July 2010
Week 07/25

Writing for a blog is a blessing and a curse.  At first you have lots to write, and feel sure lots of others will want to read it.  After a while, reality sinks in.  That's when many bloggers either quit, or decide to write for themselves, and hope that what they like, a few others may also.  The new series GROWING UP ON WELFARE:  Selective Memories of a Debtor, represents my metamorphosis.

GROWING UP ON WELFARE:  Selective Memories of a Debtor (#6)

Hometown Lessons on Racial Prejudice.  "You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise" (Galatians 3:26-29 NIV).

     I grew up in a small town tucked into the northwest corner of the State of Illinois.  Because it was not far from the Southern boarder of Wisconsin, and even closer to the eastern side of Iowa, one might expect that in such a conservative enclave of the north racial tension would be practically unknown, and that would be right; though the reason may be a surprise.
     It seemed out of regional character at the time, but we actually had one of the largest concentrations of Hispanics per square mile, east of the Mississippi river.  This was so because of several large industrial plants, and a large seasonal vegetable canning operation.  Following WWII, the need for low cost labor brought a flood of Mexican immigrants to our rather isolated corner of the upper mid-west.  I grew up along side, and in the same general neighborhood, as the children of those immigrants.
     The best I can recall from my childhood, no one seemed to mind that we all played together, and went to the same school together.  I do recall some trouble associated with dating, and though our neighborhoods were close together, the “Mexicans” usually lived in tighter proximity to one another.  I’ll come back to this later.
     In point-of-fact, I grew up in two towns at the same time.  Both shared a common boarder with the river that ran between the two small cities, and each had its own separate government, but the people were directly connected, and moved freely between the two towns.
    There was however one difference, one big difference as it turned out.  The difference was the fact that in my small city there were no “negroes” (as they were then called), while in the city on the other side there were some, though not very many.  I grew up thinking this was so because the city on the other side of the river was slightly larger, and where most of the factories (hence more jobs) were located.  I was seventeen years old when I discovered the real reason.
    That reason became the focus of a major event in our small town during the summer of 1963, and just prior to one of our city’s favorite fall festivals, known locally as the “Aunt Jemima Pancake Days”.  For years, young and old alike had looked forward to a great fall pancake festival accompanied by the visitation of a wonderfully impressive black woman known to all of the school children as “Aunt Jemima.”  During the two or three days of the festival she made visits to the local schools, churches and civic groups where she gave cooking demonstrations, and extolled the virtues of the “Aunt Jemima” brand.  She also gave inspirational talks (including a testimony of her Christian faith), sang and then distributed samples of the pancake mix which most of us young people thought she invented and owned.
     The fall of 1963 was when I discovered that not only was Aunt Jemima not the inventor and owner of the brand that bore her name, actually there was no “Aunt Jemima,” and the lady whom we thought her to be would not be coming to our town that year.  At first the word spread that the annual festival had been cancelled, and then that it would go on, but without Aunt Jemima.  As far as most of us were concerned, it would not be a festival without her.
      The “Aunt Jemima I knew as a child was in all probability Ethel Ernestine Harper (1903 - 1979).  “[Ms] Harper was Aunt Jemima during the 1950s [and into the very early years of the 1960s]. She was also the final ‘living person’ basis for the Aunt Jemima image until it was changed to a composite in the 1960s.  She worked as a traveling ‘Aunt Jemima’ on behalf of the Quaker company, giving presentations at schools, churches and other organizations. Prior to assuming the role, Harper graduated from college at the age of 17 and had become a teacher.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Short_Harrington.
     Of course, none of the kids I grew up with knew any of this.  We were equally ignorant of the reasons behind the NAACP’s 1963 boycott of her appearance in our city.  Only as an adult did I learn the actual reason.
     It was not because there were no “negroes” living on our side of the river that the boycott was pressed, but rather “why” there were none.  The why had to do with a holdover of the obnoxious “Black Laws” (as they were known in the north).  Such laws were widespread in Illinois from the early 1800’s through the beginning of the 1960s.  While some may find it difficult to think of Illinois as a state harboring strong racial prejudice, the truth is, it was.
     Right up to the time of Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, it was illegal for “a person of one quarter or more negro blood” to live within the boarders of the State of Illinois...the state that gave the nation Abraham Lincoln!  As it turned out, even such a great national nightmare as the Civil War, failed to eradicate all of the “Black Laws” in Illinois and neighboring northern states.
     Fast forward little more than one hundred years from the end of the American Civil War to the fall of 1963, and the reason why there were no black persons living in my little home town becomes known.  It was not because they preferred the city across the river; it was because there was still on the books a remnant of the old Black Laws which prohibited a “negro” from remaining within the city limits between the hours of sunset to sunrise.  As it turned out, the little northern city that so loved Aunt Jemima during the daylight hours of the annual Pancake Festival also wanted her out of town at sunset.
     As a seventeen year old, I thought it an outrage that she had been prevented from coming by some “trouble making” folk from Chicago.  Only much later as an adult, did I come to understand that the real outrage was being perpetrated not by folk from Chicago, but by the folk in my own hometown.
     How did the “Mexicans” fit into this picture?  As noted earlier, there did not seem to be any real difference between “us” and “them” except when we it came to dating.  That’s when we started to understand the difference between “us” and “them.”
     The year following the NAACP boycott, something changed in the law (I suppose the Black Law prohibiting “negroes” from remaining within the city limits between sunset and sunrise was ruled unconstitutional.  Whatever the actual cause of the change, at the start of the next school year (1964), our high school welcomed its first black student.  There was only one, and he was not actually “black” as they said, but Puerto Rican.  I think some called him a "mulatto."
     I do not believe I ever knew his first or last name, but I will not forget that he was nicknamed “Buckwheat.”  He was a fine person, good natured, well mannered, and did not appear to resent his nickname (that was ignorance on the part of his classmates).  Everyone seemed to think it a great adventure.  I never met his parents, but as I recall, they found a home in an “acceptable” neighborhood…the Mexican part of town.
     Not long after, I enlisted in the United States Navy, and did not return to live in my home town for eighteen years, at which time I was privileged to serve on the pastoral staff at the church of my childhood.  At that time, there was circulating around the nation a stir over the issue of the name by which Mexican Americans preferred to be known.  Titles in contention (as I recall) were Mexicans, Mexican-Americans, Latinos, Chicanos, and Hispanics.
     These titles were a puzzle to me because growing up we knew them simply as Sanchez, Lopez, Rodriquez, Garcia, etc. Frankly, I don’t think many of us thought of them as anything other.  That too was a byproduct of our youthful ignorance (though not necessarily a bad one).  The facts among the adults were quite different.
     “Buckwheat’s” family settled in the Mexican neighborhood because that was, in the opinion of a majority of the adults in our community, where “they” belonged.  On the surface, Mexicans were more acceptable than blacks, but deeply held notions about race caused many “whites” to consider both groups inferior (though in different measures).
     As a pastor and Christian educator, I have come to better understand the ugly reality of racial prejudice.  I have also come to understand how politely subtle it can be in public, all the while being deeply imbedded in the private thinking of the “us” class.
     There are two fundamental flaws in the genesis of racial prejudice (both being defective absurdities).  These are: 1. I am superior because of my race.  2. I am superior because of my intellect.  Let us consider each.
     The first is superiority by reason of race.  Race is a physical aspect.  Yes, there are those who in some aspects of their physical makeup enjoy superior attributes.  But these aspects are actually individual not racial.  Even twins do not always share the same physical attributes.  Furthermore, the whole idea of some physical aspect being superior is highly subjective and dependent on some arbitrary qualifying factor.  For example, unusual height may be an asset if you are a college basketball player, but if you are a wrestler the extreme height becomes a liability.
     However, even if one race could claim some “general” superiority that would in no way be a cause for believing one race superior over another.  This is because human beings are not essentially a physical entity.  Human beings are essentially a spiritual being.  One may, through disease or accident, lose a leg or an arm or even both arms and legs.  In such a case would that person become less of the “person” he was before the loss?
     Here is a way to make the point.  Let us suggest a perfectly normal man working at a minimum wage job is terribly injured in an accident and subsequently loses both legs.  During the time of his recovery, he invents some new prosthetic device that when patented earns him a fortune.  Will the Internal Revenue Service consider him, let us say, only three fifths of the person he was prior to the accident and therefore levy his tax rate at two fifths less than a person making the same amount of money but possessing both legs?
     This can be considered another way.  Will a parent love a child some percentage less if they lose an eye, a hand, or a foot?  Certainly not!  On the contrary, love is often deepened in such cases! This is so because the “person” is not the physical body, but rather a spirit which transcends the body.
     Furthermore, all human beings are essentially of one body, and one race (the human race).  Yes, there are external, even genetic differences, but these are of so little consequence, that they can be melted away in but a few generations following inner racial marriage.
     Supposed Intellectual superiority is an equally absurd reason for racial prejudice.  History records the contributions of all peoples to the great advances of the human race.  Furthermore, intellect is an even more subjective measure of supposed superiority than physical attributes.  The only human being with a perfect intellect who has ever lived was Jesus Christ.  The rest of us are filled with many defects.  Superiority in one area is balanced by inferiority in another.
     It is also the case that human beings are not essentially intelligence, we are spirit, and spirit is free from the disadvantages and limitations of intelligence.  Beautiful bodies and superior intellects are rarely found in equal proportions in human beings, while an unimpressive body and imperfect intellect are no hindrance to the possibility of being a perfectly wonderful person with a truly beautiful spirit.
     Finally, there is an even more profound reason why racial prejudice is a logical absurdity, and that is the fact that we are not a consequence of our own choosing.  No person can claim to have made a conscious decision to be.  That is, to have been born who, what, when and where by one’s own choosing.  If one is an atheist then being is the consequence of chance.  If one is a Biblical Theist, then being is a gift from God.  In either case being is not caused by one’s self-determination.
     Therefore, for anyone to look down on another due to the condition of their racial extraction is nothing short of hubris equal to an ignorant arrogance of the most absurd sort.  One might easier defend the notion that warts come from toads than to logically defend the notion of a “right” to be racially prejudice.  To be proud (in a proper sense) of one’s racial extraction may be fine, but only when it is balanced by a humble recognition that it was not self-determined.
     Racial prejudice, as illogical as it may be, is a reality of human existence.  However, there is a cure for it, and it involves a radical identity transformation.  You have probably noticed that this article started with a quote from Galatians 3:26-29.  The “you” in these verses refers to the truly born again.  “You” then are identified as “sons” of God meaning that “through faith in Christ” the “you” have been adopted into a new family.  “Sons” is not a gender limiting term which is evidenced by the gender elimination in the next sentence (“there is neither…male or female”).  To be a “son” one must have a father.  If a father has more than one son such are then brothers.  Having the same father and having a brother by that father makes one a member of that family.
     The reason there is neither “Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female” is because such terms identify those outside of a family.  The truly born again are, according to St. Paul, “all one in Christ Jesus.”  Furthermore, being equals they share in the same inheritance of the Father as “heirs according to the promise.”
     Being born into the family of God means a radical identity transformation.  That is why in times not too distant, nearly all Christians referred to one another as brother or sister.  It is still the practice in many places where the family of God gathers, especially for Sunday worship.
     In a very real sense, at the moment we are born again, we abandon our old identity through a radical transformation of our spirit by the Spirit.  Such a transformation cannot “not” touch every aspect of our life.  That touch may not be fully realized at the moment of conversion, but it will not fail in making the transformation known.
     One may argue that so-called Christians have and do harbor strong racial prejudice.  That may be so, but one cannot know if they were truly born again or not.  What is clear is that the most powerful foe of racial prejudice in the entire world is a truly born again son or daughter of God.  It is very hard for the sons and daughters of God to not possess familial affections for member of their own family, especially when they understand that they are going to live eternally with them in their Father’s house (John 14:1-4).
     In case I have failed to make myself clear, permit me to close with the quote from one far better equipped to say it without equivocation of any kind.  "You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise" (Galatians 3:26-29 NIV).  The born-again have undergone a radical identity transformation!

