Gina Kolata's 'Flu'

I recently and finally finished reading a book by Gina Kolata about the 1918 Flu; despite the dry-sounding topic, it's really quite fascinating.

Odd choice of recreational reading? I think it was something that grew out of reading "The Canterbury Tales," actually. Craig Rustici, our Chaucer professor, explained that England in Chaucer's day was experiencing massive social upheaval owing to the new upward mobility experienced by laborers, whose skills suddenly were in demand, owing to the effects of bubonic plague.

A disease that made its way from China to Europe along trade routes was a major contributor to the end of the Dark Ages, along with more conventional means of social change such as shifting philosophies and wars.

So while my interest is definitely a layman's -- I can't begin to tell you the molecular biology at play in chickenpox, let alone in plague -- I can't help but find massive outbreaks of disease interesting because of their social consequences.

In the case of the 1918 flu, it led to an entire generation overdosing themselves and their children on antibiotics, affected commerce and transit, as people avoided large crowds, where the risk of exposure to the killer flu was increased. Decades later the memory of the 1918 flu was enough to spur the Ford presidency into trying to vaccinate the entire country, to stave off a feared return of that flu strain.

Kolata's been reviled by those covering the newspaper industry and science reporting for her bias and inaccuracies in her reporting, and perhaps deservedly so; but she writes engagingly and captures the personalities of the people she's writing about in this book. I have another book of hers here about the events leading up to the cloned sheep Dolly, but haven't read it yet.

* * *

My current read is "Wicked," the book the musical is based on. Simply incredible, though I think Maguire loses steam in a few places and Natasha found the ending dissatisfying. Probably the main appeal to his work is that he gives such a perverse rendering of "Wizard of Oz" that it can't help but appeal to any adult who remembers enjoying either the movie or Baum's book as a child. Elphaba (the wicked witch) is interesting and sympathetically portrayed although she is, ultimately, arguably as wicked as the title claims.

And we're also reading Evangeline "The Wizard of Oz," which is rather interesting because I had never read it growing up, and am reading Maguire's treatment at the same time, and am finding it colors my view of Dorothy's experiences. (The wizard is a total despot, for starters, as bad as Hitler or other fascists who sponsor genocide and abuse their power for personal gain. I actually told Evangeline that I think the wizard is an evil man, which she took as me being silly, which I suppose I was.)

So far I recommend it.

the boy next door

The Penn-Trafford Star has a much better write-up about what happened to Jeff Cole:

Last week, injured Army Spc. Jeff Cole, 20, of Level Green was honored by a personal visit from President George W. Bush.

"It was pretty cool," Cole says nonchalantly. "It was definitely something most people can't say they've ever done."

Neither is being thrown from a Humvee.

And can you believe, the boy met the president of the United States and didn't brag about it when he came home for Thanksgiving this past week? This was the first I heard of it.

(And it looks like I was right: Jeff was hurt in an attack, not in an accident.)

deck the halls

The girls and I set up our Christmas tree Friday while their mother was at work, and E even started decorating it. It now has a baby doll, various Kool Toyz pieces and red plastic monkeys hanging from its branches. For a while it had a Barbie up on top of the tree in place of the angel, but since Barbie fell off, we've settled for a balloon.

I'm inclined to let the girls handle the decorating entirely this year, and leave the traditional ornaments locked up.

When prayer comes like a kick in the gut

Last night, Evangeline and I were reading a bedtime Bible story about Bartimaeus receiving his sight. The question at the end of the story was about what the child most wanted, with an encouragement to ask Jesus for it because he delights in giving us the desire of our hearts.

What does Evangeline say? "All I want is to see Isaac just one more time." Ouch!

If anyone's free and wants a beer, come on over. I'm buying.

The last I heard, he was living with his father, grandmother, aunt and two cousins, so he has some sort of family structure and something approximating siblings, which will give him sorely needed social interaction.

He's talking -- thank God -- and attending a special preschool paid for by the state. He's behind in many areas, but he's making progress, which is what I wanted. He's also settled down quite a lot, owing in part to the discipline we instilled and to his ability to communicate and interact with the world around him.

That's all I know. I've no way of getting in contact with them even if my reason wanted to, so as I told Beloved, if Evangeline's prayer is to be answered, it will be by God and not by her father.

Bashing the spirit of responsibility on the Left

Let's do everyone a favor and can the holier-than-thou crap, all right?

Down in Florida, apparently a group of Democrats, unable to accept Kerry's defeat on Tuesday, are so upset that they're getting therapy to help them cope. That's an overreaction, I agree, but what's irritated me right now is one conservative acquaintance who has taken this as proof that liberalism is a philosophy that attracts irresponsible people and encourages irresponsible behavior. The attitude appears to be a common one on the Right.

Maybe if they would stop recycling what conservatives say liberalism is about and consider what liberals say liberalism is about, we'd find a point of commonality.

Liberalism is a socio-political philosophy of responsibility. It called for an end to segregation amid the Civil Rights movement because segregation was oppressive toward blacks. It called for women's suffrage in the early 20th century because the status quo had restricted their voice. Liberals call for a hand up for the poor and needy; they continue to call for a voice for blacks and other minorities; and they call for across-the-board respect for differing worldviews and political positions.

By contrast, if one wanted to be uncharitable we could claim that Republicanism encourages selfishness, inequity and a disregard for the well-being of others.

There are sore losers on the Democratic side, and sore winners on the GOP side. Why? Because both parties have a fair number of boneheads, bedwetters and self-righteous crybabies, to use the language I've been hearing from acquaintances on the Right.

Maybe some have forgotten, but during the Clinton years, there were any number of people on the Right who called for Christians to question their allegiance to the American government (James Dobson, re: partial-birth abortion), who kept bumper stickers on their car that said "Pray for our president / May his days be few, may another take his place" and who acted like the nation had fallen off a spiritual precipice by electing Clinton.

Four years ago, I knew a couple Bush-supporters who were practically paralyzed with dread at the thought that Gore might win and Bush lose.

So let's stop knocking one another as whiners. I've had enough of the self-righteous aggrandizement of the Right, the GOP and Bush, I've had enough of the vilification of the Left and the Democratic Party, and I've had enough of this whole sorry mess.

If you want to remove the speck of dust from my eye, take the log out of your own eye first.

moral values

What bugs me is that the definition of "moral values" has become so narrow, and mainly seems to be related to sex. I'm a Democrat because of my moral values. While neither party is perfect, the Democrats seem to me to be more concerned with the moral issues that are most important to me: feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, educating the masses.

Republican approaches to these issues seem to be more concerned with making sure that no one is cheating the system than with making sure the needy actually get what they need. Democrats are more likely to be against the death penalty, and they are more likely to look for peaceful solutions to our international problems, as opposed to military solutions.

Unfortunately, the media don't seem to really want to analyze actual issues. It's much easier to say that Republicans are more likely to cast votes based on morals (implying that Democrats are less moral than Republicans) than actually take the time to look at what that means. I would say that almost all of us make our morals a major consideration when we vote, but we don't all base them on what the Republican Party and the media have managed to define as morality.
-- Rob Timmins

abandoned by god

There are times in every believer's life when it seems like God has abandoned us. I went through one of those times after we lost Isaac. A friend of mine went through one when she was run out of a ministry and slandered by the heads of the ministry. Sometimes, God leads us into a dark place, with nightmares on all sides, gnashing their terrible teeth and ready to tear us limb from limb, and he leaves us there. Other times, he throws us headlong into the pit.

No, I don't think it's just a feeling that God has abandoned us. I think in a very real, though not absolute sense, he does abandon us at those moments, and that's why we feel such despondency and grief.

Let me explain.

In another year or so, Evangeline is going to learn to ride a bike. She doesn't know that yet, of course, and even if I told her, she wouldn't know what I mean by it. But sitting here, I know that in the spring, I'm going to screw some training wheels onto her bike, put it and her into the car, and drive up to the university one weekend to enjoy the parking lot with her.

Evageline will feel nervous at first, as she takes those first tentative and rickety spins on her bike. But she'll discover that although she rattles back and forth, she doesn't fall, and slowly her confidence will build. That's pretty much what it's like for us as we take our first steps of faith and begin to grow.

After a while, I'm going to take those training wheels off. Evangeline is going to fall down, her bike will drop, and she will scrape her elbows and knees and maybe even get a few cuts. It will hurt, and she will cry. I'm going to do this to her anyway, and after she falls I'm going to have her get back on the bike and try again.

Is Evangeline in any real danger? No, of course not. We're in a parking lot where there will be no cars moving about, she will have a helmet on, and I'm going to be with her the entire time. She won't be able to tell that, though, since I'll be behind her, and she's going to keep falling even though she never used to fall on her bike and even though her father is with her.

That's a small thing by comparison, but the Long Dark Night of the Soul is like that. God doesn't just remove a "feeling" that he's with us, he actively withdraws all the support he's provided for us before. What's left is a void that makes no sense to us because it contradicts our every previous experience with God.

