If you live in Iowa and have small children like I do, you probably spent at least a little time recently on the computer checking the state's new online registry of sex offenders, at www.iosp.org.
For a parent, it's a dream come true. I have two daughters, one almost 4 years old, and the other almost 1. With a few clicks of the mouse, I was able to find the names, addresses and other pertinent information about all six sex offenders who live in the same town as I. One lives only two blocks from me.
Let me focus on him. He was convicted Aug. 15, 1997, of sexual assault involving a preteen girl, criminal sexual assault against a woman and aggravated criminal sexual assault against a preteen girl. The site doesn't provide any more information than that about the crimes.
I guarantee you that not only will I keep my children away from this man, but whenever I see him, I'm going to be filled with revulsion for what he's done. If I were to meet him on the street while I'm walking my dog, it would be next to impossible for me to interact with him without words like pedophile, pervert and rapist running through my mind.
I find that troubling.
Whether it's intended to or not, this registry automatically has become an added punishment to men and women -- usually men -- who already have paid their debt to society through a jail term.
As a result of this scarlet-letter treatment, this man has now been given the 21st-century version of the stocks. I know where he lives. I know how tall he is, what color his eyes and hair are, and with a little digging, I could find out all sorts of other personal information about him. If there's one thing a reporter's good at, it's digging up public information that other people like to think is private.
What's worse is that if anyone molests a child in the neighborhood, I know exactly who I'm going to suspect right from the get-go.
I'd like to think that if someone hurt one of my daughters, my wife and I would have the self-restraint not to take matters into our own hands, but I don't know. It's too easy to imagine making a beeline for the man's door in such a situation. Our passions run deep where our children are concerned.
Despite the gravity of the arguments I'm making now -- arguments that have been made ever since Megan Kanka was killed nine years ago and the law that bears her name was first proposed -- a U.S. Court of Appeals last month overturned a U.S. District court judge's decision that the registry violates privacy rights.
Essentially, the appellate court ruled that the protection of citizens outweighs an offender's privacy rights.
I can't fault parents who check the Web site -- I've done it myself -- but I do think the appellate court was dead wrong in its decision. Information about sex offenders and their records should be public information, but it shouldn't be so easily accessible.
The state has taken a tremendous risk in presenting the sex offender information in this format and especially on the Internet. This just doesn't make sense for someone who's not considered a high risk for repeat offenses, and if people are considered high risks, they don't belong on the Internet -- they belong in an institution, getting treatment.
To its credit, the Web site reminds users on almost every page that they can't misuse the information in the manner I've described. Anyone who uses the registry's information to commit a criminal offense faces three to five years in jail and a fine of up to $15,000.
That's well and good, but it assumes that people are going to be rational about a volatile subject. That is not always a safe assumption, particularly after an assault has occurred.
Stiffer penalties, some offered by other states, are not the answer. That Web site has to come down, and the state needs to find a better way to disseminate the information, if it is to be disseminated like this at all.
Saturday, October 11, 2003
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
'If I speak with the tongues of men and angels...'
I'm a former Pentecostal, and I have a confession to make. Even though I still believe in the gift of tongues, I still have no idea what the supposed scriptural basis is for a "prayer language."
This is a practice among Pentecostals and charismatics of praying in unknown tongues during private prayer time. The believers I've known who practice the karisma swear by it. They describe these prayers as effortless, tireless, and a direct line between their soul and God, unobstructed by the clumsiness of human speech.
The difficulty I'm having is that if Scripture is our guide to spiritual matters, it doesn't provide much guidance when it comes to having a personal prayer language. When the glossolalia first was manifest in Acts 2, it was with the express effect that Jews from all over the world heard the gospel proclaimed in their own native languages -- even though the speakers were virtually all from Judea and Galilee.
The believers weren't praying in unknown languages. They were praying in languages that they personally couldn't speak, but the onlookers could. It would be like going to Lisbon and speaking in Portuguese without ever studying a lick of it beforehand.
In other words, this was a reversal of the Babel curse; the purpose of tongues was to unconfuse human language and to make communication easier.
This is also what Paul suggests is the use of tongues when he writes to the church in Corinth. If people come into church and hear you worshiping in a language they don't know, it means nothing to them. But if they hear you worshiping in their own language -- which you don't know -- they stand convicted that God is in the church (1 Corinthians 14:22).
That certainly was the impact of the crowd who heard Peter's sermon early in Acts.
In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul does say, "If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am only a tinkling cymbal or resounding brass." But one verse in isolation is a poor prooftext for doctrine, and since every language has idiomatic expressions, I'm inclined to consider "the tongues of men and angels" to be one of those and nothing more until I hear a convincing argument otherwise.
In the meantime, I'm going to keep praying in the human languages that I know. They may not be a direct line from my soul to God, but they're all I've got, and they've worked all right for me so far.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn, Used with permission.
The difficulty I'm having is that if Scripture is our guide to spiritual matters, it doesn't provide much guidance when it comes to having a personal prayer language. When the glossolalia first was manifest in Acts 2, it was with the express effect that Jews from all over the world heard the gospel proclaimed in their own native languages -- even though the speakers were virtually all from Judea and Galilee.
The believers weren't praying in unknown languages. They were praying in languages that they personally couldn't speak, but the onlookers could. It would be like going to Lisbon and speaking in Portuguese without ever studying a lick of it beforehand.
In other words, this was a reversal of the Babel curse; the purpose of tongues was to unconfuse human language and to make communication easier.
This is also what Paul suggests is the use of tongues when he writes to the church in Corinth. If people come into church and hear you worshiping in a language they don't know, it means nothing to them. But if they hear you worshiping in their own language -- which you don't know -- they stand convicted that God is in the church (1 Corinthians 14:22).
That certainly was the impact of the crowd who heard Peter's sermon early in Acts.
In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul does say, "If I speak in the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am only a tinkling cymbal or resounding brass." But one verse in isolation is a poor prooftext for doctrine, and since every language has idiomatic expressions, I'm inclined to consider "the tongues of men and angels" to be one of those and nothing more until I hear a convincing argument otherwise.
In the meantime, I'm going to keep praying in the human languages that I know. They may not be a direct line from my soul to God, but they're all I've got, and they've worked all right for me so far.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn, Used with permission.
Friday, October 03, 2003
the pressure's off
A book a friend of mine recently rurned me onto is Larry Crabb's "The Pressure's Off." It's a rather interesting and rather compelling book about the legalism that often ensnares us because we fall into the trap of means to an end, like "seven rules for a successful marriage" or "thirteen ways to raise godly children."
Crabb's point -- and I think it's an excellent one -- is that when we do this, we're going back to the Law, the very thing Christ freed us from and doing exactly what Paul warns us not to do. We don't improve anything by following the Law; we instead place ourselves under a burden we can't possibly carry.
Crabb's point -- and I think it's an excellent one -- is that when we do this, we're going back to the Law, the very thing Christ freed us from and doing exactly what Paul warns us not to do. We don't improve anything by following the Law; we instead place ourselves under a burden we can't possibly carry.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
job update redux
I found out tonight from a co-worker that he's not supposed to tell anyone, but he's going to be going up to our Bloomfield office for that position I mentioned four months ago. It's going to be his job to get the office into shape, oversee the other managing editors, and so on.
I'm happy for him, but I'm a little disappointed that they've shafted me like this after leading me to think I was the top contender for that post. Tim, our editor in chief, even went as far as telling in front of one of the owners that he considers me flat-out his best managing editor.
Actually, I'm not just a little disappointed by this arrangement. I'm furious. Nathan -- the guy they are moving -- is among other things, fairly lazy about his job, incredibly arrogant and know-it-all-ish, and the way he speaks about women, he's a lawsuit waiting to happen.