ddf

June 2010
Week 06/6  Week 06/20

Digging for Hope in the Form of a Dead Cat.  I cannot recall his name, but I shall never forget what he looked like the three times I dug him up.  Sometime after starting the second grade my cat died.  His undiagnosed illness and life were terminated along with his life when my dear mother in a desperate attempt to save him, gave the little feline a couple of aspirins.  She thought it might help him.  We used aspirin for almost every kind of illness, so it just seemed natural that it might help my cat.  Today it is better known that aspirin will kill a cat.

I had a hard time accepting that he was dead.  I asked for and received permission to bury him, but hid him for a day just in case he came back to life.  Eventually, I dug a hole next to a fence post, and placed him in a sandy grave.  Every morning before heading off to school, I’d check to see if perhaps he had awakened, and dug his way out of the ground, but I never found the slightest sign of disturbance by which to gain hope.

Two things were especially troubling to me.  God had not yet answered prayer for my cat’s resurrection, and winter was fast approaching.  I still had hope that God might come through, but I knew that if my cat spent a northwestern Illinois winter in the ground he’d never have a chance.

So, I kept on praying, and one afternoon when my mother and older brother were away from the house, I dug up the cat, and moved him into a new grave which I had prepared in the crawl space under our little rented house.  Actually, I was quite hopeful.  His body was dried out, but his fur still looked good, and he held together in one piece when I moved him.

My plan was for him to have at least one more chance to come back to life in the relative warmth and dryness of the sand under the house.  I located him directly beneath where I slept, and reasoned that if God answered prayer at night, I would hear my cat’s familiar meow, and be ready to bring him inside.

As I now recall, I gave God and my cat about a month or so, and when nothing happened, I decided to have another look.  Carefully exhuming his little body, I discovered that there seemed to be less of him than before.  Weeks later. I repeated this admittedly strange ritual one more time; the results being sufficient to finally convince me that my cat was not going to come back to life.  Nevertheless, for some years following, whenever I saw a black and white spotted cat wandering around, I’d get a little start, and give it a good looking over.  No cat ever measured up.

Lessons Learned Then for Which I am Today Indebted.   I learned that a cat really only has one life.  I learned that God does not have to answer every prayer of every little boy…no matter how badly they wish it.  I learned that even mother’s may make honest mistakes when trying to do the right thing.  I also learned that when a thing has died, it is best to leave it buried.  Digging up the past is not an expression of hopefulness; it is an admission of helplessness.

ddf

Learning to Fish With Trash.  Most boys like fishing.  If taught correctly during adolescence, fishing often remains a life-long form of genuinely satisfying recreation.  It used to be said that anyone too busy to go fishing was too busy.