When Evangeline has learned to ride her bike, she'll have a more mature understanding of herself, of me, and of her relationship to me. She'll see that while I love her and will do everything I can to keep her from harm, that does not mean I will do everything I can to keep her from pain. She'll also have developed new skills she wouldn't have had and be more of what I intend her to be (i.e., a self-sufficient, healthy and active little girl).

When God tosses us off a cliff or leads us into the abyss, he strips away all the comforts we've known before and lets us discover underlying realities we've only caught glimpses of before. Because of my experiences two years ago, my relationship with God is irrevocably altered. I have a much greater sense of his majesty, his glory, his transcendence -- and his utter self-abasement on the Cross. My understanding of God grew dramatically as a result of my experience. He's much bigger than I ever had imagined, and I am much smaller.

in the wrong church

On Sunday I was pretty much told by my daughter's Sunday school teacher that I shouldn't bother coming to church if I'm going to vote for Kerry (that was the substance, not the text, of what she said).

I find that depressing in its own right. Are we as a church so blinded by politics and political leaders that we're willing to start dividing sheep from the goats based on something as inconsequential as a vote in the presidential election? That's horrible. I voted for Kerry, Greg voted for Bush; you're a Democrat and RBP is a Republican, but really, who gives a toss? When darkness falls and the Devil stirs, I know that I can count on all three of you equally.

Christina's big passion is abortion; mine are poverty and child abuse; others of us are impassioned over sexual sin, medical care, the growing acceptance of magick -- those differences don't matter to me. What matters to me is that we are one body, following one Lord, sharing one baptism.

If things get rough -- and very probably they will continue to do so in the years to come -- I know where I can turn for understanding, support and fellowship. It's not in a political party or presidential administration. It's in the catholic-small-C church of believers.

The divide we're seeing in our nation along political lines bothers me, and I probably should be praying about it more. To be honest, it deeply grieves me that the church has been party to that division by its growing alignment with the Republican Party and the way it has allowed the name of the church to be subverted for one side of the political game.

the party's over

As I write this we are in the process of recovering from the 5-2 celebration we had here today. We celebrated Evangeline's fifth birthday and Rachel's second, with Rachel's celebration coming only one day ahead of her actual birthday.

What a great time!

I have now formally surrended in the fight to keep Barbie out of our house for as long as possible, that time now apparently having passed. E got two Barbie dolls this summer, which pretty much signaled the beginning of the end. The girls have fought more frequently and more contentiously over who gets to play with the two Barbies and with Ariel than anything.

Today, E and R opened their presents from their Grandma H and found not only a new Barbie for each of them, but new outfits that fit their old dolls as well. (For the first time in months, Ariel and Barbie are no longer lounging around the house naked, trying to seduce Moon Knight.)*

Additionally, when we have our smaller family gift-giving tomorrow, R is going to discover the Barbie doll that Daddy bought her last month, in foolish oblivion to his mother-in-law's designs. Five Barbies, an Ariel and a Belle who walks around wearing nothing but her corset should be enough for a two-girl family, I reckon. Especially since the girls also have taken to playing with Moon Knight recently.

R blew everyone away while unwrapping her presents today, when she opened a package from her Auntie Audra and discovered her own princess doll. "It's Snow White!" she said, clear as a bell of purest crystal. I am happy to report that although Snow White and Barbie briefly switched outfits this evening, she is still wearing clothes. Moon Knight reportedly is disappointed, but is happy he will not need to be increase his cold shower regimen in the near future.

And naturally the fight we had to break up tonight was over who got to sleep with Snow White.

E's favorite gift today appears to be a queen outfit, complete with a gown, a crown and nice queen shoes. After the party had ended, the first thing she did was to change out of her dress and into her royal attire. Quite a sight too -- we took a picture which I may someday share here if I ever get around to it. Other gifts received today include early reader books, books that Daddy can read to her and loads of art supplies, since E is our little artiste.

The present that most amused me is the new Lite Brite. It's battery-operated, which is annoying since we'll need to replace batteries quite often, I should think, but it's also portable (being battery-operated, duh) and -- this is the amusing part -- is billed as "flat screen." Some friends of ours and I were joking that it's the new hi-tech Lite Brite. It's cable ready, and has a high-density plasma screen for you to use when you stick plastic pins through construction paper.

Something like 17 kids came, plus their parents and the Reading Fairy, which made our house one crowded, happening place. On top of that, the pizzeria where we usually order our pizza apparently is closed, so we had to scramble at the last minute to find a new place to order seven pies -- and they forgot to include the sausage on one pizza, even though they still billed us for it.

Ah well. At least no one gave us an Elmo toy.

* Moon Knight, as in the Marvel Comics split-personality superhero who functions as a Batman rip-off, blessed with superpowers by Konshu, an Egyptian moon god I never heard of outside "Moon Knight" and "West Coast Avengers." I have an action figure of him, who apparently has been ready to give his right arm to spend some quality time with Barbie, since that's precisely the appendage that came off him today as he was rescuing Barbie from some monster or another.

Return from New York

We have taken our second trip into New York.

The train ride was a lot of fun, though. This was Evangeline's second trip to a photo shoot in Babylon and she every bit as enthralled this time as last, perhaps even more. The entire way up to Penn Station in Babel, she kept the passengers in the car entertained by talking animatedly about how fast we were moving, asking if this stop was ours, and screaming, "Look, Daddy! We're in outer space!"

She surprised me, though. After we reached Penn Station, we got onto a PATH train to head to the World Trade Center. Evangeline, who was not even 2 years old on 9-11, asked me if it would be safe to go there.

"Yes," I told her. "The bad men who knocked the buildings down can't hurt anyone anymore."

She was great the whole time. She loved going on the subway, and although she is still intimidated by escalators, was a trooper at going up one in Daddy's arms, and never once let go of my hand the entire time we were in the city.

We got off at Union Square, and she had a blast there, too, looking at all the pumpkins that were being sold, all the dogs that were being walked, and so on. Naturally, although I found 15th Street right away, I wasn't sure of my orientation and ended up walking five blocks the wrong way before I was able to establish that I was getting farther from West 15th Street and not closer.

Five blocks, carrying a child on my shoulders and a backpack full of books we brought in case we had to wait at the photographer's for our turn.

There was no waiting period at the photographer's, though. We went in, filled out our paperwork, Evangeline got her picture, we left and got a snack, and then we began the trip back home in the middle of rush-hour traffic.

It was a lot of fun to make the trip with her, but I hope that next time we can find more to while we're in the city and make a day of it if we can. I'm not inclined to buy much at big city prices, but if we can find something historic or artistic to see, it would make a nice addition to her homeschooling scrapbook.

If we're lucky, the photo shoot agency will call us back next week and Evangeline can get some money for college to make up for all our traveling .

Out of the fire: My last days in the newsroom

Well, it's done. Today I wrote my last two editorials, handed in my office key and said my goodbyes. Time and God alone will tell what I accomplished by being at WCN.

It was a long, draining haul, but I'd like to think that some good came of it. An editor with the same ridiculous work load as me has given notice; another told me he plans to give notice in two more weeks. And I know of two different reporters who have refused promotions because they want more money than the company is willing to give them. (That apparently caught management off-guard, but I find it encouraging. People are catching on that we get change when we stop playing by the rules that other people set.)

My reporter is one of those who has been telling them that she's not taking my job unless they pay her better for it than they've offered. I may have earned a reputation as an agitator.

In my editorials and columns, I strove to uphold basic truths about our obligations to care for the needy. I issued calls for change, and sometimes that alone was enough to stir other people to action.

I made fun of Elmo in front of more than 100,000 readers.

I trained two reporters and made them stronger writers, shored up two sagging newspapers and gave them renewed vision and respect within the community, by bringing in local columnists, and making the papers into a voice for the community and within the community.

It still angers me that the owners work only 40 hours a week, take the inflated salaries that they do, and then have the gall to say that there's no money in the budget to provide better resources, hire more than a skeleton crew or pay us better.

That's just bad business. If you want your venture to succeed, you need to give your workers a living wage commensurate with the work they do, and not just live off their labor. "A worker is worthy of his hire" and "Do not muzzle the ox while it is treading out the grain."

It's done, though. My wife starts full-time at Rutgers on Monday. It turns out that she actually will make more than I have been, and she's going to get better benefits than I had too. (And there's no commute, since she can walk to work, which means we'll save on gas.)

Thanks to everyone who's put up with me through this. It's been a long and torturous road, but it's finally over.

off to babylon

I'm taking Evangeline to Babylon tomorrow, Friday, for an afternoon trip. As long as I'm there, is there anything people would like me to forget to get them?

Kerry by default

I expect I will vote for Kerry on Nov. 2, but if Nader weren't a looney, he might be a viable candidate for me to vote for.

In no event is a vote for Nader a vote for Bush. It's a vote for Nader, even if it indirectly leads to a Bush victory. The Star-Ledger published a voter's guide Sunday that I want to look at more closely, since it's possible its presentation of third party and big two candidates will lead me to reconsider my vote.

(Yes, I am still relatively undecided because, quite frankly, neither of the main two candidates appeals to me.)

black jesus

I'm tired of seeing the white, blond-haired Jesus, but who isn't? I want to see black Jesus some more.