My best bet is that the decision was largely pecuniary. I already make $35K, and said I would need to make at least $40K if they were going to give me added responsibilities. Nathan on the other hand makes about $26K. He'll be making under $30K in Bloomfield office, and the reporter they've moving into his spot will probably make about $26K, while they'll replace her with someone they'll pay their dirt-cheap rate of $20K. If they figure I'll also get pissed off and quit, they can probably save another $15K when they replace me with a college graduate.
I don't want to be motivated just by money, and I don't think I am. But it's hard to feed a family of four on what I make here, the hours are brutal, and the work load keeps increasing. They're about to eliminate the production shop and have the managing editors handle all the pagination duties as well, as a cost-cutting measure. It's not like we don't already have to write four to six stories and four editorials a week, plus edit and lay out two whole papers.
I'm really sick of this. I sent out two resumes before I came to work today, on top of the two I sent out last week. I need another job, and I need it to be one where I can settle in for an extended period. Or I need my wife to find gainful employment so I can stay at home with the girls.
Something has to give. I just can't take this anymore.
I'm happy for him, but I'm a little disappointed that they've shafted me like this after leading me to think I was the top contender for that post. Tim, our editor in chief, even went as far as telling in front of one of the owners that he considers me flat-out his best managing editor.
Actually, I'm not just a little disappointed by this arrangement. I'm furious. Nathan -- the guy they are moving -- is among other things, fairly lazy about his job, incredibly arrogant and know-it-all-ish, and the way he speaks about women, he's a lawsuit waiting to happen.
My best bet is that the decision was largely pecuniary. I already make $35K, and said I would need to make at least $40K if they were going to give me added responsibilities. Nathan on the other hand makes about $26K. He'll be making under $30K in Bloomfield office, and the reporter they've moving into his spot will probably make about $26K, while they'll replace her with someone they'll pay their dirt-cheap rate of $20K. If they figure I'll also get pissed off and quit, they can probably save another $15K when they replace me with a college graduate.
I don't want to be motivated just by money, and I don't think I am. But it's hard to feed a family of four on what I make here, the hours are brutal, and the work load keeps increasing. They're about to eliminate the production shop and have the managing editors handle all the pagination duties as well, as a cost-cutting measure. It's not like we don't already have to write four to six stories and four editorials a week, plus edit and lay out two whole papers.
I'm really sick of this. I sent out two resumes before I came to work today, on top of the two I sent out last week. I need another job, and I need it to be one where I can settle in for an extended period. Or I need my wife to find gainful employment so I can stay at home with the girls.
Something has to give. I just can't take this anymore.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
job references
A co-worker of mine asked me if I would act as a reference for him in the event he needs one. (Like me, he's fighting desparately to leave the newspaper we work at.) Below are some of the references I told him I would be happy to give:
- "As long as he remembers to take his medication and keeps away from sharp objects, Brian is a pleasant enough fellow to work with."
- "I urge you to waste no time in considering Brian for a position with your company."
- "I am moved to tears whenever I read something Brian writes."
- "Brian one day will be remembered in the same breath as other great men like Napoleon, Genghis Khan and Idi Amin."
- "Brian is a great guy to work with. True, he is dim-witted and rude, his table manners leave a lot to be desired, and he has a small, misshapen mind with a body to match, but he ... I'm sorry, I can't remember where I was going."
- "Brian is a simple, down-to-earth sort of fellow, much like you'd expect from someone whose parents met at a family reunion."
- "You might have doubts that Brian will be able to handle the responsibilities of the task he is applying for. I assure you that there's nothing to worry about; from everything I've seen here, he'll soon find someone else whom he get manipulate into doing the job for him."
- "Brian is the only former death-row inmate I know who can handle this job."
- "Well, I don't want to say too much in case he's got my line bugged, but Brian seems to know an awful lot about munitions and ordnance, and he's been interviewed by the FBI an awful lot lately..."
- "My God! Pedersen is applying there? Hire him, you fools! The last three people to turn him down all were found three days later, floating face-down in the Hudson."
Thursday, September 11, 2003
impact made
I had one of those odd, aw-shucks moments yesterday. A co-worker (also named Dave, which is why I call him Vandervecken) who works in the newspaper's production department told me he had read my column and it had changed his life.
I initially couldn't tell if he was serious or not, because we routinely razz each other, but he was dead serious. He's around the same age as me, and he said that reading my column on getting older was like a face full of cold water: refreshing and bringing startling clarity. He commented on how the American dream often drives us to succeed and "make our mark" no matter what the cost, and said my column showed him there's another, better way.
He really seemed to appreciate it, and seemed intent on changing his focus from being career-driven to focusing more on the people in his life.
Kind of humbling, you know?
I initially couldn't tell if he was serious or not, because we routinely razz each other, but he was dead serious. He's around the same age as me, and he said that reading my column on getting older was like a face full of cold water: refreshing and bringing startling clarity. He commented on how the American dream often drives us to succeed and "make our mark" no matter what the cost, and said my column showed him there's another, better way.
He really seemed to appreciate it, and seemed intent on changing his focus from being career-driven to focusing more on the people in his life.
Kind of humbling, you know?
Sunday, September 07, 2003
no more mr. nice guy
The book "No More Mr. Nice Guy" was highly recommended by a friend of mine. Although it does not affect me as much as it did him, I must concede that books that deal with abstract issues such as this one does, with its psychoanalytical subject, often can leave the reader feeling confused and left in the dust. I feel this is particularly true when the books address a need the reader does not personally feel very strongly, as is the case with me and this book.
That is not to see the book is without merit or features that appealed to me. For starters, the publishers of "No More Mr. Nice Guy" wisely chose an aesthetically pleasing bookbinding where the pages are neatly collated and evenly trimmed. The glue also holds the pages together very admirably.
I especially was pleased with their use of a Serifs font. (I believe it was Garamond, a font that revolutionized print media with the facility with which the eye absorbs words printed in it.) The point size also was appropriately chosen; I did not need a magnifying glass to make out the words, nor did I feel like I was reading a "moo-moo" edition of a big with overlarge type.
Although I cannot comment on the book's long-term durability, I will say that the print edition was pleasantly free of the glare that accompanies the electronic edition.
In short, if you are looking for a book to help you understand how to express your emotional, mental and social needs as a male -- and most of all, if you want a book that is pleasing to the eye -- I must recommend "No More Mr. Nice Guy."
That is not to see the book is without merit or features that appealed to me. For starters, the publishers of "No More Mr. Nice Guy" wisely chose an aesthetically pleasing bookbinding where the pages are neatly collated and evenly trimmed. The glue also holds the pages together very admirably.
I especially was pleased with their use of a Serifs font. (I believe it was Garamond, a font that revolutionized print media with the facility with which the eye absorbs words printed in it.) The point size also was appropriately chosen; I did not need a magnifying glass to make out the words, nor did I feel like I was reading a "moo-moo" edition of a big with overlarge type.
Although I cannot comment on the book's long-term durability, I will say that the print edition was pleasantly free of the glare that accompanies the electronic edition.
In short, if you are looking for a book to help you understand how to express your emotional, mental and social needs as a male -- and most of all, if you want a book that is pleasing to the eye -- I must recommend "No More Mr. Nice Guy."
new amazon review
I just added a review of "The Hobbit," addressing Tolkien's party-animal nature and how it helped to shape the book. That review should be up in a few days.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/cm/member-glance/-/AFFWAUAXJMUON/ref=cm_aya_bc_aya/102-3195399-8899364
In the meantime, there are still reviews of Harry Potter, the Wizard of Oz, the Bible and Jane Eyre. More positive votes are eagerly desired.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/cm/member-glance/-/AFFWAUAXJMUON/ref=cm_aya_bc_aya/102-3195399-8899364
In the meantime, there are still reviews of Harry Potter, the Wizard of Oz, the Bible and Jane Eyre. More positive votes are eagerly desired.
letter
Dear Byron:
So I'm dying to know ...