When I was a boy the fact that I did not have a father to teach me how to fish did nothing to repress my want to go fishing, so I did the next best thing.  During the summer I’d sneak down to the old Hennepin Canal, and watch men, teenagers and fortunate boys as they fished for bullheads, bluegills and carp.

The Hennepin was the remnant of a commercially failed attempt to link the Illinois and Mississippi rivers for the purpose of barge traffic.  The spur that was fed from the Rock River in my home town ("the canal” as it was known in those days), had a reputation for being the kind of a place that unsupervised boys were to avoid.  The canal's unguarded and deceptively placid water along with with its muddy bottom had claimed many lives.  Added to this was the other side of its reputation as a “drinking hole.”  That’s why I had to “sneak” down to watch the fishing.

The canal was a treasure trove of trash.  There was no green movement during those days, and many places along the canal served as unofficial dumping grounds.  Added to the trash were unknown miles of tangled fishing line which often included perfectly good bobbers, hooks and weights.  The bushes and trees nearest the better fishing spots were decorated with these underappreciated resources. On a much higher level of value was the occasional broken fishing pole.

And so it was to my good fortune during the summer of the tenth year of my life that I discovered a green fiberglass fishing rod of about five feet in length broken cleanly out of its handle, and lying as if a gift from heaven on the grassy bank.  Since I had been serving a kind of apprenticeship as an anxious observer of the art of fishing, I knew how to take advantage of my bonanza.

From nearby bushes and trees, I gleaned fishing line, lead weights, hooks and a good bobber.  Overturning logs and rocks, I picked earthworms and placed them in an empty can.  Having then rigged my outfit in an acceptable manner, I stepped up to the bank like a proper fisherman.  Seconds later my heart began to race as the bobber danced excitedly before being pulled under.  With a reflexive jerk I cried out in unrestrained joy as a fine bluegill of at least a full four inches became air born and landed on the bank.

My right of passage was crowned that afternoon upon my return home when mother praised my catch, and mercifully gave off the distinct impression that she did not care to know exactly where I had been fishing.  Subsequent trips served to sharpen my angling skills, as well as to refine my discernment as a collector of recyclable fishing tackle.  To this day, I get a satisfying sense of accomplishment when brining home a nice mess of fish.  Though I have long since been richly privileged to have caught a wide variety of fishes from both fresh and salt water, nothing gives me more pleasure to catch and eat a fine stringer of  bluegills.  Another thing that has stayed with me is an almost irrepressible need to salvage good hooks, lead weights, and bobbers discarded by careless or unfortunate fishermen.

Lessons Learned Then for Which I am Today Indebted.   I learned that if you are resourceful, thrifty, and not too proud, you can do a lot of things with the stuff others leave behind.  The old adage that “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure” has a lot of truth in it.  I learned that a fish does not know whether the hook, line, bobber or pole is new, used or reclaimed trash.  Perhaps the most gratifying lesson I learned is that God created fish in such a way so as to keep them from knowing anything about the age or social status of the angler.   Children rich or poor can catch fish as well as millionaires,  generals or even presidents.  In the Bible we read that “God is no respecter of persons,” and I am very thankful that neither are the fish that He created.

ddf

May 2010
Week 05/2  Week of 5/9  Week 5/23

GROWING UP ON WELFARE:  Selective Memories of a Debtor (#3)

Running Away from Home on a Spooky Night.  I was about twelve years old when my mother got the word of being approved to move into the government housing project.  We had been on the waiting list for a long time, and by our way of thinking, it was a big step up.  For the first time, we would have a regular bath tub with both hot and cold running water (no more sharing a #3 washtub filled with water heated on a gas stove).  There were lots of other high grade perks too, like a real tile deck on the first floor with concrete underneath, two bedrooms upstairs, and a side room off the downstairs kitchen where mother could store her ringer washing machine.  The place even had a cushy sounding name – Coloma Court.

With all that relative wealth coming our way I should have been happy.  In fact I was, until about a week before the move.  That’s when I discovered that dogs were not allowed in Coloma Court.  I pitched a fit…the kind of a fit that twelve year old boys without a father are known to throw from time-to-time.  I focused on the wretched injustice.  Everyone else seemed to be focusing on the insignificant…such as moving out of our tiny shack of a place into a two-floor housing project apartment with a playground where kids could swing, ride a merry-go-round, and fight right out in the open.

Consequently, I did the only thing a fellow in my position could do.  I planned to run away from home.  I explained the whole thing to my dog, and from the look on his face, he seemed to understand more about my agony than even my mother.  I don’t recall my brother being too broken up about it.  That may have been a byproduct of having taught my dog the neat trick of lunging for my brother whenever he tried to beat me up.

The composition of the lot behind our little house was sand.  In fact, everything was sand around our place.  Without anyone the wiser, I dug a fine fort of about four feet wide, and of equal depth.  I kept it secret by laying old board and plywood over the top, then covering the whole thing with sand, limbs and picked weeds.  I did this rather expertly since in my neighborhood any fort that was not well camouflaged was doomed to discovery and destruction by jealous rivals.

The night before the move, I slipped out the back door, and along with my dog headed a distance of probably not more than 150 feet to my secret hideaway.  I had already provisioned it with matches, candles, a jar of water, a few food items, and a little dog food.  The kind-of plan was to live there for a couple of days, and then after I was forgotten, to strike out for some place where a boy and his dog were wanted.  But the deep-down goal was to make everyone so heartbroken at my departure that they would see the folly of their ways, and let me keep my dog.

Sometime during the night, mother discovered I was missing.  I could hear her calling, and kept my hand over my dog’s muzzle to keep him from unwittingly betraying our location.  Soon after, my brother started calling.  That’s probably when my dog let out a little growl.  My pastor and his wife lived not far away, and soon they joined in the chorus of calling.  With rising hope, I smirked, thinking how worried they must be.  Some time passed before law enforcement arrived.  Later I learned that my brother gave them the location of all my forts located on the canal and creek not too far away.  I could hear adults talking, cars coming and going, but I remained resolute.

It must have been sometime during the early morning hours that the other noises of the night, noises not connected with the search for a missing boy, and the inevitable longing to be back in my own bed cast a rather worrisome pall over my mind.  My dog grew restless, and the effects of hiding in a damp sand pit for the better part of the night were beginning to weaken my resolve.  I poked my head out.  As I looked toward my house, the light from the back porch sent out an oddly welcoming glow.  No sound from the house.  Mother had stopped calling hours before.  Had they given up on finding me?  Had they forgotten me so soon?

Eventually, it was Spooky who drove me up, out of the sand pit, and racing toward home.   My dog was a rather small all-black mix of dubious Beagle and Labrador ancestry.  His name was Spooky, and Spooky wanted to go home, lie down on his blanket, and go to sleep.  He could not know that his fate was sealed, and there would be nothing I nor anyone else could do to change it.

A few days later, we move “up” to Coloma Court.  I never saw Spooky again.  For months after, I would call his name out to just about every little all-black dog I saw.  I often walked back to our old house hoping vainly to see him lying at his watch spot near the door.  Over time, I stopped calling, and stopped hoping.