White blond Jesus everywhere you look. He's in the Sunday school material, even though Jesus wasn't blonde. I taught at a Christian school in Bethlehem, Pa., and he was in all the Bible class materials, even though all but two of my students were Hispanic or African-American.

White blonde Jesus had a nice run, but let's give him a break. Let's remind ourselves that Jesus is for other people too, and not just us.

In Haiti, at the Baptist Haiti Mission in Fermathe, I saw a picture of the Holy Family in the art museum there. In this picture, a black Joseph was teaching a white Jesus the family trade while a white Mary was busily at work nearby. It was a very Haitian scene, except for the white people.

That's the damage the white Jesus can do; people forget that he's like them, and instead they see him as like another people, the missionary or the American forces. He's a foreigner, an outisder; and not someone who knows what it's like for them.

I do enjoy the other-ethnic pictures I've seen. The National Cathedral in Port-au-Prince has pictures of the black Jesus at different times of his ministry: his baptism, raising Lazarus from the dead the Last Supper.

The funniest part of the black Jesus is that he's usually pictured with a white Judas.



Copyright © 2004 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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not in the funny papers

A friend of mine wrote this comic, based on a church drama I wrote about telling off God. The occasion for the drama was the loss of my foster son.Indigo did a fantastic job, and made the cuts I needed to make in the drama.

She's amazing.

remember to vote

Just to make sure everyone has heard:

Because election officials are expecting a large turnout at the polls for the presidential election, because of the low number of poll workers, and mostly because of the potential for physical altercations between Republicans and Democrats, Congress has decided to alter the election turnout rules:

• Democrats are to vote on Tuesday, Nov. 2.
• Republicans are to vote on Wednesday, Nov. 3.
• Members of third parties are to vote on Thursday, Nov. 4.

This also should allay fears of voter intimidation and tampering, and should eliminate problems of the sort of that jeopardized the 2000 presidential election.

Remember, every vote counts!

philadelphia visit

A few weeks ago, we took a homeschooling field trip to the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia, and afterward went to visit the Betsy Ross house down the street. Lo and behold, they were having an impromptu sword fight by a troupe called Joke & Dagger.

I genuinely wish I had brought a camera with me -- they're not allowed in the mint, so I hadn't bothered -- because the final segment of their presentation included giving training to children in the audience who could answer history questions connected with Colonial America. (Evangeline correctly stated that there were 13 Colonies.)

For 15 or 20 minutes, Evangeline and Rachel dodged, parried, and generally came within a hairsbreadth time and again of hitting one another, the other children and the actors with their wooden poles as they swung them around. Evangeline actually drove one of the actors to the edge of the stage, and when they were teaching the children to duck and thrust, Rachel managed to go up and down at precisely the opposite moments of when she was supposed to.

Much we all loved the Mint and enjoyed the visit to the Quaker Meeting House, I think the swordfight had to be everyone's favorite part, especially because the girls got to go up on stage themselves.

'jesus' movie anniversary

Twenty-five years ago today, "Jesus" opened in the U.S. Since then, it's been shown in every country of the world, and translated into over 800 languages.

Based on the gospel of Luke with a disco twist, it has been called a "Saturday Night Jesus."

A reminder that God is not partisan

Sojourners would like you to remember that God is not partisan.

In an online petition, the progressive faith organization calls on political figures to stop claiming a special mandate to speak for heaven or for claiming that one party alone is the true home of the faithful. In that, it may be argued that the petition takes a few swipes at Bush, owing to the presumption, real or imagined, of the Right that the faithful owe their votes to the GOP in the national election next month.

Still, I wholly agree with the basic thrust of the petition: There are moral issues that Christ calls us to work toward that each major party systematically ignores.

Politicians and politically minded folks regularly use religion as a means of building support for themselves, their candidates or their issues. I've seen and heard faith used to rally opposition to same-sex unions, to oppose stem cell research and abortion, to call for reforming public education, and even to suggest that one presidential candidate is somehow superior to another.

It really gets sickening after a while. It was as absurd for George Bush calling Jesus Christ his favorite philosopher, as it was for Howard Dean to call Job is his favorite New Testament book, and probably more pretentious.

People of conscience, religious and not, are going to have stands on all the issues our nation is fighting over; and it's a given that God cares deeply about these and other issues facing America, including those that don't get mentioned.

If politicians are going to be brazen enough to invoke God's name to justify their candidacy, then they need to pursue the things that God names as his priorities, not just the hot-button political issues of the day.

And both sides of the political debate, Right and Left, need to remember that there are legitimate differences of opinion on several of these issues. Greg Hartman is opposed to same-sex marriage; I support it, and I'm proud to call him a brother. To some, abortion is the overriding issue that trumps all others; while I am unabashedly pro-life, I consider other issues as well -- and still we stand in prayer for one another when the need arises, and would share Communion if the chance arose.

It's not an issue of whether we're a Christian nation. It's whether those who declare themselves followers of Christ are going to pursue the standards of justice laid out in Scripture, whether we will see care provided for the orphans and the widows among us and whether we will be servants of the least Americans, or only of the strong and powerful.

open letter

Dear Vera,

Believe it or not, but I understand exactly what you're saying. What you're going through, and perhaps staring to see the end of, is one of those long trough periods called the Long Dark Night of the Soul. They're hideous. They're times when it feels as though God has led you down a dark and treacherous path to the very bottom, and suddenly leaves you there. On every side are monsters with teeth and claws that will rend you if you take one wrong step, and when you scream and curse and howl at the One who led you into that pit, demanding some explanation, some reason that could possibly justify why a God who claims to be so full of love would do this to you, all you get is one simple command: "Follow me."

I've been there. I know how you feel. Losing my son two years ago was the worst thing I have ever been through in my life, and it was every bit as bad as what I just described, if not actually worse.

If I can give you any encouragement, it is this: You are not alone. You cannot always see us, but you are hemmed in on all sides by a great cloud of witnesses, of other believers who have been to that place of despair and places worse still and found victory in Christ. The longer-standing members of this forum carried me far during that time -- I don't think they know how far, and in some ways I don't think even I can fathom how far -- and we will carry you. It's not just in prayer, but it is a mystery. Who among us does not suffer and the rest of us do not suffer with them? We're a body, and when one part is injured the whole body feels the pain.

You are not alone, and one day the anguish will be over. Before that happens, you may have felt pain a thousand times worse than anything you ever known before, and you may have sunk deeper into despair than you ever have. But it will end. And when it is over, you will find that you experience joy in a fullness you never believed possible, and find a peace and a faith that are more unshakeable than you have ever known.

I still have scars from what happened to me when I lost Isaac, and that loss still strikes like a blow to the chest at times, and sometimes I still weep. But you know something? I wouldn't trade those tears for anything I had felt before it all came crashing down on me.

Our choice, as always, is to ruin our own lives, or to let God ruin them for us, for his greater glory. I know how I have chosen, and I every confidence that you will make the same choice I did.

quote

Cervantes once wrote, "Even a fart can be musical" -- a memorable way of saying that even something that appears to be useless can still have beauty and something of quality about it. He saw the unauthorized sequel to "Don Quixote" as the only exception to this rule.

fighting terrorism

Anyone who thinks we can significantly end terrorism with military force is kidding themselves. And, I just don't see Jesus advocating military force against anybody. There has to be a better way.

I have no idea what it would be. Some might say, something along the lines of "Give them what they want, and supposedly they'll go away." Of course, it used to be when a terrorist struck, the group would issue a demand, like "Withdraw the occupying troops from Belfast.". Al Qaeda made no such demand on 9-11. The whole of their message seemed contained in the events of the day: Die.

Privation provides as fertile a breeding ground for terrorist ideology as a pile of manure does for flies. But how do you end that privation? I've lived in the Third World; I've seen how much U.S. aid money makes it to the people it's intended for, and how much makes it into private bank accounts.

Pouring money into other countries willynilly does little to solve their economic problems, and often ends up fostering anti-American sentiment because we shore up corrupt and oppressive regimes like the Taliban or Saddam Hussein's.

Not to say that poverty is the only cause. Bin Laden and his lieutenants were all wealthy and educated. Clearly living in an insular society that brutally suppresses free thought also can lead people to horrific crimes and terrorist behavior. But impoverished areas can be terrific breeding grounds for hatred and terror. Bin Laden and Arafat, after all, don't blow themselves up. They send other people.

And generally, although not universally, terror finds more support among people who feel they have no other way to express their voice, not among the well educated and wealthy who stand to lose if the status quo is shaken.

The remedy, ultimately, isn't going to come from a political system, since in the end this isn't a political or economic issue but a spiritual one. So the question before us really is, how do we as citizens of the Kingdom of God respond to terrorism and to the terrorists? What can we do as believers, in addition to praying, to see an end to terror and the advancement of the Kingdom of God whatever happens to political structures and hierarchies?

The religious left: the position of faith

I have it on good authority that I am going to hell when I die.

Amazingly, this isn't because I watched "The Last Temptation of Christ" back when I was in college. It's not because I drive too slowly in the fast lane, and it's not even because I think a footlong ponytail looks good on a 34-year-old man.