If Cats had explained that the 20-ton weight materialized through a hyperspatial conduit that was connected to a warehouse on the other end of the world, stocked with 20-ton weights, and that it had failed to destroy the ship because the HMS Naked Glittery Squirrel is actually made of neutronium (the neutron-star-like gravitational effects of which are effectively neutralized through a fusion-driven gravity field), would you have reacted as negatively as you did to her use of the phrase "magic?"
I ask this because she said "magic," not necromancy, not a Satanic pact, not divination, not kartomancy, not witchcraft, not spiritism, not conjuration, not blood sacrifice, and not any other recognized branch of the occult. Just "magic," a generic fantasy term that shows up in the works of Christian authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Stephen Lawhead, Charles Williams and G.O.K. who else.
The argument I expect you're inclined to use is essentially the slippery slope fallacy used against fantasy works like Harry Potter, that although the books are hopelessly fantastic and not at all realistic, their present the danger of enticing innocents into attempting actual witchcraft and trafficking with the Devil.
I call it a fallacy because that's what it essentially is, based as it is in a faulty assumption that most or many people are incapable of telling the difference between a literary or imaginative vehicle and the real world. (There are a few who can't, it's true, but they're either very young or in some way mentally impaired.)
In reality, you could argue that science fiction is much more dangerous to people than fantasy. While each can fire imagination and offer valuable insights into the human condition, fantasy includes at least a nod in the direction of the supernatural and stirs the heart to consider the existence of a world that ours operates within but often is unaware of. Science fiction on the other hand quite typically envisions an utterly naturlistic viewpoint, suggests that all things can and will be neatly explained once we have attained a sufficient amount of naturalist knowledge, and either ignores God or treats him as a contemtuous idea. Its treatment of God's natural laws of physics also is pretty contemptible, and since it has the same effect (plotwise) as magic, one could argue that it could lead impressionable readers down a parallel path of scientific-seeming witchcraft
So, while I perhaps am being a teensy bit facetious about the whole thing, I do wonder why you feel it's necessary to have yourself rescued by an angel -- I would have just jumped out of the way -- and warn Cats so sternly about the dangers of practicing nondescript magic upon a Christian.
Just curious. :-)
So I'm dying to know ...
If Cats had explained that the 20-ton weight materialized through a hyperspatial conduit that was connected to a warehouse on the other end of the world, stocked with 20-ton weights, and that it had failed to destroy the ship because the HMS Naked Glittery Squirrel is actually made of neutronium (the neutron-star-like gravitational effects of which are effectively neutralized through a fusion-driven gravity field), would you have reacted as negatively as you did to her use of the phrase "magic?"
I ask this because she said "magic," not necromancy, not a Satanic pact, not divination, not kartomancy, not witchcraft, not spiritism, not conjuration, not blood sacrifice, and not any other recognized branch of the occult. Just "magic," a generic fantasy term that shows up in the works of Christian authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Stephen Lawhead, Charles Williams and G.O.K. who else.
The argument I expect you're inclined to use is essentially the slippery slope fallacy used against fantasy works like Harry Potter, that although the books are hopelessly fantastic and not at all realistic, their present the danger of enticing innocents into attempting actual witchcraft and trafficking with the Devil.
I call it a fallacy because that's what it essentially is, based as it is in a faulty assumption that most or many people are incapable of telling the difference between a literary or imaginative vehicle and the real world. (There are a few who can't, it's true, but they're either very young or in some way mentally impaired.)
In reality, you could argue that science fiction is much more dangerous to people than fantasy. While each can fire imagination and offer valuable insights into the human condition, fantasy includes at least a nod in the direction of the supernatural and stirs the heart to consider the existence of a world that ours operates within but often is unaware of. Science fiction on the other hand quite typically envisions an utterly naturlistic viewpoint, suggests that all things can and will be neatly explained once we have attained a sufficient amount of naturalist knowledge, and either ignores God or treats him as a contemtuous idea. Its treatment of God's natural laws of physics also is pretty contemptible, and since it has the same effect (plotwise) as magic, one could argue that it could lead impressionable readers down a parallel path of scientific-seeming witchcraft
So, while I perhaps am being a teensy bit facetious about the whole thing, I do wonder why you feel it's necessary to have yourself rescued by an angel -- I would have just jumped out of the way -- and warn Cats so sternly about the dangers of practicing nondescript magic upon a Christian.
Just curious. :-)
'the hobbit' reviewed
J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Hobbit" is perhaps one of the best-written books about the advantages of having parties. Written relatively early in his days as an Oxford don, "The Hobbit" is a strongly autobiographical novel about Tolkien and his status as a party man. His reputation as a party enthusiast was so secure, in fact, that Tolkien regularly was the host to impromptu parties as other Oxford and even Cambridge professors would appear uninvited at his home with the expectation of a good meal, some beer or wine, and rousing party games.
It is such experiences that form the basis for "The Hobbit." A sedentary fellow, much like Tolkien, Bilbo Baggins finds himself the unassuming host of a party of dwarves (more established professors) and the wizard Gandalf (the president of the university).
Wooed by promises of great wealth, and strongly encouraged by Gandalf, Bilbo joins the dwarves on a quest to regain their lost ancestral gold, an action that represents Tolkien's own quest for tenure, a position that, once secured, would guarantee him employment, a place to live, social status, and ultimately a healthy retirement package.
The story follows Tolkien-as-Bilbo's journey to the heart of the Lonely Mountain, where he must confront the dragon Smaug (the experience of teaching undergraduate and graduate students) and be swept up in the dramatic Battle of Five Armies, a situation not unlike peer review.
And in the course of the story, Bilbo acquires a magical Ring that secures his reputation with the dwarves, much as Tolkien's literary and liguistic prowess, developed through education, secured his position in academia.
A thoroughly fascinating and enchanting book, "The Hobbit" will have you wishing again and again for the opportunity to attend more parties and, even more, to host them yourself.
It is such experiences that form the basis for "The Hobbit." A sedentary fellow, much like Tolkien, Bilbo Baggins finds himself the unassuming host of a party of dwarves (more established professors) and the wizard Gandalf (the president of the university).
Wooed by promises of great wealth, and strongly encouraged by Gandalf, Bilbo joins the dwarves on a quest to regain their lost ancestral gold, an action that represents Tolkien's own quest for tenure, a position that, once secured, would guarantee him employment, a place to live, social status, and ultimately a healthy retirement package.
The story follows Tolkien-as-Bilbo's journey to the heart of the Lonely Mountain, where he must confront the dragon Smaug (the experience of teaching undergraduate and graduate students) and be swept up in the dramatic Battle of Five Armies, a situation not unlike peer review.
And in the course of the story, Bilbo acquires a magical Ring that secures his reputation with the dwarves, much as Tolkien's literary and liguistic prowess, developed through education, secured his position in academia.
A thoroughly fascinating and enchanting book, "The Hobbit" will have you wishing again and again for the opportunity to attend more parties and, even more, to host them yourself.
'no more mr. nice guy'
The book "No More Mr. Nice Guy" was highly recommended by a friend of mine. Although it does not affect me as much as it did him, I must concede that books that deal with abstract issues such as this one does, with its psychoanalytical subject, often can leave the reader feeling confused and left in the dust. I feel this is particularly true when the books address a need the reader does not personally feel very strongly, as is the case with me and this book.