Time heals a lot of wounds.  It does not heal all wounds, but it heals many, and eventually I forgot about Spooky.  Yes, on some occasions I would recall how much fun we had together, and how much I had loved him, but the hurt was gone.  Only as an adult was I able to understand the painful decision my mother was forced to make in order to improve the living conditions for her two boys.  She did the right thing.  In fact, she did more than she ever told me.

Thirty-six years later, I was granted the extraordinary honor of serving as a staff pastor in the church of my childhood.  One of the retired ministers on the volunteer staff was the pastor who had helped to try and find me on the night of my short-lived disappearance.   A member also of the church was his son, a man about fifteen years older than me.  During one of our “remember when’s,” I learned a few things I had not known.  From my dear old pastor I learned that a significant number of law enforcement officers had searched throughout that night hoping to not find me a victim of the muddy bottom and dangerous waters of the creek and canal where they thought me to be hiding.  It pained me to think of the trouble I had causes everyone.

I learned another thing that I had not known.  The pastor’s son, a fine and gentle man, as well as an avid sportsman, had promised my mother to give Spooky a good home.  The day we moved “up,” so had Spooky.  He was given his own regular dog house, had the run of the place, and turned out to be, in the words of his new master, “One of the finest hunting dogs I have ever know.”  It seems that Spooky really must have been of Beagle and Labrador blood.  I was thrilled to learn that he lived a long life, and hunted faithfully to the very end.

You might wonder why neither my mother, nor anyone else, had told me about Spooky’s new home.  I don’t.  Knowing my personality at the time, I would have found a way to visit Spooky, and in so doing, spoiled his chances to forget me, and to bond with a master who could give him a life far better than living in a housing project apartment with not even enough of a yard to chain a dog.

Lessons Learned Then for Which I am Today Indebted.  I learned another thing.  I learned that God is not obligated to make clear to His children the wisdom His ways.  Many of His ways are beyond our knowing at the time they happen, and some are just beyond our knowing…in this life.  But by-and-by, when we are with Him and in our glorified state infinitely more mature than now, we shall see the good that was in all His ways, and we shall never leave home again.

ddf

GROWING UP ON WELFARE:  Selective Memories of a Debtor (#2)

A Rolling TV Can Distort Reality.  We finally got our own television when I was about ten or eleven years old.  As I recall, my brother (who is four years older), deserves the credit.  Being of a sharp eye, and always on the lookout for a good deal, Roger came upon a TV sitting in a stack of junk.  Good thing he did, for had he missed it by even a few hours, our TV might have been trashed.  Fortunately, this discarded piece of the American dream was rescued, and found new life in a home that understood how to appreciate such things.

It was not too big.  In fact, it was just about the right size to fit into a house of probably not more than 500 square feet.  Some of the knobs were missing from the dials, although that presented no problem because these could be turned with a pair of pliers.  Of course, we did not have an outside antenna, but the two broken rabbit ears in the back worked well enough to get two channels providing you kept the end of  a coat hanger stuck down inside one of the holes in either of the broken ends.  The picture was acceptably bright, especially with all the lights turned off.  The sound (the way we figured), was good enough for even a king.

Watching the picture itself took a bit of adjustment.  During the first five or ten minutes, that TV was as about as good as any, but after it warmed up, the picture started rolling.  It would roll vertically from bottom to top.  Once it started, there was no stopping it.  As I recall, it made one complete roll every two seconds or so.

At first, it was hard to concentrate, but once you got the hang of how to watch it, you could get through an hour or so of somewhat otherwise torturous viewing fairly easily.  The trick was to roll with the picture.  One could acquire the necessary skill by rolling the eyes or bobbing the head.  The best way was to master the fine art of coordinated eye rolling and head bobbing done at the same time.

The only consequence of owning a TV like that, came when you turned it off.  For nearly an half hour afterward, everything else you looked at started rolling too!  It was hilariously funny, because faces, walls, trees, or anything else you looked at appeared to be rolling from bottom to top.  What happened was that distortion had temporarily become reality, and then for a short while afterward, reality became distorted.

Lessons Learned Then for Which I am Today Indebted.  I learned that there is generally a reason why people throw things away.  I learned that it really is true that "beggars can't be choosers."  I learned that if you want a thing badly enough that you cannot afford, you may have to be willing to accept a distorted sense of reality in order to have it.  I learned that if you accept distortion as reality for even a short while, and then try to turn away from it, it may take you a while to get things back to normal.  I also learned that there really is such a thing as "a pain in the neck, and a sight for sore eyes."

ddf

GROWING UP ON WELFARE:  Selective Memories of a Debtor (#1)

Fences Were a Good Place to Find a Lunch Sack.  In1956, most ten year-old boys like myself took a lunch to school that had been fixed at  home by their mother.  Moms of the better-off kids crowded it into a fancy lunch pail often festooned with pictures of some TV icon.  Exceptionally blessed fifth graders enjoyed the added bonus of a built-in thermos filled with some hot or cold beverage.  For those lucky little souls, the menu usually included a baloney sandwich on soft white bread, potato chips, fruit cocktail (which sometimes went uneaten), and cookies or a chocolate cupcake (which never went uneaten).

Most of the regular kids, or those whose mothers were more frugal, ate from a similar menu, but carried it in a neat little tan paper bag of just the right size.  Sometimes they carried a thermos too, or just bought cold milk from the school office.  Not me.

I carried my lunch like the rest, but that's where the similarities ended.  No thermos, no goodies, and no milk money.  I did have a nice white bread sandwich, and between the slices a prudently sized slab of soft yellow cheese (kind of like Velveeta, but not the real brand).  We got a government issued substitute that looked like a tinfoil covered brick.  I don't know if it tasted the same, because we never had any of the real stuff to compare it with.  No matter, once it was securely nested in the bread, you wouldn't have been able to tell the difference anyway, (and that was an important point in the lunch room).  Usually, I also got an apple or whatever fruit was in season, and it never went uneaten.

Once ready for transport, Mother neatly packed my lunch into a regular sized used grocery sack with the top half cut off (it folded easier that way).   Lunch only rarely arrived at school in its original container.  It took a little bit of ingenuity, but I learned how to transform an irregular looking lunch into a regular lunch.

I usually headed out early, as I needed the extra time to check the fences on the way to Merrill School.  Growing up in the windy northwestern corner of Illinois proved a blessing to a boy needing to up-grade a lunch sack.  Almost always, a sharp-eyed fellow could find a right-sized sack blown by the wind into a fence.  You'd be surprised how nice a bag found like that can look after it has been smoothed out.  It was good stewardship too.  I always left behind a perfectly good cut down used grocery sack to replace the one I took.  Believe me; arriving on the school playground with a proper lunch sack was very important to one's social standing.