No, I'm going to hell because I have the audacity to call myself a Christian and a liberal at the same time. I'm a member of the Religious Left.

Despite the seeming oxymoron in a term such as Religious Left, the truth is that religion and liberalism actually have a long, shared history in this country, going back at least to abolitionism, when socially liberal religious groups such as the Society of Friends formed the backbone of the Underground Railroad, risking arrest, fines and harassment by rescuing blacks from slavery in the South and smuggling them north to freedom in Canada.

In the years since, the Religious Left has been at the forefront of issues such as women's suffrage and the Civil Rights movement. Susan B. Anthony? She was a Quaker. The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.? That should be obvious. Many who added their voices to his in calling for an end to segregation, did so because they shared his convictions, based in the teachings and example of Jesus, that racial segregation has no place in a civilized society.

Not surprisingly, religious liberals have strong feelings about war. While the establishment has pounded the drums for war, religious liberals have manned humanitarian efforts in the middle of battle zones to make sure that the wounded innocents are cared for, since the time of the Civil War on. Others have fought hard to maintain or restore the peace, remembering as Jesus said, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God."

In Dallas, the Trinity Foundation has challenged churches and synagogues to meet the needs of the homeless head on, by providing them with a place to stay and helping them find jobs. The Trinity Foundation also keeps tabs on hucksters who use religion as means to make themselves wealthy at the expense of the vulnerable.

In Chicago, when the city administration decided to gentrify an area, the Jesus People -- a religious commune on the wrong side of the tracks -- fought to protect the people who depend on the low-income housing that had been targeted for redevelopment. They called the exploitation and willfull disregard for the poor what it was, and saved the homes of hundreds of immigrants.

And while President Bush during the 2000 presidential primaries was incredulous when an interviewer asked him about hunger in Texas, former President Carter -- like Bush, a professed born-again Christian -- is a major figure in Habitat for Humanity, an organization that has made tremendous strides in providing affordable housing for the poor.

Equal rights for women, civil rights for minorities, support of hate-crime legislation, affordable housing, food and clothing for the homeless, civil unions for same-sex couples, education for those in prison, an end to capital punishment -- these are all liberal causes, and they're all causes I support as a Christian.

During the last 20-odd years, the Religious Right has been the dominant voice from Christian groups, as it has claimed a monopoly on truth, and its interpretation and application. Depending on whom you listen to, any deviation from the party line -- which increasingly has meant the Republican Party line -- is unpardonable. You can't disagree and still be a "real" Christian.

Contrary to what many on the Right, both religious and not, would have us believe, liberalism isn't a cancer eating away at the core of an otherwise healthy society. It isn't about undermining traditional family values, about eroding the foundations of our nation, hating America, or giving people a free ride at the expense of the public.

Liberalism is the simple belief that everybody deserves the same basic opportunities and respect as everybody else, regardless of the social, economic, religious or racial position they were born with.

That's it. If it means some people will take advantage of the system, so be it. In the long run, I'd rather be taken advantage of than to throw a family out on the street because they couldn't pay the mortgage in a sour economy. I'd rather have less money in my own pocket than leave employees struggling to get the health care they need. I'd rather face disappointed shareholders than reward years of company loyalty with job outsourcing.

"Whatever you do to the least of these," Jesus says, "you do to me."

I'm religious, and I'm a liberal. Let my heart bleed.



Copyright © 2004 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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halloween sells out

I was complaining at work Monday night that everyone has forgotten the true meaning of Halloween, and it's all become commercialized. Nowadays the Great Pumpkin rises from the pumpkin patch and starts doing endorsements for one brand name after another.

Aside from that, it's just a fun and harmless children's holiday. When it ceases to be fun because of vandalism or recklessness, it needs to be reined in, but I really don't worry that my daughter is going to run off and join a coven because we made paper jack-o'-lanterns yesterday for homeschool crafts.

I did explain to her the history of jack-o'-lanterns, and told her that people used them before they knew about Jesus to keep themselves safe from scary things. (Evangeline has an active imagination, so I didn't see a need to start filling her idea with notions about ghosts, goblins and demons in the hours just before bedtime.) I told her that now that we know about Jesus and don't need to be afraid of those things, we make jack-o'-lanterns because they're fun to make and because they also can remind us that Christ is the one who frees us from fear and from our sin.

Hollywood and its unfair ethnic stereotyping

Hollywood is picking on me.

Like many other -Americans, I have a wide and varied ethnic heritage because of our nation's legacy as a melting pot. I've English ancestors, Nordic ancestors, alleged American Indian ancestors, and even some French ancestry. Every ethnic group to which I can claim some connection by blood has been tarnished by the cultural elite behind movies and TV.

The ethnicity I identify with most is also the one that has been stereotyped the most. I'm German-American. We get a raw deal.

Think about all the movies you've seen about World War II. Whether it's "Saving Private Ryan," "Band of Brothers" or "Force 10 from Navarone," you'll notice a common thread woven throughout them all: Germans are bad guys. German soldiers routinely kill American troops and support the evil regime of Adolf Hitler.

Watch a movie such as "The Pianist" or "Schindler's List," and it gets even worse. Now Germans are linked with the Holocaust and the extermination of 6 million Jews.

Even movies set in antiquity aren't immune from this indignity. "Gladiator" is set in the second century of the Christian era and begins at a battle front where civilized Romans are about to fight against German barbarians. Germans appear nowhere else in the movie.

What's the message we're supposed to take away from all this? Clearly, it's that when German -Americans aren't Nazi sympathizers who hate Jews, we're still just mindless barbarians running around the woods in animal skins.

I'm disgusted. Next time Hollywood sees fit to do a movie about World War II, it should forget the spin for a moment and remember the pretty flowers that grow along the Rhine.

Bringing this into focus for me is the recent uproar by UNICO and other Italian-American organizations regarding "Shark Tale," the newest computer-animated movie from DreamWorks SKG.

The movie, which opened at theaters on Friday, debases Italian-Americans via a shark mafia whose members speak with Italian accents and use Italian phrases such as capisce and consigliere.

Even though the film actually spoofs the genre of mob movies, and even though the sharks end up being portrayed sympathetically, this film is a wholly undeserved ethnic smear. For one thing, there is no Italian mafia, and never has been. It's Swedish. For a second, like crime families from other nationalities, the Italian mob is a pleasant, law-abiding group that enjoys a nice round of croquet after dinner.

That "Shark Tale" follows so closely on the heels of Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ," which depicted Italian soldiers as a bloodthirsty, sadistic lot who tortured the Son of God to death, just adds insult to injury. Everyone knows the soldiers who killed Jesus Christ were actually French.

It's not as though Hollywood has it in for Italian-Americans in particular. It's obvious that movie studios will hate anybody if it boosts box office receipts. Look at movies such as "Braveheart" and "The Patriot."

In "Braveheart," we follow the exploits of folk hero William Wallace as he fights for Scottish independence from King Edward Longshanks. Longshanks is portrayed as a ruthless man who maintains order in Scotland through rape, through brutality and through the wholesale slaughter of whoever gets in his way.

He has no qualms about giving orders to kill his own soldiers in order to take out the Scots, he heartlessly bludgeons his own son and pushes his son's lover out the window, and offers peace with one hand even as he moves his other to attack.

The English in "The Patriot" display the same complete lack of virtue. And in "U-571,"the entire British contribution to capturing the U-boat not only was ignored, it was supplanted with fictitious accounts of American involvement.

Rather than celebrating the beauty of English culture and England's contributions to history, Hollywood treats us again and again to supposed barbarity so that when we see an English name, we don't see a person, we see an ethnic identity.

I could go on. I also have a French ancestor, a nation disparaged in "The Pirates of the Caribbean," and an ancestress who was an American Indian, a race disparaged in everything from "Rin Tin Tin" to the films of John Wayne.

No matter where you turn, people find reason to complain about popular entertainment depicting them in a negative light. I wish it would stop.

Hollywood, you're going to have to do better.

What's not to love about a good ghost story?

With Halloween nearly upon us, it seems inevitable that discussion in many circles will turn to ghosts and hauntings, and other supernatural events.

It's interesting to watch how people react. A few people will shrug them off and pretend they're not interested, but kids and teens love to share these stories with one another, especially at night when the lights are off. Even in professional settings, there's no denying the interest a ghost story piques. Once somebody shares one, somebody else has to jump in, and then another person, and then another one. Before long even the person who isn't intersted in listening with rapt attention and vying for a few seconds of attention with a tale.

At least in my experience, though, religious folk always get antsy about these things. The most strictly religious among us will insist that there is no such as ghosts, that when a person dies, she goes to heaven or tell, and anything that claims to be a ghost is merely a demon impersonating the dead.

To such folk, I would say "Calm down." I don't necessarily believe in ghosts, but I love the stories people tell about them.

I heard one ghost story about a teenage girl who desecrated a grave -- she had done something minor like stepping on it as she took a shortcut through a cemetery -- and soon found herself stalked by the ghost. It began to harry her, and at one point physically appeared while she was on the phone and tried to strangle her.

