning; when Rebekah wasn’t running full-tilt up and down the hall, she was walking up to total strangers, touching their elbows and asking them all sorts of questions. (Fortunately, they were all gracious about it.) She just loves everyone, and assumes they’ll all love her too.

Lydia, my oldest, my miracle child. Her delivery was a crisis, and then she needed an operation when she was two days old (albeit a minor one, if any surgery on a newborn can truly be called minor), so we kept her very close for the first few months; it still seems a little strange, when I think about it, that that was seven years ago. She’s an introvert, like both her parents (though oddly enough, our only one), but fortunately not too shy—certainly much less so than I was at her age. All our girls ask lots of questions, but she set the standard (and still does). She’s in first grade and absolutely loves school—she can be running a fever and throwing up, and she’s crying that she has to stay home; it no doubt helped that she had a certifiable genius for a kindergarten teacher (thank you, Jane Hill), but by nature, she’s the sort of kid who goes through life with her nose in a book. She’s a loving, generous, helpful child—even with her younger sisters, usually. 🙂

And finally, most of all, my wife Sara. Ten years is a pretty good start. I am richly, deeply blessed by her love, her wisdom, her insight, her care, her great gifts, her deep and strong relationship with God (even through the hard times we’ve had here) . . . I am blessed to know and love her, and to be known and loved in return. (I should note, she’s one of the reasons I’m thankful for Hap—who introduced us. 🙂 )

Anyway, I tag the Thinklings, both as a whole and in part. Y’all didn’t like the last meme, guys, but you should like this one.