Lessons Learned Then for Which I am Today Indebted.  I learned that my mother and God were not to be blamed for everything.  She was doing the best she could with what she had, and God was giving me the gift of not having everything I wanted.  Consequently, I learned how to be self-reliant, and not to expect others to give me what I did not have.  I learned how to improvise.  I learned that no matter how hard you try, you don't always get what you are after (especially when it rains, snows or the wind stops blowing).  I also learned that if you live long enough, not having what was popular at the time may eventually prove to have been a blessing.  As it turns out,  apples and cheese sandwiches aren't considered junk food.

ddf

April 2010
Week 04/4  Week 4/11  Week 4/18  Week 4/25

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 8 of 8)

     Many Christians agree that their favorite story of Jesus during the forty days following His resurrection is the account of Peter’s reinstatement of rank among the disciples.  This event, recorded in John chapter 21, takes up all but the final verse of this last chapter of that Gospel.  In twenty-four wonderful verses, John tells how Jesus performs His second and final miracle of the fishing nets, and how this led to Peter’s reinstatement.  The great old Gospel hymn “Lovest Thou Me More Than These” is taken from verses 15 -18.

     Bible scholars have puzzled over the exact count of the fish miraculously taken in the net.  Why exactly 153 large fish?  Numerical calculations have been offered up along with conjectured connections to other numbers, but in the end only one thing is perfectly clear…there was an exact count of the fish, and the number was 153.  I take that to mean but one thing…it was a big catch!  Big enough in fact to have lured these fishermen back to their fishing boats.

     Galilee is a beautiful place, and the lake there (called the Sea of Tiberias in John’s account, but elsewhere known as the lake of Gennesaret and the Sea of Galilee), was the old home fishing ground of Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James and his brother John (the author of the Gospel that bears his name.

     Therefore, some have suggested that Jesus may have been pointing to the huge catch of fish when He asked Peter “Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these” (21:15 NIV)?  This view seems supported by what Peter said prior to the fishing expedition of the night before.  “’I am going out to fish’, Simon Peter told them, and they said, ‘We’ll go with you’” (21:3 NIV).  Others have suggested that Jesus may have been referring to Peter’s fishing companions, and whether he loved them more than Jesus.

     Personally, I think the fish story is more likely.  If Peter were ever to return to his profession, now would be the time.  With Jesus resurrected, the future uncertain and a boat load of fish to sell, Peter and the others could start fresh, and rebuild their careers.  Only someone who really loves to fish, and has done it for a living, can fully appreciate the possibility of this being the object of Jesus’ question to Peter.

     However, you do not need to be a fisherman to understand and appreciate the fact that there comes a time in the life of every disciple when we have to make a decision to follow the Master without hesitation, (and without promise of compensation), or turn back to what we think we know how to do in the flesh. 

     Even so, there is a caveat in this story.  As impressive as the catch of fish was, the fact remained that Peter and the others had fished all night without success.  It was only when Jesus intervened that the catch was taken.  The lesson here is that there is no real security outside of His provision, and even the fish we catch by our own efforts are still His creation.  He is the Lord of Life no matter what!

     The question is still very personal.  “Do you truly love me more than these?”  Whatever “these” may be, we still have to make a choice.  Let us be as wise and humble as Peter had become in such a short time, and to our Risen Lord say, “Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You” (21:17)!

      As we end this series, it is fitting to focus on the ascension of Jesus into heaven.  The event is recorded at the close of the Gospels of Mark and Luke, and again by Luke in the first chapter of his Acts of the Apostles.  Luke tells us the ascension took place in “the vicinity of Bethany” (24:50) which is little more than a mile east south east of Jerusalem.

     It was from somewhere near Bethany that our Lord was taken into heaven with the promise of His return.  For almost 2,000 years, the followers of Jesus have continually looked forward to the fulfillment of that promise.  In all those centuries, generation upon generation of the redeemed has been greeted by the Lord Himself upon their arrival in heaven.  They are swelling the ranks of those who will accompany Him at the rapture of the living church.

     When will He return?  We cannot know, but we can know with reasonable accuracy (as history goes) when we will meet Him, for our own lifespan is as brief as the burning of a small birthday candle.  Our flame of biological life will soon flicker, and with little more than a puff of smoke from the burnt wick we will be ushered into the presence of the Lord.  But once there, we shall ever be with the Lord!

     His resurrection and His ascension are the promise and prototype of our own life in the eternal heavens.  Here the words of the Apostle Paul seem especially fitting.  “Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (I Corinthians 15:51 – 57 KJV).  HE IS RISEN!  HE IS RISEN INDEED!

ddf

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 7)

    The close of  the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus was punctuated by His giving what is known as “The Great Commission” to the eleven disciples.  This was accomplished on an unnamed mountain in the region of Galilee.  There Jesus gives tells them to go, tell, make disciples and baptize “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 29:16-20).

     This is one of the clearest statements in all the New Testament that our God is One, though triune in Person.  The mystery of the Trinity will not be fully understood this side of heaven, but the fact of it need not be doubted.  Presently we know (from Scripture) that God is; that Christ intercedes for us with the Father; that the Spirit makes intercession with the Father as the Comforter who was given following the ascension of Christ.  Mystery…yes!  Beyond belief…no!

     In His Great Commission Jesus gives us the absolute assurance that the Great God of all creation is attentive to our cry for mercy and forgiveness.  He has shown Himself to us in His Triune glory, and in so doing, has given us a great and indisputable assurance of His love for us.  This is wonderfully reinforced by Jesus’ final words in this passage. “And surely I will be with you always, to the very end of the age” (28:20 NIV).  If you are His disciple, then He is with you…this very moment, and shall always be!

     ddf

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 6)

     One of best known and most beloved of the post-resurrection appearances of Christ was to the lesser known disciples (one of whom was named Cleopas), who Jesus met along the road going to Emmaus (which was about seven miles northwest of Jerusalem).  After making Himself known to them, these disciples cried out, “Did not our heart burn within us, while He talked with us by the way, and while He opened to us the scriptures" (Luke 24:32 KJV).

     This wonderful text is the theme verse for Master’s International School of Divinity.  It most clearly and concisely captures the essence of what we hope and pray will happen in the heart of every person who undertakes to make a sincere study of the Bible.  It is the work of Christ to open the Scriptures to the heart.  The very best a Divinity School can hope to accomplish it to help pry open the head; only the Holy Spirit can open the heart!

     Hearts opened to the truth of Jesus Christ by the ministry of the Holy Spirit are hearts that will “burn within” with a passion and determination that generates the only real meaning and purpose to life.  Those who do not “know” the Saviour, are utterly without hope beyond this life, and are hopelessly trapped in the nightmare of humanistic rationalism.  The one offers eternal life, the other can offer absolutely nothing beyond today.

     Those of us who have met the Living Lord, and subsequently have come to know Him, can no longer accept the hopelessness of humanistic rationalism because our hearts have been set afire with the Truth, and that Truth has set us free.  Consequently, now that we are free, we are set upon our own road to Emmaus seeking to tell others who have not yet heard that He has indeed risen!

     ddf

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 5)

    With Sunday being the “first day of the week,” this is the week that we celebrate the Risen Lord Jesus Christ.  About thirty-four years following the day of Christ’s resurrection, the Apostle Paul wrote, "Now, brothers, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you. Otherwise, you have believed in vain. For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that He appeared to Peter, and then to the Twelve. After that, He appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then He appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all He appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born" (I Corinthians 15:1-8 NIV).

     Notice that Jesus first appears to Peter (see Luke 24:34); the very person whom we might expect that Jesus would have made to wait a while.  Peter, the one who denied Him three times!  Jesus then appears to His half-brother James (the full biological son of Mary and Joseph).  James would become the leader of the church in Jerusalem, and later martyred for his faith.