On the other hand, I've heard stories about another ghost who hangs out by a campfire only he can see and still thinks he's in the 1800s. There's a ghost story in Clark, N.J., about a man who died of a heart attack while walking his dog to the train station, and could be seen many as 60 years later, still walking along the tracks. (He finally disappeared when the train station was torn down to widen Central Avenue.)

That hardly seems overtly demonic; nor does Sam, the ghost who allegedly haunts WCN Newspapers. Sam supposedly is a former publisher who feels bad for reporters who have to stay there late, and supposedly has appeared to a couple late at night and put a comforting arm on their shoulders.

Most ghost stories are nothing more than outright fabrications, and most of the rest have a completely legitimate physical or psychological explanation that has been overlooked. The remainder -- a very small percentage to be sure -- may have something supernatural about them, and given the general silence of the Scriptures on ghosts, I'm not inclined to believe in ghosts qua ghosts, even though I find the stories fascinating.

But at the same time, given the general silence of the Scriptures on ghosts, I won't rule out the possibility definitively, either.

Hollywood and its campaign of bigotry

Hollywood is picking on me.

I didn't realize this was true, until I heard about the recent uproar by UNICO and other Italian-American organizations regarding "Shark Tale."

"Shark Tale" is the newest computer-animated movie from DreamWorks SKG. The movie, which debuted at theaters on Friday, debases Italian-Americans because it includes a shark mafia whose members speak with Italian accents and use Italian phrases such as capisce and consigliere.

Even though the film actually is spoofing the genre of mob movies, and even though the sharks end up being portrayed sympathetically, this film is a wholly undeserved ethnic smear. Everyone knows that Mafia crime families actually speak Swedish, not Italian, and like crime families from other nationalities, they are pleasant, law-abiding groups that enjoy a nice round of croquet after dinner.

That "Shark Tale" follows so closely on the heels of Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ," which depicted Italian soldiers as a bloodthirsty, sadistic lot who tortured the Son of God to death, just adds insult to injury. Everyone knows the soldiers who killed Jesus Christ were actually French.

It really shouldn't surprise anyone that Hollywood has it in for Italian -Americans. If you look at a history of the movies, it's obvious that movie studios will hate anybody if it boosts box office receipts.

I'm not Italian, but like many other Americans, I have a wide and varied ethnic heritage because of our nation's legacy as a melting pot. Every ethnic group to which I can claim some connection by blood has been tarnished by the cultural elite behind movies and TV.

Think about all the movies you've seen about World War II. Whether it's "Saving Private Ryan," "Band of Brothers" or "Force 10 from Navarone," you'll notice a common thread woven throughout them all: Germans are bad guys. German soldiers routinely kill American troops and support the evil regime of Adolf Hitler.

Watch a movie such as "The Pianist" or "Schindler's List," and it gets even worse. Now Germans are linked with the Holocaust and the extermination of 6 million Jews.

"Gladiator" started at a battle line where the Romans were about to fight against German barbarians. The Germans appear nowhere else in the movie, and are present only for one reason: to be denigrated, and further the director's racist agenda.

What's the message we're supposed to take away from all this? Clearly, it's that when German-Americans aren't mindless barbarians running around the woods in animal skins, we're all Nazi sympathizers who hate Jews. As a German-American, I take great exception to that, and think that the next time Hollywood sees fit to do a movie about World War II, it should forget the spin just for a moment and remember all the nice pretty flowers that grow along the Rhine.

In addition to my German heritage, I can trace my roots back to England. My English heritage gets just as thorough a drubbing as my German side.

In "Braveheart," we follow the exploits of folk hero William Wallace as he fights for Scottish independence from the English King Edward Longshanks. Longshanks is portrayed as a ruthless man who maintains order in Scotland through rape, through brutality and through the wholesale slaughter of whoever gets in his way.

He has no qualms about giving orders to kill his own soldiers in order to take out the Scots, he heartlessly bludgeons his own son and pushes his son's lover out the window and offers peace with one hand even as he moves his other to attack. The English in "The Patriot" display the same complete lack of virtue.

And in "U-571," the entire British contribution to capturing the U-boat not only was ignored, it was supplanted with fictitious accounts of American involvement.

Rather than celebrating the beauty of English culture and England's contributions to history, Hollywood treats us again and again to supposed barbarity so that when someone sees an English name, they don't see a person, they see an ethnic identity.

This is an unconscionable thing to do to my children, who must now grow up under the stigma of being German-Americans and English-Americans, rather than being accepted as full-class citizens in their own right and on their own merits.

I could go on. I also have a French ancestor, a nation disparaged in "The Pirates of the Caribbean," and an ancestress who was an American Indian, a race disparaged in everything from "Rin Tin Tin" to the films of John Wayne.

No matter where you turn, people have a reason to complain about popular entertainment depicting them in a negative light.

I wish it would stop.

On the existence or non of ghosts

If you want to drive a youth pastor crazy or stir up trouble in a college Christian fellowship, all it takes is one simple question: "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Ghosts don't fit in particularly well with mot Christian perspectives on the afterlife. Many believers would agree that when a person dies, they go either to heaven or to hell, so there's not much room for ghosts. As a consequence, many evangelicals and fundamentalists, faced with the thorny question, will insist that ghosts are simply demons impersonating a dead soul. Nice, neat solution.

The problem is that the Bible sometimes mentions ghosts, not to say that they exist, but to indicate that people in Bible times either held such superstitions or at least were aware of them. The gospel mentions that when the Apostles saw Jesus walking on water, they thought he was a ghost, for instance, Later, after the Resurrection, he urges them to touch his corporeal body, saying, "See, I am not a ghost."

And then there's the story of Saul and the witch of Endor.

At the end of 1 Samuel, King Saul goes to Endor to ask a medium to conjure the spirit of the prophet Samuel, so he can find out what will happen when he goes to fight the Philistines. The news isn't encouraging. "You and your sons will all die," Samuel's spirit says to him.

Now the Bible's pretty clear that this is the shade of Samuel rising from the ground, and judging from the text, it seems no one is happy about the situation. Samuel is angry that Saul has summoned his spirit, which the Levitical code expressly forbids, Saul is disheartened by the news, and the witch herself is freaked out. But the Bible is clear that this is Samuel, not something else pretending to be Samuel.

The ancient Hebrews believed the dead, whether good, bad or indifferent, went to Sheol, which is Hebrew for the grave (the Greek equivalent is Hades). This was more or less synonymous with the graves where dead bodies were interred, hence the phrase we see repeated in the Tanakh that so-and-so "died and was laid with his fathers" -- because so-and-so literally was laid with fathers.

The testimony that the witch of Endor summoned Samuel comes from the Tanakh itself, which says that Samuel's spirit rose from the ground. It doesn't say an unclean spirit, nor Sathanas, nor any other name -- just Samuel.

I don't have a firm stand on ghosts. There are people who swear up and down that they've had experiences they can't explain any way other than paranormally, but a lot of people are just nuts. People who believe in ghosts often just don't think through all the natural or even psychological possibilities that would explain the phenomena in question, if for no other reason than a paranormal one is more exciting.

But I won't rule out the possibility that ghosts exist. I don't like a world where everything is defined into neat little piles, because I don't believe God made the world to be like that. While most of us will fall asleep until the Last Day when we awaken to judgment, I won't rule out the possibility that there are some restless spirits that can't sleep, for whatever reason.

And that may be why I'm not a youth pastor.

red dwarf

At the moment my wife and I are on a tremendous "Red Dwarf" kick. We borrowed the first four seasons on DVD from a friend, and have been working our way through them.

I'd already read two of the books, and am pleasantly amazed at how smeggingly different the two versions of the story on while still remaining faithful to the same vision. The TV show came first, followed later by the books. The author -- a gestalt entity known as Grant Naylor -- did a superb job with the adaptation, and shows how you can improve a story in many ways by adapting it instead of slavishly retelling it.

Good series, really. If you liked "Hitchhiker's Guide," you'll like "Red Dwarf" too.

At this point, we've watched the first four seasons on DVD, and I've read two of the three books. Great stuff. I wasn't aware there had been discussion of a U.S. version of the series, but I don't doubt it wouldn't have been great stuff. It probably would have added new meaning to the word "suckage." Look what FOX did to "Dr. Who." (Or, better yet, don't. You're better off not knowing.)

The show did have some challenges, with the cast originally limited to Lister, Holly, Rimmer's hologram, the Cat and Lister's toaster, but I think it rose to the challenge admirably.