That is not to see the book is without merit or features that appealed to me. For starters, the publishers of "No More Mr. Nice Guy" wisely chose an aesthetically pleasing bookbinding where the pages are neatly collated and evenly trimmed. The glue also holds the pages together very admirably.
I especially was pleased with their use of a Serif font. (I believe it was Garamond, a font that revolutionized print media with the facility with which the eye absorbs words printed in it.) The point size also was appropriately chosen; I did not need a magnifying glass to make out the words, nor did I feel like I was reading a "moo-moo" edition of a big with overlarge type.
Although I cannot comment on the book's long-term durability, I will say that the print edition was pleasantly free of the glare that accompanies the electronic edition.
In short, if you are looking for a book to help you understand how to express your emotional, mental and social needs as a male -- and most of all, if you want a book that is pleasing to the eye -- I must recommend "No More Mr. Nice Guy."
That is not to see the book is without merit or features that appealed to me. For starters, the publishers of "No More Mr. Nice Guy" wisely chose an aesthetically pleasing bookbinding where the pages are neatly collated and evenly trimmed. The glue also holds the pages together very admirably.
I especially was pleased with their use of a Serif font. (I believe it was Garamond, a font that revolutionized print media with the facility with which the eye absorbs words printed in it.) The point size also was appropriately chosen; I did not need a magnifying glass to make out the words, nor did I feel like I was reading a "moo-moo" edition of a big with overlarge type.
Although I cannot comment on the book's long-term durability, I will say that the print edition was pleasantly free of the glare that accompanies the electronic edition.
In short, if you are looking for a book to help you understand how to express your emotional, mental and social needs as a male -- and most of all, if you want a book that is pleasing to the eye -- I must recommend "No More Mr. Nice Guy."
Sunday, August 31, 2003
revolve
Remember discussion about the TNIV and whether it was worthwhile? As makeovers of the Bible go, that was mild. Check out Revolve!
I've been giving this way more thought than it deserves, and what it's boiling down to for me is the question of whether this is marketing or presentation.
I'm all for presenting timeless truths in a ways that can be understood by each generation. That's why I prefer churches that use contemporary services, with modern music, dramas, video clips and so on. They're using popular artistic expressions as a way to engage the people of their target generation with the gospel. In a good church that practices these things, the substance is rich, the meaning is real, and the timeless stories the Bible contains about jealousy, fratricide, love, sacrifice, resentment and betrayal, and most of all redemption gain new resonance with an audience that might never hear or understand these things otherwise.
Without a doubt we could do some things to present the Bible better.
The problem for me is when we come into marketing. Marketing is generally as phony as a three-dollar bill and, when done this way, has about as much currency with Gen X as that bill. (I'll let members of Gen Y and subsequent generations say for certain what works for them.)
We're past the point with our culture that celebrity endorsements and attractive faces will sell Bibles. That comes across as pure hokum because everybody knows the Bible isn't cool. About the only people who are going to buy these Bibles are Christian teens who want to be be cool within Christian circles. Maybe my imagination is too small, but I don't see this topping bestseller lists.
Marketing like this, while it is well intentioned, is not the way Christ models for us to draw people to God. He also met people where they were at, but in a decidedly personal, nonmarketing way. He never acted cool, and when you get down to it, the gospel is as fundamentally uncool as you can get. It tells us things like this: "Sell all you have and give it to the poor, and then follow me." Or: "If you have two cloaks, give to the one who has none." Or: "Don't resist an evil person; if he sues you for your tunic, give him your shirt also; and if he strikes you on one cheek, turn and offer him your other one also."
It's about not trying to control everything that comes your way, and accepting that some really unfair sh*t happens from time to time.
Last year around this time, you may recall I was in a pretty desparate situation. My son -- I still think of him that way, even though he wasn't born to me -- was about to be taken away from me and returned to the people who he had been born to.
A well-connected politician who knew the situation offered to intervene. Although he couldn't guarantee anything, he seemed to feel it was pretty certain that if he were to step in, Isaac would not return to his biological parents. Other colleagues of mine had ideas on how I could use media leverage or other connections to stop Isaac from heading back into an abusively neglectful situation.
Would Isaac have stayed if I had put up a legal fight and let the politicians who offered to do something to keep him here? Maybe. And you could even argue that I would have been saving him from the heartache of what's happened to him since, not to mention the grief it caused Evangeline when he moved out.
That's not the way of the Cross, though. The way Christ teaches and models for us lies not in fighting tooth and nail to protect our rights or to keep others from hurting us, but in going to the Father in prayer, and sometimes in just dying.
That's a religion for TOTAL LOSERS. Oddly enough, when we make that our practice, that does a lot more to draw people in than marketing the Bible and its inner beauty strategies probably ever will.
I've been giving this way more thought than it deserves, and what it's boiling down to for me is the question of whether this is marketing or presentation.
I'm all for presenting timeless truths in a ways that can be understood by each generation. That's why I prefer churches that use contemporary services, with modern music, dramas, video clips and so on. They're using popular artistic expressions as a way to engage the people of their target generation with the gospel. In a good church that practices these things, the substance is rich, the meaning is real, and the timeless stories the Bible contains about jealousy, fratricide, love, sacrifice, resentment and betrayal, and most of all redemption gain new resonance with an audience that might never hear or understand these things otherwise.
Without a doubt we could do some things to present the Bible better.
The problem for me is when we come into marketing. Marketing is generally as phony as a three-dollar bill and, when done this way, has about as much currency with Gen X as that bill. (I'll let members of Gen Y and subsequent generations say for certain what works for them.)
We're past the point with our culture that celebrity endorsements and attractive faces will sell Bibles. That comes across as pure hokum because everybody knows the Bible isn't cool. About the only people who are going to buy these Bibles are Christian teens who want to be be cool within Christian circles. Maybe my imagination is too small, but I don't see this topping bestseller lists.
Marketing like this, while it is well intentioned, is not the way Christ models for us to draw people to God. He also met people where they were at, but in a decidedly personal, nonmarketing way. He never acted cool, and when you get down to it, the gospel is as fundamentally uncool as you can get. It tells us things like this: "Sell all you have and give it to the poor, and then follow me." Or: "If you have two cloaks, give to the one who has none." Or: "Don't resist an evil person; if he sues you for your tunic, give him your shirt also; and if he strikes you on one cheek, turn and offer him your other one also."
It's about not trying to control everything that comes your way, and accepting that some really unfair sh*t happens from time to time.
Last year around this time, you may recall I was in a pretty desparate situation. My son -- I still think of him that way, even though he wasn't born to me -- was about to be taken away from me and returned to the people who he had been born to.
A well-connected politician who knew the situation offered to intervene. Although he couldn't guarantee anything, he seemed to feel it was pretty certain that if he were to step in, Isaac would not return to his biological parents. Other colleagues of mine had ideas on how I could use media leverage or other connections to stop Isaac from heading back into an abusively neglectful situation.
Would Isaac have stayed if I had put up a legal fight and let the politicians who offered to do something to keep him here? Maybe. And you could even argue that I would have been saving him from the heartache of what's happened to him since, not to mention the grief it caused Evangeline when he moved out.
That's not the way of the Cross, though. The way Christ teaches and models for us lies not in fighting tooth and nail to protect our rights or to keep others from hurting us, but in going to the Father in prayer, and sometimes in just dying.
That's a religion for TOTAL LOSERS. Oddly enough, when we make that our practice, that does a lot more to draw people in than marketing the Bible and its inner beauty strategies probably ever will.
Saturday, August 30, 2003
growing in contentment
As I write this, my 33rd birthday slowly but surely is slipping further and further into the past.