     Next, Jesus appears to the other disciples, including His own mother and Thomas the skeptic; following these He shows Himself to over five-hundred others (probably including Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus, Zacchaeus, sisters Mary and Martha along with their brother Lazarus, among the hundreds of others who heard His wonderful teachings and loved Him as Messiah.  Finally, Paul includes himself in the list of those who have seen the Lord.  All of these, including Paul, considered themselves incredibly blessed, and so they were -  without a doubt.

     However, following His resurrection, Jesus spoke of another group of disciples who were to one day also know Him; He does so while appearing to Thomas.  John records His exact words.  “Then Jesus told him [Thomas], ‘Because you have seen Me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.’”   Who are “those?”  Among “those who have not seen and yet have believed” is you, is me, is each and every disciple descended from those who did see Him after His resurrection.  We are those “blessed!”

     We have not “seen Him,” but we have and do “know Him!”  That’s part of the wondrous blessing of faith, and it seems fitting that it was Peter who proclaimed this most clearly when he wrote of us saying, "Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see Him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory; receiving the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls" (I Peter 1:8, 9 KJV).  To know Him!  What a blessing!  What a joy!

     ddf 

March 2010
Week 03/7  Week 3/14  Week 3/21  Week 3/28

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 4)

     Following what is known as His “Triumphal Entry” into the city of Jerusalem, among other lessons, Jesus gave six additional parables, and many other wonderful teachings.  All serious students of the Bible ought to give their most careful attention to all of these as recorded primarily in the Gospels by Matthew, Mark and Luke.

     Jesus’ Triumphal Entry (which begins the week of His Passion) is recorded in all four Gospels.  This was a prophecy fulfilling event in many ways.  I have been privileged to stand on the Mount of Olives at a place which looks directly into the eastward facing gate though which Jesus entered on that day.  The city wall and gate that stood in Jesus’ day was torn down by Titus in 70 A.D. just as Jesus had prophesied.

     Over the centuries, the wall and gate (known as the Eastern Gate, the Golden Gate and the Beautiful Gate) were torn down and rebuilt though successive waves of war and occupations.  They stand rebuilt today probably exactly as they would have looked in the day of our Lord (rebuilt in about 520 A.D.), excepting that the gate itself has been walled up since the days of the Muslim occupation in about 1541 A.D.

     What is so amazing about the gate is that the Scriptures promise that upon the return of Messiah, this is the gate through which He will enter.  The amazing thing is that nearly 2,000 years after Messiah’s first Triumphal Entry the gate still exists on exactly the same place and in exactly the same shape as it did then.  Is it waiting for His return?  Christians, Jews and even Muslims believe it is - though there is differing opinions as to whether the current wall and gate will be standing or new one erected in its place immediately prior to His coming.  An interesting historical note is that the Muslims sealed the gate in 1541 A.D. in hopes of preventing Messiah from entering!

     For this student of the Bible, it makes no difference if it is the current gate or a future gate.  What matters is that I have look upon the very spot where Jesus Christ will someday return to Jerusalem as the Millennial King, and as a born-again child of God, I will be there to witness the entire event.  I will know then if the gate is old or new!  He IS coming, and nothing will prevent it (old sealed gate, new sealed gate or no gate at all)!  Are you ready?

     Immediately following Jesus’ Triumphal Entry, He performed the second of His Temple cleansings (the first at the beginning of His earthly ministry).  The event is recorded by Matthew, Mark and Luke.  It is not unlike the first cleansing, except that coming at the close of His earthly ministry, it serves to reinforce His powerful declaration, “My house will be called a house of prayer” (Matthew 21:13a NIV), which is taken from Isaiah 56:7.

     Is there a lesson here for the church?  When Jesus entered the Temple on that day, He was unable to tolerate what was happening.  Would He be comfortable in the average church this Sunday?  After the cleansing, He healed the blind and the lame (21:14).  Are the spiritually blind and lame being healed in our churches?  If not, then we are due a cleansing!

     Furthermore, since the physical body of the Christian is the Temple of the Holy Spirit (I Corinthians 3:16), the same can be said of our own heart and mind.  Is our inner person a place where the work of God is being conducted or has it become “a den of robbers” (21:13b)?  On this account we must be ever vigilant, for it is the work of the Evil One to corrupt both the church as a body, and the body of the individual believer with worldly concerns (even wickedness).

     “Oh dear Christ, search my soul and cast out whatever may be displeasing to You!  This I pray too, consider my church, and keep her pure by whatever cleansing shall be pleasing to You, for I would be pure in my heart and a pure blessing to my church, knowing it is for both that You have died and are risen again.” 

     It was during the final week of Jesus’ earthly ministry that He gave the most solemn prophecies and warnings concerning the end of the age. These teachings, while not reminiscent of His uplifting and soul blessing teachings on more personal subjects like the Sermon on the Mount, are among the most relevant to the individual believer and to the church (corporately) today.

     There is coming an end of the present age, and the business of the church is to prepare people for that unalterable event.  Chapters 24 and 25 of Matthew record Jesus’ lengthy teaching on this subject (a total of ninety-seven verses of which only two are not direct quotes).

     In light of the fact that Jesus knew He would face Calvary in less than a week, the intensity of His teaching must have been in stark contrast to His usually calm and patient manner.  If these ninety-seven verses were to be reduced to only three main points under which all the teaching could be enumerated, it would be these:  1. There is coming an end to the present age.  2.  The end will come with swift and terrifying suffering for the inhabitants of the earth.  3.  In the end, only the righteous will be saved.

     What ought to be the message of the church in the light of this?  It ought to be:  1. Life either as we know it on the planet or individually is coming to an end.  2. We cannot know exactly when that time will be either for earth or individuals.  3.  Everyone who comes to Christ for salvation will be saved, all others will be lost.  What else could we proclaim that is of greater importance?

     Yes, there are many other things the church ought to teach, but if we fail to proclaim this central reality, what is the meaning of the resurrection, original sin, judgment, heaven, hell, and why did Jesus go to so great an effort to give us this message immediately prior to His crucifixion?  We must not neglect the truth.

     ddf

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 3)

     Possibly the least known of Jesus’ remarkable healings was performed on a crippled woman in the region of Perea.  Luke alone records this event (13:10-17), and if you cannot recall it then by all means read it now.  Perhaps Luke, a physician, was especially touched as he carefully researched this miracle (see Luke 1:1-4).  In any case, he certainly understood the powerful act of healing that freed this poor woman from her physical bondage.

     Bent over for eighteen years, she had found no pity from the elders of the synagogue in her village.  Though they knew her well, they could give her no solace, no help and no hope.  It took the touch of the Master’s hand upon her bent form to straighten her to full height both physically and spiritually.  After which, the ruler of her own synagogue berated the healing because it was done on the Sabbath, and not according to their so-called rules.

     Some things never change.  Even today, there are those whose lives have been touched by the hand of Jesus; their bent spirit and broken life marvelously healed through the new birth.  They want nothing more than to praise God, only to discover that not everyone is thrilled with their good fortune.  Let someone find help through mental health therapy or drug therapy and the world will praise them for their good sense, but let that same one announce that they have been healed by an encounter with the Lord Jesus Christ, and they may discover ridicule in the place of rejoicing.