Stupid hang-ups I have (and one I don't)

1. I cannot, for the life of me, open a canister of Pillsbury biscuits. As soon as I try, I get a tight feeling across my shoulder blades and find myself cringing just at the thought. For some reason, that Pop! always gets to me and I've become hopelessly conditioned to dread it. (Perhaps it was the unfortunate accident I had as a child.)
2. Makeup in general holds no attraction to me, but lipstick actually grosses me out. Even just the word. I'm fortunate that Natasha has never worn makeup, except for once when she was a teenager. It's not like she needs it, either -- she looks absolutely beautiful without it.
3. I also count steps as I take them. I've heard that that's actually one of the symptoms of obsessive-compulsive behavior, which has always troubled me slightly. So apparently I also have a hangup about possibly having an undiagnosed neurosis.
4. And while we're on the subject of compulsions, I sometimes will stare at the clock, to catch the numbers changing. I get keyed up by the 12:34 thing. I was disappointed when I realized I had missed 12:34:56 on July 8 1990, especially since I had missed 1:23:45 June 7, 1989, the year previously.
5. I also peel dried glue off bottles of glue -- it's been a compulsion of mine since I was in elementary school.
6. My younger brother has long had a hangup about buttons. Even now as a 32-year-old, he can't wear a button-down shirt. I've seen him start choking and gasping for breath in a psychosomatic response to wearing a shirt with buttons. Apparently as a young child he developed a fear that a button would pop off his shirt and go into his mouth. 

spiritual growth

About six months ago, Evangeline committed herself to Christ. I really have no idea how deep that commitment it is, but I have no doubt it was as real a commitment as a 4-year-old can make and Christ will honor it.

I have to say, it's been tremendous watching her grow in understanding. There have been amusing moments, as expected, such as a few weeks ago when I didn't have my hair tied back, and Evangeline said, "Daddy, you look like Jesus!" But there have been other, incredible moments as we've talked about the faith together. A while ago she asked me why she can see the Jesus in "The Miracle Maker" and in "Jesus Christ Superstar," but our Jesus is invisible. So I had to explain the Incarnation to her, and that Christ is now in heaven but is with us spiritually. A couple days ago, she asked how Jesus could be God if he was God's Son, and I could tell she wasn't entirely satisfied by my attempt to explain the doctrine of the Trinity. (Join the club, kiddo.)

One time, she asked me if we can see heaven, and I said that sometimes we can see heaven when we really love another person and act to them like Jesus wants us to. Another time, after we had read the Genesis account of creation, she thought for a minute and then said quite seriously, "Daddy, I don't think the sky is heaven."

I remember one time she prayed the Lord's Prayer,
"Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be your name
Your kingdom come,
Your will be done
On earth as in heaven.
Daddy took the stick away from me at preschool,
And I said, 'Daddy, that was a bad choice.You're in time out.'
In Jesus' name,
Amen."

Her prayers are a little simpler right now. She usually just prays along with me at bedtime, but she also often thanks God for "all the fun I've had today, including the things I didn't like."

During family devotions, though, she's astounded me. We really just started having them this past week while I've been at home on vacation time, but she's taken right to them with a minimum of fuss. Natasha surprised me by pulling out an old hymnal I didn't know she had, and E has blown me away twice now by asking to sing "Nothing but the Blood of Jesus" -- and more times by knowing the words to other hymns like "Old Rugged Cross," "It is Well" and "My Jesus, I Love Thee." (The first song she ever sang actually was "Silent Night," a byproduct of my singing hymns to her as an infant to get her to sleep.)

Rachel, who is only 23 months, is already enjoying worship too. She sings along with "Jesus Loves Me" and last Sunday when Natasha went to pick her up from her Sunday School class, where they had been watching some video or another, Rachel said, "Mommy, watching Jesus!"

It's kind of intimidating and awe-inspiring. My kids are finding out as toddlers what I didn't discover until I was almost 18. I can only hope that I pass on to them by the time they turn 18 the parts of the gospel I didn't figure out until I was over 30.

favoritism

I'm looking for some perspective here, particularly from other parents, about something that's been troubling me for more than two years.

I find myself continually favoring one child over the other.

This first came up back when Chris was still here. I don't remember how it came up, but one evening in the kitchen by ourselves Niki spelled it out for me point-blank: "You love him more than you love your own daughter."

That hurt, but I couldn't argue with her. It was true. I had been making an effort to shoulder more of the burden with Chris because he was such a handful for Niki and she had a hard time dealing with his issues, and in the process ended up spending more time with him than I was spending with Eowyn, and becoming closer emotionally to him than I had been with Eowyn.

I made a point of correcting that, and spent as much time with Eowyn as I could. I went out of my way to mend the relationship with her and to make it clear to her that I love her with all my heart. Although it's been strained by the hours I've had to give Worrall NEwspapers, Eowyn and I have a strong relationship.

You can probably tell where this is going. I don't feel as close to Ruth as I do to Eowyn, and -- I hate to say this -- I don't enjoy her as much as I do Eowyn. I love to watch her develop and I take pleasure in her accomplishments, and I enjoy going for walks with her and letting her sleep on my shoulder -- but the relationship I have with Eowyn is not there. I don't know what it is -- maybe it's because Eowyn has a lot of my personality and some similar interests, and Ruth until recently has been the quiet, personalityless baby -- but I find myself time and again favoring Eowyn over Ruth.

It actually started fairly early on. For whatever reason, when Eowyn was a newborn, I could walk her around for hours and never once complain about the lost sleep or the time it took for her to settle down. With Ruth, I never had that zeal for staying up with her, and tonight found myself resenting the fit she threw about having to go to sleep, and the inconvenience at having to let her sleep on my chest until Niki came home.

I'm told this is fairly natural and normal, and it may very well be so, but it still eats at me. I don't *want* to play favorites. I want my children each to feel and to be special to their father, and I don't want one of them being able to point at another and say, "There's the one Dad loves." My brothers and I can do that to an extent with our mother, and even can point to where it shifted from one brother to another; and my mother never had any doubts which of her sisters was favored by which parent -- and who get what was left over, if anything.

In some ways, I suppose the situation here is to be expected. Ruth was born less than a month after Chris moved back with his parents. She came at the best possible time -- her arrival helped us to move on from our grief -- and also at the worst possible time -- the joy that should have welcomed her arrival was mixed with tears. (The painful irony is that Ruth is named after my grandmother, whose older brother had died shortly before she was born. My great-grandfather wanted a son to replace the one he had lost, and never got over her being a girl. I also wanted a son.)

So ... any insight from other parents here? How do you avoid playing favorites with your children? And how have others of us dealt with seeing the favoritism that our parents played?

following a false jesus

I recently came to the shocking discovery that I've been following a false Jesus.

It was in the car a couple weeks ago, as I was driving home from work. It had been another long day on the job during a rough week, and I was worn out from it all. I was praying with that fearsome anger of someone who has been wronged, praying for justice.

I had every reason to want justice. My employers are notorious cheapskates who don't pay their employees well, who don't hire enough people and then expect the workers they do have to work doubly hard, without overtime compensation, to get the job done.

I had missed seeing my girls all day -- again.

I had missed reading them stories, praying with them, and tucking them into bed -- again.

I had failed to be there for my wife when the day grew long and tensions wore on her nerves -- again.

I had suffered one loss after another, and endured one abuse after another, for a job I hated with employers who couldn't care less whether they drained dry the people who were earning them their fortunes.

I wanted God to show them what they were doing, not just to me but to a dozen other people I knew. I wanted God to show my employers that they were making themselves rich at our expense, and I wanted them to know what Scripture warned about people who hoard wealth and deny workers their wages.

I was getting positively excited at the thought of their comeuppance, and was ready to dance with glee on the rubble when suddenly it hit me: I knew exactly what Simon had expected when he became Jesus' disciple.

Although he's often overlooked because of that other Simon in the gospels, Simon the Zealot is an important figure for us to remember. As a Zealot, Simon was looking for a Messiah who was going to come lift up downtrodden Israel and throw mighty Rome down to the ground. He was going to right all the wrongs, punish the wicked and shake all the Roman sympathizers right out of the house.

To Simon, in love with his liberating and conquering Messiah, the Suffering Servant embodied by Jesus must have seemed practically heretical. If it weren't for the miracles, it's possible Simon wouldn't have given Jesus a chance.
But Simon did give Jesus a chance, and over the three years Simon was a disciple, he became acquainted with the Cross. He got to understand that the way Jesus showed us isn't about hungering for revenge, even when we call it justice. Over those three years, Jesus told Simon to turn the other cheek and not to resist an evil person. And while Jesus did urge the well-to-do to assume their obligation for the poor, he saved his harshest words for religious hypocrites and always led by example.

Simon eventually got the idea of the Cross -- that we're supposed to see people made in the image of God, not enemies. After all, one of the other disciples was Levi, a Jew who worked as a tax collector for the Roman occupiers and made himself rich in the process. I'm sure the two had their more awkward moments during Jesus' ministry, but eventually Levi, who wrote the gospel of Matthew, joined Simon the Zealot in a martyr's death.

For my part, I went back to the Cross and asked forgiveness for straying -- again. After all, this isn't the first false Jesus whom I've let lead me astray. There's been the false Jesus who got me to look down on unbelievers, and there was his brother, the false Jesus who got to look down at other believers and revile them as non-Christians or as worldly. Other false Jesuses have taught me to think that if I follow Christ's commands that I'll be rewarded with wealth, with happiness or some other fleeting blessing, when Christ actually promises the exact opposite. Some have got me to attempt great things for the god who lies within me and who is always trying to divert my attention from the God I swore to serve.