Thirty-three doesn't seem like a particularly significant milestone. For one thing, it lacks that ending zero we usually associate with landmark ages and anniversaries. Additionally, while it's too far up to be considered truly young, it's also shy of what we generally consider middle-age, and nowhere near old.
Still, it's definitely something. When he died at the age of 33, Alexander the Great had conquered most of the ancient world, spreading the Greek language across three continents and seeding civilizations from Egypt to India with pockets of Hellenistic thought.
By the time of his death in 323 B.C., Alexander the Great had lain the foundations for what eventually would become modern Western civilization. In contrast, I'm the managing editor of two weekly newspapers and like to make fun of inspirational e-mail. Somehow, that just doesn't seem all that impressive by comparison.
Three years ago, when I turned 30, I made an ironic list of ways I would live m life differently if I were given the chance. Two of my favorite regrets were that I had tried to do something self-fulfilling rather than making millions of dollars, and that I had engaged immediately in trying to make the world a better place rather than saving such altruism for my retirement years.
Three years later, I'm still not very close to making it big. As any career journalist will admit, this is not a profession that pays especially well. The salary is hard to quantify, but it's somewhere between "diddly" and "squat." Nor do I see this as likely to change, since by my nature I don't seek jobs where the principal reward is pecuniary.
The truth is that I know what my future will bring. In the next 40 or 50 years, assuming I live that long, I'll probably enjoy moderate success as a writer. I'll write and publish a few books, possibly tour a little bit to promote them, and then I'll die. Within a few years, no one aside from family members and a few close friends will remember me.
I not only know that, I'm content with it. At the moment, the chief joys in my life are my wife, Natasha, and our two daughters, Evangeline and Rachel. They are more important to me than any career ever could, and the time I spend with them is more exciting than any news story, no matter how hard-hitting or exclusive it is.
Evangeline is almost 4, and the evenings I spend with her are the highlights of my work week. They're a nonstop whirlwind of playing hide-and-seek, holding ticklefests and all-around commotion before we settle down for a bowl of ice cream, stories and bedtime.
On weekends, whatever we can do together, we do. She has helped me to do everything from baking cookies, to turning compost and opening presents for Christmas.
Rachel is just shy of her 10-month mark. She lightens the load on my shoulders as soon as I come in the front door and she greets me with her wide, grinning toothlessness. One of the great joys of being a father is to watch her grow, as she slowly unfolds her language skills and takes her first, tottering steps into the world
History tells us that Alexander the Great built one of the greatest empires the world has ever known. Ruling the ancient world without descending into the barbarism other emperors were known for, he united the city-states of Greece before conquering Turkey and Phoenicia, subduing Egypt and building an empire that reached as far east as India.
That's impressive, but what we often forget is that when Alexander the Great died among the ziggurats of Babylon, it was after a night of carousing. He had conquered the entire world, and found it to be a desolate and empty thing because there were no challenges left. He died in despair.
In many ways, he's a great prototype for today's professional. Many men, including my own father, lament that they spent too much time at the office and missed the best years of their lives with their children. I hope one day to quip that I spent all my time with my family and missed the best days of my career.
That would be a good life.
Thirty-three doesn't seem like a particularly significant milestone. For one thing, it lacks that ending zero we usually associate with landmark ages and anniversaries. Additionally, while it's too far up to be considered truly young, it's also shy of what we generally consider middle-age, and nowhere near old.
Still, it's definitely something. When he died at the age of 33, Alexander the Great had conquered most of the ancient world, spreading the Greek language across three continents and seeding civilizations from Egypt to India with pockets of Hellenistic thought.
By the time of his death in 323 B.C., Alexander the Great had lain the foundations for what eventually would become modern Western civilization. In contrast, I'm the managing editor of two weekly newspapers and like to make fun of inspirational e-mail. Somehow, that just doesn't seem all that impressive by comparison.
Three years ago, when I turned 30, I made an ironic list of ways I would live m life differently if I were given the chance. Two of my favorite regrets were that I had tried to do something self-fulfilling rather than making millions of dollars, and that I had engaged immediately in trying to make the world a better place rather than saving such altruism for my retirement years.
Three years later, I'm still not very close to making it big. As any career journalist will admit, this is not a profession that pays especially well. The salary is hard to quantify, but it's somewhere between "diddly" and "squat." Nor do I see this as likely to change, since by my nature I don't seek jobs where the principal reward is pecuniary.
The truth is that I know what my future will bring. In the next 40 or 50 years, assuming I live that long, I'll probably enjoy moderate success as a writer. I'll write and publish a few books, possibly tour a little bit to promote them, and then I'll die. Within a few years, no one aside from family members and a few close friends will remember me.
I not only know that, I'm content with it. At the moment, the chief joys in my life are my wife, Natasha, and our two daughters, Evangeline and Rachel. They are more important to me than any career ever could, and the time I spend with them is more exciting than any news story, no matter how hard-hitting or exclusive it is.
Evangeline is almost 4, and the evenings I spend with her are the highlights of my work week. They're a nonstop whirlwind of playing hide-and-seek, holding ticklefests and all-around commotion before we settle down for a bowl of ice cream, stories and bedtime.
On weekends, whatever we can do together, we do. She has helped me to do everything from baking cookies, to turning compost and opening presents for Christmas.
Rachel is just shy of her 10-month mark. She lightens the load on my shoulders as soon as I come in the front door and she greets me with her wide, grinning toothlessness. One of the great joys of being a father is to watch her grow, as she slowly unfolds her language skills and takes her first, tottering steps into the world
History tells us that Alexander the Great built one of the greatest empires the world has ever known. Ruling the ancient world without descending into the barbarism other emperors were known for, he united the city-states of Greece before conquering Turkey and Phoenicia, subduing Egypt and building an empire that reached as far east as India.
That's impressive, but what we often forget is that when Alexander the Great died among the ziggurats of Babylon, it was after a night of carousing. He had conquered the entire world, and found it to be a desolate and empty thing because there were no challenges left. He died in despair.
In many ways, he's a great prototype for today's professional. Many men, including my own father, lament that they spent too much time at the office and missed the best years of their lives with their children. I hope one day to quip that I spent all my time with my family and missed the best days of my career.
That would be a good life.
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
no time for glibness
One of the observations that struck me when I read a friend's journal, as I shared with my wife today, is that Christians often make glib or overquick statements concerning homosexuality and how thoughtless we are when we do that.
My friend presented two of those on her site, the "Homosexuality is an abomination before the Lord; yea, gays and lesbians are pimples upon his face, and he shall pop them" view, and the "Well, it's a sin, but it's no worse than any other sin" attitude.
The first, while it neatly sums up the traditional view of homosexuality, fails to do anything but rudely say "I disapprove of you and what you do and so does God" while the other dismissively equates a very basic and driving part of a person's nature -- their sexuality -- with practices and behaviors that are less deeply rooted in who a person is, such as a person's inclination to fib on their taxes or a disrespect for authority. Those latter things, and other practices like them, while they may be deeply ingrained in a person and difficult at times to deal with are nowhere near as fundamental to a person's psyche as their sexuality.
In each case, the response indicates a failure to connect with another person as another person, to see their inherent worth and to love them in the true, personal sense that Christ calls us to. It made me stop and wonder how I had treated my friend, and whether I had shown her the same unconditional love Christ has, or if I had treated her as less than a person in herself, and just as a gay Christian (as though that were all she is) or if I had treated her in either manner so described, or in some other way that I haven't described yet.
And that of course inspires any number of other thoughts, including the oft-stated observation that Christianity is a very simple religion to "get" -- that accepting Christ's death on our behalf reconciles us to God -- but also one that is impossibly hard to follow in truth. This whole idea of loving other people and being part of a community is just impossible to get.