     The very truth is that in the United States today there are millions of souls bent over by the spirit of this wicked age who could, in an instant, be completely healed by the touch of Jesus upon their life.  The world rejects such a cure, and offers in its place nothing but even greater burdens of vain and hollow philosophy.  The great work of the Church is to break past the hopeless traditions of the popular culture (the so-called rules), and reach out as the very hand of Christ Himself.

     One of the most disturbing lessons taught by Jesus came as He went through the towns and villages of Perea during the last months of His earthly ministry.  Something He was teaching caused them to ask, “Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?” (Please read the entire discourse in Luke 13:22-30).  His reply has become known as the lesson of the Narrow Door.  Though similar to His other teachings on the narrow and wide gate, this particular lesson is a stark warning to those who think they can be saved by right of birth or personal association.

     The three clear truths that emanate from this lesson are these: 1. There is a restricted way and time to get into the Father’s house.  2. Once the door of opportunity is closed it cannot be reopened.  3. Those who fail to gain entrance will take their place with all other evil doers.

     This teaching puts an end to the notion of universal salvation and easy atonement.  It makes a great many uncomfortable, but we are not the makers of the rules.  The truth is, not everyone is going to enter into the Kingdom of God.  Happily, all those who enter through the narrow door (which is Christ Himself), will some day “take their places at the feast.”  Obey the rules and you are in.  Disobey the rules and you are out, no matter how loudly you bang on the door or insistently claim to have known the Father’s Son (when in fact you did not).

     The lesson of the Narrow Door is a lesson of warning, but also of hope.  I can enter if I go through the Narrow Door.  Jesus really is the only way, and He has been opening His life’s door for such a long time now that we can only wonder how long before it must close.  It is still open.  “Make every effort to enter.”

     ddf

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 2)

     Jesus, during the last months of His earthly ministry, traveled not more than thirty miles in any direction away from Bethany and Jerusalem.  Traveling in a north easterly direction, which took Him across the Jordan River toward the Jabbok River, He turned south into central Perea, westerly back toward Bethany, and ultimately back to Jerusalem for what is known to all Bible students as His Triumphal Entry (the Sunday before His crucifixion).

     We shall begin to trace His blessed footsteps during this time beginning with the raising of Lazarus from the dead as is recorded by John in 11:1-46.  This may be the best know of Jesus’ miracles, and possibly the most beloved for reasons that seem obvious.

     If you have not recently read the wonderful account of this miracle, it would be appropriate to do so (even before continuing to read here).  The many lessons to be gleaned from this event have served Bible preaches and teachers well for hundreds of years.  The central event is, of course, the actual raising of Lazarus (the brother of Mary and Martha all of whom lived in Bethany) from the dead after he had been in the tomb for four days.

     That he was dead was not in dispute.  That he was restored to life by the Lord of Life is the whole point of the miracle.  The Lord of Life not only raised Lazarus, He would rise Himself from the dead a few months later, and in so doing, become the Great Grantor of eternal life to all who would then, and for all time, believe on His name.

     “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.  He who believes in Me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in Me will never die. ‘” Then Jesus asks Martha the most important question in all of human history.  “Do you believe this?”  To which Martha give the most intelligent answer in all of human history, “Yes Lord, she told Him, ‘I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God who was to come into the world’” (John 1:25-27 NIV).

     The question has not changed or lost its relevancy.  Not being able to answer for anyone other than myself, I can say without hesitation of any sort, “Yes Lord, I believe.”  I hope and pray that your answer is the same as mine.

     ddf

COMMEMORATING THE RESURRECTION 2010 (Part 1)

     In 2010, the Christian Church in the Western world will celebrate Palm Sunday on March 28 and Resurrection Sunday a week later on April 4.  “Easter” as it is commonly known, is an annually moveable holy day.  March 23 is very close to the earliest date (March 21), while April 25 is the very latest date.

     The rules for determining the actual day each year are complex and hardly known to Christians anywhere.  So complex in fact, that most pastors quickly forget the formula shortly after studying it in Bible College, Seminary or Divinity School.  The following brief explanation will make the point.

     “The rule has since the Middle Ages been phrased as “Easter,” and observed on the Sunday after the first full moon on or after the day of the vernal equinox. However, this does not reflect the actual ecclesiastical rules precisely. One reason for this is that the full moon involved (called the Paschal full moon) is not an astronomical full moon, but an ecclesiastical moon. Another difference is that the astronomical vernal equinox is a natural astronomical phenomenon, while the ecclesiastical vernal equinox is fixed at March 21.   Easter is determined from tables which determine Easter based on the ecclesiastical rules described above, which approximate the astronomical full moon.”

     “In applying the ecclesiastical rules, the various Christian Churches use 21 March as their starting point from which they find the next full moon, etc. However because Eastern Orthodox and Oriental Orthodox Churches use the Julian Calendar as their starting point, while Western Christianity uses the Gregorian Calendar, the end point, the date for Easter, may diverge.”

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter).  See this cited source for more detailed information.

     No matter the actual date, for Christians everywhere, the annual commemoration of the passion and resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ is the most holy of all Christian celebrations.  Over the next several weeks, we will focus our attention on this great validating epoch of the incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ, with a final focus on the present and future blessings that His resurrection makes possible for the redeemed of all the ages.

     ddf

February 2010
Week 02/7  Weeks 02/14 - 21  Week 2/28

WHY THE CREATION/ EVOLUTION DEBATE MATTERS (Part 3 of 3)

     Few Americans are aware of the looming debate concerning genetic research that is poised to makes its appearance within the next decade.  The forces that make this inventible are already at work.  Far beyond the genetic manipulation of such products as corn and soybeans, is the breathtaking world of the genetic manipulation of humans and animals.

     Even my distinction between humans and animals reveals a bias on my part (still shared by a majority of Americans), that will be seriously challenged in the next few years.  Two lines of research will put currently held distinctions between humans and animals to the test.  The first is the production of human helping biological mixing/splicing of genetic materials.  Already this area of research is much further advanced than most people realize; the majority of Americans being only familiar with stem cell research and the ethical concerns that have so far served as a rather mild check on the unmerited crossing of moral lines.

    The other area involves the creation of cross species creatures.  The general term for such a manufacture is a “chimera”, the biological research into the development of chimeras is both fascinating and frightening (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chimera_%28genetics%29 as a beginning place to study this further).  Though it may seem like wild science fiction, there are already serious efforts to promote the genetic creation of part human and part animal creatures (commonly called chimeras), to do dull or dangerous work in industry, agriculture and even war.

     How will all this be possible?  It will be possible when there is no viable resistance to it from social conservatives who happen to still believe in the sacredness of human life which is fundamentally a byproduct of a belief in a Transcendent Creator.  Why is it in the best interest of the United States to retain a deep and unalterable commitment to the sacredness of human life?  Because without it, there are no logical limits to which all forms of scientific research (most especially genetic research), may go in man’s mad quest to become the god of this planet, if not the universe.

     One must never forget that the only thing separating man from animal is the everlasting, never dying spirit of life that resides in each living human being.  It is the one thing that genetic research cannot quantify.  It is the one thing that cannot be observed in the laboratory.  Most importantly, it is the one thing about a human being that cannot be destroyed.  The person survives the body!