One thing is always the same. Whether it's the false Jesus Simon served, the false Jesus Matthew served, the one Peter served, or some other false Jesus, he always takes my eyes off the Cross.

The Cross is where I belong. That's my sin dies and my spirit soars to life again. It's where my faith the size of a mustard seed can see impossible things happen, and it's where I find communion not just with Christ, but with all sorts of other people who, just like me, don't get it -- except for those brief shining moments when we're touched by grace and the lights come on.

If you've been following a false Jesus too -- and you know you have -- then come join me at the Cross. Because that's the other thing about the Cross -- it's where our false Jesuses are put to death, and we get to see the real one instead.

what's it to ya?

Let's look at one of the little mysteries of Scripture.
In the very last verses of the gospel of John, Jesus and Peter are walking along the shore and have their chat about whether Peter loves him. At the end of the conversation, Peter looks back and sees John, and asks, "Lord, what about him?"

Jesus responds, "If I want him to remain until I return, what is it to you?"

John goes on to add that because of this, the rumor started to spread among the believers that John would not die, but Jesus did not say he would die. He merely said "If I want him to remain until I return, what is it to you?"

I believe that every word in Scripture has meaning on at least one level, but usually on more. If Jesus meant simply, "It's none of your business what happens to John," he could have said so in a bazillion different ways.

So what did he mean by "If I want him to remain until I return, what is it to you?" If all he meant was "It's none of your beeswax" -- and I believe that not only is a valid interpretation, but one of the layers of meaning -- then why not say, "It's none of your business?" Or, if he wanted to be poetic, why not say, "If I want him to grow antlers and sing at bar mitzvahs, what is that to you?"

Good literary analysis holds that the choice of words in a passage, particularly when it's cryptic or suggestive like this is, there's more than one layer of meaning.

I compare it to the fate of Enoch, when the author of Genesis writes "Enoch walked with the Lord, and then he was no more for the Lord took him away." On the face of it, that means Enoch died, end of the story, game over. But it's such a clever way to say it -- and it differs from all the other deaths in that genealogy, where the author writes "And then he died," so it's completely reasonable to assume that Enoch didn't just die, but was translated.

In Acts 1, the disciples ask Jesus if he's going to restore the Kingdom of Israel. What is it Jesus says? Not "If I want to wait a couple millennia to do it, what is that to you?" but "It is not for you to know the times and dates the Father has set by his own authority."

There you have it. Point-blank, in-your-face "This is none of your business." But that's NOT how he answered Peter's question. Which means to me that that wasn't his whole intent.

The Revelation explanation -- that John was physically present for a vision of the End Times, and hence was "alive until I return" -- is one I heard back in college, but I don't quite buy it.

That seems to be suggesting that John saw futuristic events but didn't understand them, so he developed weird images like locusts that sting like scorpions, and green mice that run uphill in the moonlight. That just sounds ridiculous, particularly when you consider how much of the imagery of Revelation is found in earlier prophetic books, particularly from the Tanakh.

I wouldn't be surprised if the closing verses in John are partly the basis for the old legend about the Wandering Jew.

Good Bible study involve asking "Why did it happen this way?" I find I get the most understanding of Scripture and what Christ does in us when I try to understand the people and the dynamics involved. Knowing more about a seder makes lights come on during a reading of the Last Supper that would have stayed off if I hadn't read the haggadah before last Easter.

And as I said, good literary analysis involves looking at cases where a simpler response wasn't used, particularly when you consider that Jesus had other occasions where he spoke quite plainly: "Then neither will I tell you by whose authority I am doing these things" or "It is not for you to know the times and dates the Father has set by his own authority."

That Jesus said anything beyond "What is it to you?" makes his comments worth considering; that John heavily implies that Jesus didn't mean John would never die makes it doubly intriguing to think about.

Given the context of the quote, I think tjos take on it is the best one: that Jesus is saying it's going to be a while until he returns, and John will outlive all the others. Jesus just told Peter how he would die -- when you are old you will stretch out your hands and be taken where you do not wish to go -- so it makes sense that Jesus is saying something about John's fate.

Our college IVCF staff worker was big on the idea that Christ's prophesied "coming on the clouds in judgment" was a reference to A.D. 70, when the Romans destroyed Jerusalem and that other prophecies we consider to be End Times refer to the Last Days of the covenant with Israel. (I do not subscribe to this belief.)

In that sense, you could argue that John lived until Jesus came again, since he was not martyred, but lived to see the church become an increasingly Gentile body, saw the sack of Jerusalem under Vespasian and also witnessed the end of the Caesars, when Nero, last of the Julio-Claudians, was killed.

demonology

A friend of mine launches a discussion on the Christian doctrine of demons
1: Do you believe there is such a thing as a literal "demon"? If so, where do you think they came from?
Pittsburgh.

No, seriously, I'd say the testimony of Scripture is pretty clear that there are spiritual entities that are evil, but what they are, doctrines are going to vary. The traditional explanation, which I side with by default, is that demons are fallen angels that took place in a rebellion against God back at the beginning.

That's not entirely stated within Scripture. Christ bears witness that he saw Satan "fall from heaven like lightning," and there is a passage in the book of Revelation that talks about a war in heaven that ended with a third of the stars being cast from the sky. We assign that story to the beginning, but I'm not clear on why, except that it's what we do.

The Greek New Testament calls the spirits Jesus casts out of people "unclean spirits," with no explanation of where they came from, although the spirits recognize Jesus as the Holy One of God and recognize that they have a date with destiny.

The prophet Micah, in 1 Kings, declares that God sent a lying spirit into Ahab's court so that Ahab's prophets would all promise him victory, so that Ahab would go into battle and be killed. The book of Job also has Satan entering the presence of God and giving an accounting of his activities to God. So while Scripture clearly indicates that Satan is in opposition to God's kingdom and his plan, it also shows that he is subject to him, which makes for a different sort of rebellion than we usually imagine.

There was a school of thinking among the ancient Hebrews that Satan was a servant of God whose job was to take the opposite view and be (you'll pardon the phrase) the Devil's Advocate. That certainly seems to be one of the functions he has.

But yes, I believe in demons and devils, even though I won't claim to know definitively and exactly what they are.

Do you think that "demon-possession" is often a case of a misunderstanding of a health problem, either physical or psychological? Are tales of such things from the Bible a superstitious view based on incomplete understanding by the authors?

I think there's some overlap. Some people are like Father Zosima in the Brothers Karamazov, who saw more devils than hell could hold. To them, any head cold or missed parking space is an attack by Old Scratch. Other people believe everything has a natural cause and completely disbelieve in angelic or demonic beings -- what Lewis called the two equal but opposite errors concerning the Devil.

Sometimes mental illness is demonic affliction. Other times it's just mental illness. Same is true for physical ailments, I would say.

Just because something has a physical cause doesn't mean it's rooted solely in the physical world. The natural world is a subset of the supernatural world, and so the supernatural world is able to affect the natural world we live in, in ways that we cannot perceive, just as our physical activities have repercussions in the spiritual world.

So to answer your question, my short answer is No, and my long answer is Yes, but.

Demon possession seemed to be very common in Jesus' time, at least compared to today. Why do you think that is? Is it because of the sort of misunderstanding mentioned above, or were there other issues at work? Do you think maybe the stories are a metaphor?

Like everything else in the Bible, the accounts of deliverance from demonic possession are layered with meaning and can be interpreted correctly in several different lights. I believe they happened pretty much as described.

As to the explosion in demonic activity, I'd say it's because of Christ's grand entrance onto the world stage. The world and its people didn't notice much at first, but in the spiritual world Mary's pregnancy was a rock that shattered mighty empires into dust that blew away, and then grew into a mountain that covered the earth.

And I'd say demonic activity is just as pronounced now as in New Testament times, but I think we're inclined to disbelieve it because we're more enlightened.

I've been through demonic oppression. I know other people who have been. I know two people who claim to have been demon possessed, and a few others who claim to have cast demons out of people. (I'm sure someone's going to make charges of crackpottery, but there you have it.)

Interesting points: The Greek word we translate as "possession" also gets translated as "anointing" when it's used to describe the Holy Spirit and his effect upon Christians. Thus it's not possession as much as it is an unholy anointing of sin, or, as could be said, "demonization."

Other interesting point: The New Testament authors used the same word to describe Jesus casting out demons as they did to describe what he did to the money changers in the temple.

Do you think it's possible that even modern medical problems, fully understood by medical science, are in some way physical manifestations of spiritual conflicts?
I already answered this, but yes, I do.

For example, I have a severe case of psoriasis. It covers about 20 percent of my body. The biological causes of psoriasis are all well documented: hyperactive immune system from not being breastfed as an infant, stress factors, skin damage, weight problems, zinc shortage, blah blah blah.

Let me focus on the stress factor. Do you think just maybe that there could be something even slightly demonic that could trigger a stress attack and lead to a flareup in psoriasis? That's a minor thing, of course, and I'm not saying that Satan has given me a severe case of psoriasis, but I do think it could be a physical side effect of something else like a spiritual attack that has nothing to do with the health of my skin.

woo-hoo!