My friend presented two of those on her site, the "Homosexuality is an abomination before the Lord; yea, gays and lesbians are pimples upon his face, and he shall pop them" view, and the "Well, it's a sin, but it's no worse than any other sin" attitude.
The first, while it neatly sums up the traditional view of homosexuality, fails to do anything but rudely say "I disapprove of you and what you do and so does God" while the other dismissively equates a very basic and driving part of a person's nature -- their sexuality -- with practices and behaviors that are less deeply rooted in who a person is, such as a person's inclination to fib on their taxes or a disrespect for authority. Those latter things, and other practices like them, while they may be deeply ingrained in a person and difficult at times to deal with are nowhere near as fundamental to a person's psyche as their sexuality.
In each case, the response indicates a failure to connect with another person as another person, to see their inherent worth and to love them in the true, personal sense that Christ calls us to. It made me stop and wonder how I had treated my friend, and whether I had shown her the same unconditional love Christ has, or if I had treated her as less than a person in herself, and just as a gay Christian (as though that were all she is) or if I had treated her in either manner so described, or in some other way that I haven't described yet.
And that of course inspires any number of other thoughts, including the oft-stated observation that Christianity is a very simple religion to "get" -- that accepting Christ's death on our behalf reconciles us to God -- but also one that is impossibly hard to follow in truth. This whole idea of loving other people and being part of a community is just impossible to get.
Monday, August 25, 2003
mad over 'crazy'
Back in the 1970s, Marvel Comics published a magazine called "Crazy" that was more or less its response to MAD Magazine, which is published by arch-rival DC Comics. I only ever saw one issue of "Crazy"; ironically, it was the final issue. It was amazingly clever, much funnier than I recall "Cracked" or "Mad" ever being.
The issue started off with the secret origin of Caspar the Friendly Ghost. In it, Caspar reveals to Wendy the Witch that his father killed both Caspar and Caspar's mother -- stabbed them to death, as I recall -- and told police that a madman had done it, so he could collect on their life insurance policies. Wendy and Caspar proceed to attack Caspar's father, who is living it up on the insurance money. He crashes his fancy car into a tree, and then Caspar kills him pretty gruesomely. Not a very pleasant story, but it was done so over-the-top and with the same innocent, clean style of illustration as the old Harvey Comics that I'm laughing just remembering it.
One of the other features was a rip-off on the Smurfs, featuring such standbys as Weak-Bladder Smurf. "Papa Smurf has to take a bath because I smurfed on him!" he proudly declares, which remains my all-time favorite smurf line.
Then there was a spoof they did of some of the old Avengers comics around the time of the Kree-Skrull War back in the early 1970s. As I recall, the story was that the Skrulls had kidnapped a cow that the Vision had fallen in love with. Great send-up of the Avengers, with the original artwork intact:
"That's it, Captain America! Throw away your shield -- your only means of defending yourself against these far more powerful bad guys."
"Just don't think of pulling these ridiculously long and exposed cables that obviously supply our power."
"Are you going to hit them with your repulsor rays?"
The issue started off with the secret origin of Caspar the Friendly Ghost. In it, Caspar reveals to Wendy the Witch that his father killed both Caspar and Caspar's mother -- stabbed them to death, as I recall -- and told police that a madman had done it, so he could collect on their life insurance policies. Wendy and Caspar proceed to attack Caspar's father, who is living it up on the insurance money. He crashes his fancy car into a tree, and then Caspar kills him pretty gruesomely. Not a very pleasant story, but it was done so over-the-top and with the same innocent, clean style of illustration as the old Harvey Comics that I'm laughing just remembering it.
One of the other features was a rip-off on the Smurfs, featuring such standbys as Weak-Bladder Smurf. "Papa Smurf has to take a bath because I smurfed on him!" he proudly declares, which remains my all-time favorite smurf line.
Then there was a spoof they did of some of the old Avengers comics around the time of the Kree-Skrull War back in the early 1970s. As I recall, the story was that the Skrulls had kidnapped a cow that the Vision had fallen in love with. Great send-up of the Avengers, with the original artwork intact:
"That's it, Captain America! Throw away your shield -- your only means of defending yourself against these far more powerful bad guys."
"Just don't think of pulling these ridiculously long and exposed cables that obviously supply our power."
"Are you going to hit them with your repulsor rays?"
"Nah, I'm just going to skate around in a silly pose."
And the closing feature was the battle of Captain Contradiction and the Evil Gainsayer: "I almost got you there." "No you didn't." "Yes I did." "No you didn't."
And so on. Ah, good old Crazy. Too bad I found out about it at the very end of its existence. I would have enjoyed it a lot more.
And the closing feature was the battle of Captain Contradiction and the Evil Gainsayer: "I almost got you there." "No you didn't." "Yes I did." "No you didn't."
And so on. Ah, good old Crazy. Too bad I found out about it at the very end of its existence. I would have enjoyed it a lot more.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
pet food to eat
My mother once made my Aunt Julie some tuna sandwiches using a tin of cat food, back when they were much younger. From what I'm told, my aunt thought the sandwiches were great until she discovered why my mother kept laughing.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
journey to compassion
I have a friend this week who came out of a closet she's lived in for the past few years.
Jane -- that's not her real name, which I won't use for obvious reasons -- is 18 years old. She's come to realize over the course of her high school career that she's a Little Bit Different from her friends. She's gay.
Unfortunately for Jane, her parents found out before she was ready to tell them. Her mother spent most of the next few days crying, the entire family went to see a psychiatrist, and everyone in the family forgot how to laugh. All told, it sounds like a fairly miserable experience.
I've never actually met Jane in person. I know her through an online humor forum created and maintained by a mutual friend, but when I learned what was happening, my reaction was the same as if she attended my church or lived down the street from me.
All day Monday and Tuesday, she was on my mind as I alternately prayed for her and her family, and tried to dig up resources that they could use, such as contact information for chapters of Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays in her area.
That's actually a fairly major departure from how I would have reacted a few years ago. Although my moral views on homosexuality have remained largely unchanged in the past 10-odd years, my attitude toward gays and lesbians themselves has undergone a steady migration from homophobia to tolerance.
Homophobia is a funny word to use. It's certainly not a term I would have used to apply to myself back in college. After all, as a devout Christian since a conversion experience when I was almost 18, I recognized a need to "hate the sin and love the sinner," a popular cliche in evangelical circles often used to provide a safe cover for not loving people regarded as sinners.
It's a common thing in evangelical circles to view homosexuality with hostility. You hear all sorts of comments about "the homosexual agenda," along with arguments that the growing acceptance of homosexuality as an alternative lifestyle will lead to the deterioration of the family as an institution and to the destruction of society as a whole.
The basis for all this invective is found in about six or seven places in the Bible, including one verse in Leviticus that actually prescribes the death penalty for gay sex, a penalty also prescribed for adultery.
Elsewhere, in the New Testament book of 1 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul mentions homosexuality in a fairly comprehensive list of human behavior that also includes sins like gluttony, rage, drunkenness, greediness, malicious speech and other offenses.
Mix these Scriptures with a pervading sense of fear that the bad guys are winning and society slowly is being subverted, and it's easy to see why many otherwise decent people latch onto the growing acceptance of the gay lifestyle as one of the root causes for all that's wrong with the world today.
I'm sorry to say that I bought into it. While I professed to care about all people, including gays and lesbians, the truth probably is that I came across as more concerned that people know how I felt about what they were doing than about how I felt about them -- which means, of course, that they really didn't mean that much to me at all, however much I protested otherwise.
Things started to change my junior year when a friend of mine lent me Tony Campolo's book "20 Hot Potatoes Christians are Afraid to Touch." A fairly well-respected voice in the evangelical community, at least among college students, Campolo made the radical claim that gays and lesbians have the same inherent worth as their heterosexual relatives.