Nothing definite yet, but it looks like my wife is going to be getting a full-time job at Rutgers, with full benefits. That will mean a slight drop in income, but there won't be all this extra mileage on the car, or our contribution to a mediocre health plan. With some free-lancing and minor P.R. opportunities, it might even work out to about even.

It also means she'll be getting experience and probably some field work in the field she has a master's degree in. She wouldn't have had this talk with her lab supervisor if I hadn't convinced her we just needed to up and up leave WCN.

On a lesser note, I got to tell my supervisor off today. (Not really. I'm being melodramatic, but I did politely and respectfully convey my disgruntlement in a nonconfrontational manner, and I got my point across.) The look on his face was priceless. I don't think it ever had occurred to him that other people might have been interested in the two posts they filled recently (associate editor and flagship managing editor), and that they might have angered or insulted employees by not advertising the posts before filling them.

Honestly, I don't know what the problem is with these people. I said last year in a meeting with the editor in chief and again with one of the owners that I was at a point of burnout and needed a major change. It's not something I've tried to keep secret, and I've made several suggestions of things I could do that would have been a better match for my interests and abilities than what I have now. (Naturally, as I went over some of my areas of concern/frustration today, Mark's whole suggestion was to spread the disease around by giving some of my writing responsibilities to the Cranford reporter.)

So now it looks like I might be able to give them two weeks' notice on Friday, about two weeks ahead of when I had planned to. And we'll have a stronger plan than we originally had hoped.

God willing, of course. The lab supervisor has to crunch the numbers properly and make sure she can give the job to my wife, but she seemed fairly confident of it when they spoke today.

Strictly speaking, I suppose there's no woo-hoo until it actually happens, but just the prospect has buoyed my spirits tremendously

a great way to turn 34

Fantastic birthday today. My 34th.

I got to go home early, thanks mostly to things being in disarray at the newspaper and a series of essential phone calls not being returned. So I went home and got to spend a few hours with the girls, unwrapping presents that E wrapped by herself, with help from her mother only on the tape. She also gave me a handmade card, the girls sang "Happy Birthday" to me -- even R, although she only got in every fifth syllable or so -- and well, heck, we had a great time.

requiem to the forbidden love of youth

Have you ever had a relationship so deep and meaningful that when it ended, you felt as though a part of you had died? I have.

For the entire second year of our marriage, my wife and I shared our house, our back yard — yes, our very lives — with a mattress called Spring Air. Initially, I admit, we regarded Spring Air as an inconvenience, a twin-size mattress left in the driveway by the house’s previous owner, but as time went on, Spring Air came to mean something more to me. Something special.

Natasha will always be the love of my life, but I can’t deny that Spring Air came to hold a place in my heart as well. Even now, years later, I still recall it with a sad wistfulness normally reserved for third-grade crushes.

The mattress grew on me slowly, but when we threw a housewarming party that July, Spring Air was there, along with some of our best friends from church and from college. It said little, being shy, and it mostly hung out on the side of the house away from the guests rather than mingle with them.

This behavior didn’t particularly surprise me. Mattresses are not social creatures, and they rarely spend much time with more than one or two people in the course of their lives. This also probably was its first party, so some bashfulness was to be expected.

But there was no mistaking the sensation it caused. In its own quiet way, Spring Air quickly became a conversation piece among our guests, who invariably revered it as the most unusual piece of patio furniture they ever had seen. Our picnic table and every one of our chairs have been used repeatedly, but not one person dared to use Spring Air for an afternoon nap. Such was the respect we held it in.

In time, Spring Air became something of an attraction, or perhaps a celebrity. People came from Maryland, from Pennsylvania, from Arizona and from Vermont and asked to see the mattress. Ours became known as the only house on the block — perhaps in the city or in all Iowa — to have a mattress in the back yard.

Spring Air became like family to us. It stayed with us all summer long and into the autumn. When Tropical Storm Floyd hit New Jersey in 1999, destroying communities like Manville and Bound Brook and wreaking havoc in places like Cranford, the mattress stoically braved the elements and protected our house as best it could.

When our first child was born, Spring Air kept vigil while we were at the hospital. And when we brought Evangeline home for the first time, it was there, waiting for us patiently, and never once reproached me for not telling it when she had been born.

To my knowledge, the mattress never once asked for anything. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and Easter all came and went, and Spring Air stayed outside on the patio without once asking to come in and have a bit of turkey, to sing carols around the tree or even just to dry out.

And so the days passed. Snow fell, lingered and melted away. Winter turned to spring, and in their turn, spiders, insects and a few species of mold I’ve never identified made that mattress their home.

From time to time, Natasha, in a surprising bit of jealousy, gently would hint that Spring Air had overstayed its welcome, and she would ask me to escort it to the roadside.

“I think we have to make special arrangements before they’ll take it away,” I would say as I stalled for time.

Trouble began brewing in earnest in the spring. Leaves that had gone unraked over the winter because my time was needed inside with the baby had piled up against Spring Air, and as they rotted around it, the mattress began to make a stink. Its bright colors had faded, and visitors who saw Spring Air began to remark that it should go.

The fateful day arrived early one morning in late May. Coming back from her office one day, Natasha saw something that set her aquiver with excitement. A homeowner a block away from us had put a queen-size mattress and box spring out on the curb with his regular garbage.

I knew as soon as she told me that Spring Air’s days were numbered. Less than a week later, I dragged it out to the curb. Time and the elements had not been kind to our guest. Practically new when we had moved in, it had aged prematurely, and I knew it was time to put it down.

I leaned it against a tree between our house and the one next door in case there was an extra fee associated with leaving oversize items out for collection, and I said my goodbyes.

“I guess this is it,” I said. “It’s best if you leave tomorrow morning. I don’t want the zoning officer to fine us for keeping you outside. It’s probably against a city ordinance.”

Spring Air said nothing, and wouldn’t even look at me. I could tell I had hurt its feelings.

The next morning I watched, misty-eyed, as city workers picked up our mattress and threw it into the garbage truck. Even from where I stood, I could feel its resentment at this betrayal.

“I could have stayed forever,” it seemed to say sullenly. “See how your flowers and picnic table fare. I never would have biodegraded on you.” I watched as it rode slowly away aboard the garbage truck.

It never even tried to look back.


Copyright © 2000, 2004 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Retold from "Mattress of My Heart."

pondering the revolution

I wrote this elsewhere, as part of a discussion with other Christians about Jeffersonian ideals about the right of the citizenry to overthrow a government they consider unjust, such as with the American Revolution. I'm reposting it, primarily because I think it's an interesting line of thought.

Paul writes in his epistles that everyone should be subject to the authorities, for there is no authority that God did not establish. (Standard exceptions of conscience, although it's understood when the time comes to face the consequences for that defiance, there's a Christlike surrender.)

Paul wasn't talking about a democratic government with duly elected representatives, a Bill of Rights and trial lawyers to see that your rights were protected. He was talking about the Roman Empire, one of the greatest and sometimes most brutal empires in history.

The Roman Empire had a state religion, although it allowed people to practice other religions that had received state approval.

The Roman Empire through conquest and colonization had annexed most of Europe, along with parts of Africa and parts of Asia. (Evidence has been found of a Roman presence in North America, but we'll assume that was fluke rather than imperial policy.) It didn't care much for provinces that resisted their rule, as Judea discovered in AD 70 under Titus Vespasian, and again under Marcus Aurelius in the third century.

The Roman Empire also had some of the cruelest, most capricious and depraved emperors in history. Tiberius was a monster; Caligula, utterly insane, married his sister Drusilla, declared himself to be Jupiter, and when he bankrupted the empire's coffers, he refilled them by killing whomever he wanted and taking their property; Claudius was mentally retarded and while he was emperor, the empire was run through him by his wives and various advisers, who often worked to their own interests at the expense of Rome and its empire; Nero was as monstrous as the previous three put together, and then some; Domitian was well known for his persecution of Christians; Commodus was a sadist who enjoyed torturing people in the gladiator pit; and you had other emperors like Vespasian and Marcus Aurelius, who saw nothing wrong with destroying cities that were difficult to rule.

We all complain about taxes, but the tax system in Rome was horribly corrupt. Tax collectors were told to get a certain amount of money, and Rome didn't care how much else they got or how they got it, as long as Rome got its share.

We also complain about the justice system nowadays. In Rome, thieves were crucified -- the cruelest and most painful means of execution ever developed, and one which the Romans refined for further pain. This was a fate also used for murderers, brigands and runaway slaves. In fact, at the time Paul was alive, the Roman Senate ordered something like 700 slaves executed because *one* of them had killed their master in his sleep.

Freedom of speech? Forget it. People who criticized the empire disappeared. I read about one fellow who was locked in a cell and driven to such hunger that he ate his mattress before he finally hanged himself. Augustus, generally regarded as the best of Rome's emperors, banned men of noble birth from the stage and had one actor sent into exile because he had given the audience the finger after being booed for a lousy performance.

Rome was a fascist state, and yet Paul told people to submit to it.

Are you so sure it would be a good idea to rise up against the American government if it became what Jefferson feared it might?