What's more, he gave practical examples of people who behaved in a way in keeping with the uncompromising love Christians claim to uphold as their model: a minister who officiated at the funeral of a gay man who had died from AIDS complications and stayed afterward for two hours, comforting the companions of the deceased; and a church that gave several thousand dollars to help AIDS victims.
My senior year the AIDS quilt came to Lackawanna College. Other members of the campus Christian fellowship stayed away, concerned they might send the wrong message, that they approved of homosexuality.
I not only went and looked at all the quilts, I volunteered to help read the names of those who had died.
That might not seem like much, but it was a beginning. During the next five years as my faith deepened, I had to ask myself hard questions about what it means when Christ calls his followers to love friends, enemies and strangers alike; and about what St. James means when he writes that faith expressed only as words is no faith at all.
I also had to look into the darkness of my own soul and consider honestly whether my own sins were any more acceptable to God than somebody else's.
In November 1997, I took a position as a reporter for The Princeton Packet just after one of my co-workers there had told her parents that she was a lesbian. Heather was a hard-working, professional, no-nonsense type of reporter. She reported things as they happened, called them as she saw them, and wasn't afraid to ask public officials tough questions, or to stand up to them.
About six or seven months later, another co-worker told me that he was bisexual. Like Heather, Bill is about as non-threatening as people come, and his high-octane personality and sense of humor make him a lot of fun to work with.
Neither of them is an evil or malicious person, nor is any other homosexual I've had the good fortune to know in the years since, either professionally or privately. The whole of the "agenda" I ever heard any of them pursue was nothing more sinister than getting the same respect, opportunities and treatment as their straight colleagues and co-workers.
That doesn't sound very awful to me. To be honest, I'm really not sure why I ever thought it did.
Jane -- that's not her real name, which I won't use for obvious reasons -- is 18 years old. She's come to realize over the course of her high school career that she's a Little Bit Different from her friends. She's gay.
Unfortunately for Jane, her parents found out before she was ready to tell them. Her mother spent most of the next few days crying, the entire family went to see a psychiatrist, and everyone in the family forgot how to laugh. All told, it sounds like a fairly miserable experience.
I've never actually met Jane in person. I know her through an online humor forum created and maintained by a mutual friend, but when I learned what was happening, my reaction was the same as if she attended my church or lived down the street from me.
All day Monday and Tuesday, she was on my mind as I alternately prayed for her and her family, and tried to dig up resources that they could use, such as contact information for chapters of Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays in her area.
That's actually a fairly major departure from how I would have reacted a few years ago. Although my moral views on homosexuality have remained largely unchanged in the past 10-odd years, my attitude toward gays and lesbians themselves has undergone a steady migration from homophobia to tolerance.
Homophobia is a funny word to use. It's certainly not a term I would have used to apply to myself back in college. After all, as a devout Christian since a conversion experience when I was almost 18, I recognized a need to "hate the sin and love the sinner," a popular cliche in evangelical circles often used to provide a safe cover for not loving people regarded as sinners.
It's a common thing in evangelical circles to view homosexuality with hostility. You hear all sorts of comments about "the homosexual agenda," along with arguments that the growing acceptance of homosexuality as an alternative lifestyle will lead to the deterioration of the family as an institution and to the destruction of society as a whole.
The basis for all this invective is found in about six or seven places in the Bible, including one verse in Leviticus that actually prescribes the death penalty for gay sex, a penalty also prescribed for adultery.
Elsewhere, in the New Testament book of 1 Corinthians, the Apostle Paul mentions homosexuality in a fairly comprehensive list of human behavior that also includes sins like gluttony, rage, drunkenness, greediness, malicious speech and other offenses.
Mix these Scriptures with a pervading sense of fear that the bad guys are winning and society slowly is being subverted, and it's easy to see why many otherwise decent people latch onto the growing acceptance of the gay lifestyle as one of the root causes for all that's wrong with the world today.
I'm sorry to say that I bought into it. While I professed to care about all people, including gays and lesbians, the truth probably is that I came across as more concerned that people know how I felt about what they were doing than about how I felt about them -- which means, of course, that they really didn't mean that much to me at all, however much I protested otherwise.
Things started to change my junior year when a friend of mine lent me Tony Campolo's book "20 Hot Potatoes Christians are Afraid to Touch." A fairly well-respected voice in the evangelical community, at least among college students, Campolo made the radical claim that gays and lesbians have the same inherent worth as their heterosexual relatives.
What's more, he gave practical examples of people who behaved in a way in keeping with the uncompromising love Christians claim to uphold as their model: a minister who officiated at the funeral of a gay man who had died from AIDS complications and stayed afterward for two hours, comforting the companions of the deceased; and a church that gave several thousand dollars to help AIDS victims.
My senior year the AIDS quilt came to Lackawanna College. Other members of the campus Christian fellowship stayed away, concerned they might send the wrong message, that they approved of homosexuality.
I not only went and looked at all the quilts, I volunteered to help read the names of those who had died.
That might not seem like much, but it was a beginning. During the next five years as my faith deepened, I had to ask myself hard questions about what it means when Christ calls his followers to love friends, enemies and strangers alike; and about what St. James means when he writes that faith expressed only as words is no faith at all.
I also had to look into the darkness of my own soul and consider honestly whether my own sins were any more acceptable to God than somebody else's.
In November 1997, I took a position as a reporter for The Princeton Packet just after one of my co-workers there had told her parents that she was a lesbian. Heather was a hard-working, professional, no-nonsense type of reporter. She reported things as they happened, called them as she saw them, and wasn't afraid to ask public officials tough questions, or to stand up to them.
About six or seven months later, another co-worker told me that he was bisexual. Like Heather, Bill is about as non-threatening as people come, and his high-octane personality and sense of humor make him a lot of fun to work with.
Neither of them is an evil or malicious person, nor is any other homosexual I've had the good fortune to know in the years since, either professionally or privately. The whole of the "agenda" I ever heard any of them pursue was nothing more sinister than getting the same respect, opportunities and treatment as their straight colleagues and co-workers.
That doesn't sound very awful to me. To be honest, I'm really not sure why I ever thought it did.
Friday, August 15, 2003
power outage
I was at work when the power went out, and when we realized that it was a widespread thing -- that a bunch of places lost power all at once -- the question a number of us immediately asked was, "Is it terrorism?"
The answer, thankfully, is no, but on my way home, a number of radio commentators were remarking at the eerie similarity to two years ago at the number of people who were having to hoof it out of New York, and the panic that was being spotted in some corners because of the assumption we were under attack again.
It was especially bad in this area because they just arrested the arms dealer in Newark who was planning to sell about 50 surface-to-air missile launchers to terrorists here in the U.S.
I just read on ABC News that the power is coming on in most places, although there may be some residents who won't have power until some time this weekend. It's still not clear exactly what caused it; reports of a fire or lightning strike at the Niagara falls generator plant have been discounted.
All things considered, it's not that bad. There's been some looting in places, and probably some aggravated medical conditions and even a few deaths because of the blackout, but it could have been a lot worse.
Don't worry about us. We're fine. (Well, I'm wide awake at 5:50 a.m. because Rachel woke me up four hours ago, but otherwise, things are good.)
The answer, thankfully, is no, but on my way home, a number of radio commentators were remarking at the eerie similarity to two years ago at the number of people who were having to hoof it out of New York, and the panic that was being spotted in some corners because of the assumption we were under attack again.
It was especially bad in this area because they just arrested the arms dealer in Newark who was planning to sell about 50 surface-to-air missile launchers to terrorists here in the U.S.
I just read on ABC News that the power is coming on in most places, although there may be some residents who won't have power until some time this weekend. It's still not clear exactly what caused it; reports of a fire or lightning strike at the Niagara falls generator plant have been discounted.
All things considered, it's not that bad. There's been some looting in places, and probably some aggravated medical conditions and even a few deaths because of the blackout, but it could have been a lot worse.
Don't worry about us. We're fine. (Well, I'm wide awake at 5:50 a.m. because Rachel woke me up four hours ago, but otherwise, things are good.)
tower of babel
Back when I was teaching English, I was looking for a way to integrate my lessons better with the gospel, to find a more holistic approach than the cheap tack-ons that most Christian schools use in the curricula.
It occurred to me at one point that language is what makes us fundamentally stamped in God's image. John describes Christ as Logos, the divine Word with the power of creation and the authority to give reality form.
In other words, as with God, language isn't something we do, it's what we are. Because I'm primarily an English speaker, I have any number of preconceptions about love, God, faith, sin, the weather and time stamped into my mind. It's a tremendous exercise for me to break away from the definitions we have of those concepts in English and imagine them as they are presented in a non-English language.
We could take the word "god" for example. There's no real analog to that word in Hindi, so we substitute "Brahma" because that's the closest thing, but it's still a poor choice. In Hindi, "Brahma" is the sum of all things; God as an individual entity does not exist, but is found in and through all the world. Similarly, our concept of "sin" fails to find an adequate corresponding term in Hindi, where their term for "sin" refers to breaking the caste order.
Because I'm an English speaker, I also have a difficult time understanding why Spanish has estar and ser. Both infinitives translate as "to be," although with different applications. A Spanish speaker has no problem getting the difference, and can't understand why we use "to be" as a catch-all for both ser and estar.
It strikes me that what God was doing at the Tower of Babel essentially was breaking humanity up into different ethno-linguistic groups, each with a different way of relating to him so that we could learn from another to appreciate and worship him in new and different ways. It also had the effect of breaking up the spread of our sin, since ideas now must be translated from one language to the next and we cannot all rebel together as in the days of Nimrod.
Of course, it also makes it more difficult for us to understand one another, since the curse wasn't a one-time event, but something new that was levied on the human condition so that our languages always are changing and mutating, and even within our own language we lose some degree of discourse with the past as words like gandermooning disappear and other words, like let, take on completely different, if not opposite, meanings from what they once had.
It occurred to me at one point that language is what makes us fundamentally stamped in God's image. John describes Christ as Logos, the divine Word with the power of creation and the authority to give reality form.
In other words, as with God, language isn't something we do, it's what we are. Because I'm primarily an English speaker, I have any number of preconceptions about love, God, faith, sin, the weather and time stamped into my mind. It's a tremendous exercise for me to break away from the definitions we have of those concepts in English and imagine them as they are presented in a non-English language.
We could take the word "god" for example. There's no real analog to that word in Hindi, so we substitute "Brahma" because that's the closest thing, but it's still a poor choice. In Hindi, "Brahma" is the sum of all things; God as an individual entity does not exist, but is found in and through all the world. Similarly, our concept of "sin" fails to find an adequate corresponding term in Hindi, where their term for "sin" refers to breaking the caste order.
Because I'm an English speaker, I also have a difficult time understanding why Spanish has estar and ser. Both infinitives translate as "to be," although with different applications. A Spanish speaker has no problem getting the difference, and can't understand why we use "to be" as a catch-all for both ser and estar.
It strikes me that what God was doing at the Tower of Babel essentially was breaking humanity up into different ethno-linguistic groups, each with a different way of relating to him so that we could learn from another to appreciate and worship him in new and different ways. It also had the effect of breaking up the spread of our sin, since ideas now must be translated from one language to the next and we cannot all rebel together as in the days of Nimrod.
Of course, it also makes it more difficult for us to understand one another, since the curse wasn't a one-time event, but something new that was levied on the human condition so that our languages always are changing and mutating, and even within our own language we lose some degree of discourse with the past as words like gandermooning disappear and other words, like let, take on completely different, if not opposite, meanings from what they once had.
the power of images
Interesting paper.
I agree with the points he's made -- and I hope some people in Hollywood read it. One of the chiefest strengths of the paper is on how the archetype is diminished once we have an image of it.
That is, I think, one of the chief failings of cinema in our age. It's not enough to let us imagine the horrible scene, we have to see it in gory detail, whether it be murder victims in movies like "Se7en," rape victims in "The General's Daughter" or what have you. The monster that we cannot see is much more terrifying than the one that we do; the crime scene that goes unshown can be far more unsettling than the one shown in full-color. Good directors understand this; more studios need to as well.
The balrog in Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" that Mallinson mentions is an excellent illustration of that. The echo of its approaching footsteps sets everybody on edge, but when it appears, it's like watching a video game.
Theologian Jacques Ellul wrote a fascinating book called "The Humiliation of the Word" -- I imagine its actual title is more like "L'Humiliation de le Parole," but I bought it in translation -- that examines the role of images in Scripture.
His essential thesis is that God proscribes images much for the same reason describes in the essay: It reduces the divine to the level of the profane, and strips it of its power. An old man with a long beard sitting on a chair in the clouds is nowhere near as awe-inspiring or unsettling as an encounter with the numinous; what's more, it decreases our dependence upon God to be with us in the now.
God's spoken word is what shaped the mountains and can shatter the foundations of the earth. Written down, while still True in the best sense of the word, it can become a snare to us because we get locked into the surface of it without understanding the full import of what it says. (Such as those Christians who refuse to have Christmas trees because they believe Jeremiah spoke against them.)
Take that degradation one step further -- print the verse under the picture of a Christmas tree -- and the meaning becomes even more fixed in the minds of those who see it, to the extent that it becomes increasingly difficult to read the verse or hear it and understand that Jeremiah was referring to idolatry, without at least thinking of Christmas trees.
I agree with the points he's made -- and I hope some people in Hollywood read it. One of the chiefest strengths of the paper is on how the archetype is diminished once we have an image of it.
That is, I think, one of the chief failings of cinema in our age. It's not enough to let us imagine the horrible scene, we have to see it in gory detail, whether it be murder victims in movies like "Se7en," rape victims in "The General's Daughter" or what have you. The monster that we cannot see is much more terrifying than the one that we do; the crime scene that goes unshown can be far more unsettling than the one shown in full-color. Good directors understand this; more studios need to as well.
The balrog in Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" that Mallinson mentions is an excellent illustration of that. The echo of its approaching footsteps sets everybody on edge, but when it appears, it's like watching a video game.
Theologian Jacques Ellul wrote a fascinating book called "The Humiliation of the Word" -- I imagine its actual title is more like "L'Humiliation de le Parole," but I bought it in translation -- that examines the role of images in Scripture.
His essential thesis is that God proscribes images much for the same reason describes in the essay: It reduces the divine to the level of the profane, and strips it of its power. An old man with a long beard sitting on a chair in the clouds is nowhere near as awe-inspiring or unsettling as an encounter with the numinous; what's more, it decreases our dependence upon God to be with us in the now.
God's spoken word is what shaped the mountains and can shatter the foundations of the earth. Written down, while still True in the best sense of the word, it can become a snare to us because we get locked into the surface of it without understanding the full import of what it says. (Such as those Christians who refuse to have Christmas trees because they believe Jeremiah spoke against them.)
Take that degradation one step further -- print the verse under the picture of a Christmas tree -- and the meaning becomes even more fixed in the minds of those who see it, to the extent that it becomes increasingly difficult to read the verse or hear it and understand that Jeremiah was referring to idolatry, without at least thinking of Christmas trees.
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