     Without the governance of thoughtful, faithful men and women who are totally committed to a belief that we must all some day give an account to the Creator and Governor of the Universe, the only limits placed on science and technology are those which are deemed expedient by the ruling class.  If ever we are ruled by a godless government we will be ruled by tyrants.  It cannot be otherwise.

     Consider the hubris, the utter arrogance of those who suppose that within the tiny mass of matter that is the human brain resides the only source of scientific determinism available to our planet.  Think of the gross stupidity that is required to suppose that because a thing cannot be quantified, visible and repeatable within the crude confines of a research laboratory its existence must be rejected.  Are there not mysteries, truths, realities, and laws of physics that are yet beyond the capacity of man to imagine, much less perceive?

     It is worth remembering these ancient words:  "Seek the Lord while He may be found, Call upon Him while He is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, And the unrighteous man his thoughts; Let him return to the Lord, And He will have mercy on him; And to our God, For He will abundantly pardon. "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways," says the Lord. "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways, And My thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:6-0 NKJV).

     It is worth asking whether in the history of mankind it is possible to find a single instance of a nation being governed by a godless despot where the people enjoyed personal liberty.  The answer is that without leaders who themselves are willing to bend their knee to a Transcendent Holy Creator; the people living under their rule are doomed to oppression.  If personal rights derive from the state, then what the state giveth it can and will taketh away when expedient.

     The creation vs. evolution debate is more than a question of origins, more than a question of competing ideologies, more than a question of science; it is a struggle between light and darkness.

     ddf

WHY THE CREATION/ EVOLUTION DEBATE MATTERS (Part 2 of 3)

      Why do most Christians believe that God is the creator of all things?  Because the Bible teaches this from Genesis to Revelation (Genesis 1:1; Psalm 33:6, 9; 102:25; Jeremiah 10:12; John 1:3; Acts 14:15; 17:24; Hebrews 3:4; Revelation 4:11).  Why do most skeptics reject this belief?  Because they do not believe the Bible is anything more than a very old book reflecting what people in a less sophisticated world believed about the meaning of life.

     In secular academic circles rejecting or even questioning the idea of evolution is tantamount to believing that the earth is a flat rock riding on the back of some gigantic mythical turtle.  Most Americans are not aware of the deep seated is the hostility that exists against the idea of a personal Creator God. Among the secular academic elite, it is a hostility that boarders on loathing. 

     In recent years there have been serious calls to revoke Ph.D. degrees from credentials scientists who openly admit to a belief in any form of intelligent design, and in particular the idea of full-blown creationism.  This hostility is only now thinly veiled, and is waiting for an opportunity to assert itself though congressionally mandated protocols.

     Generally speaking, the majority of Americans are conflicted when it comes to what they believe about the origin of the earth.  When polled about this belief, the majority of people believed that God had something to do with it, but as the onion of the idea is pealed, the core belief is reduced to only a generally held notion of some kind of creation involvement.

     Such an idea will not satisfy either the conservative evangelical or the secular humanist.  Conservative evangelicals are not willing to abandon the Genesis account of creation, and doctrinaire secularists are not willing to abandon evolution.  There is a real difference of opinion between these two groups, but in that larger middle ground there is less support for creation than for evolution, and this is true mainly because of fundamentally conflicted opinions on the subject.

     That large middle ground of citizens who really do not know what they believe about origins are more likely to be swayed toward the evolution argument if only because it will be pressed so vigorously by those who seem to know what they are talking about (e.g. secularists in control of scientific research and academia).  But do they "really" know what they are talking about?

     ddf

WHY THE CREATION/ EVOLUTION DEBATE MATTERS (Part 1 of 3)

     I often wonder how many Christians in America are aware that the Biblical teaching on the origin of the universe, and most especially the origin of human beings, seems quaint at best and dangerous at worse to most leaders in the public education community.  In recent years, there has been a concerted effort among textbook designers, curriculum committees and departmental leaders to purge all public school textbooks of any language that challenges the doctrine of evolution.

     The effort is serious, and in fact, very little effective resistance has stood in the way of its success.  This is principally because most Christians are either totally uninformed as to its ultimate consequences, or naively believe that it really does not matter what a person thinks about the origin of life.  Others wrongly think that faith always trumps public policy, and that being engaged in such matters amounts to a waste of time.

     The fact is, what a nation as a whole holds to be true of origins, is on a practical level, infinitely more important than what the individual believes.  This is because nations have the power to establish policy.  Considering this fact alone, one may better appreciate that in practically no public school in America is the theory of creation (or even intelligent design) taught along side the theory of evolution.  This is rather remarkable when considering that the Creation Research and Intelligent Design movements (each independent of the other), are the work of highly credentialed and widely respected scientists.

      I invite you to join me this month as we consider why the creation/evolution debate is of such vital importance to both Christians and non-Christians alike. 

     ddf

January 2010
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 Generational Narcissism (Part 5 of 5)

     The Baby Boom generation set out to change the culture, and succeeded.  Have we changed it for the better, and have the succeeding generations continued to build upon our efforts?  If we are to measure success by technology, then we have indeed succeeded.  But we do not hold funerals for technology.  We hold funerals for people.  Technology is important, but the people are the ultimate measure of the success of any generation.

     How have we succeeded with people?  We have succeeded in breaking down the healthful and protective barriers between male and female; we have succeeded in devaluing children and childbearing to the extent that in some quarters pregnancy is considered a disease; we have succeeded in bringing equality between the species to the extent that courts are now being asked to rule as to whether apes and other animals of ought to enjoy constitutional rights…it is not a joke; we have succeeded in breaking down barriers to sexual pleasures to such an extent that virginity and abstinence are in danger of being diagnosed as a form of mental illness.  Sexual activity among teenagers is now so common that free condoms are a staple item in the storerooms of our nation’s high schools.

     We have murdered nearly fifty million innocent but unwanted children through the legalized holocaust of abortion; sodomy laws have been declared unconstitutional and sodomizing a civil right.  At the end of WWII married heterosexual couples comprised fully three quarters of American households, by 2007 that number had slipped to just under one half.  Divorce is so common that the odd ball kids in grade school are the ones who share the same last name with both parents.

     Pornography which was once a criminal issue has become a commercial enterprise; gambling which was mob controlled is now state controlled with lottery tickets as plentiful as confetti at a homecoming parade.  The American middle class is wallowing in debt and shrinking in numbers at an alarming rate.  The so-called working poor are the fastest growing class in the country.

     Children are taught the principle of “stranger danger” which has created a powerful distrust of others, especially adults, yet they are subjected to eye-level visual smut when walking through the checkout counter at the local supermarket.  Parents avoid strong discipline for fear that their wicked little child will call 911 and wind up in foster care and the parents wind up in jail.  Public school teachers are powerless to enforce rules.; God has been kicked out of their classroom, the Bible has been banned as if it were some kind of underground manual for building a dirty bomb; Christmas and Easter have been treated as if they were a celebration of some evil time in our primitive past, and even our Pledge of Allegiance has been treated as if it were an oath of fidelity to a rouge state.

     This is by no means hyperbolae, in fact it is worse than describe above, and the worse is not over.  As the prophet Hosea said of ancient Israel, “For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind” (8:7 KJV).  We are just now beginning to reap.  Recently, we have been told that we, the Boomers, are living too long, and will become the fly in the ointment that will bankrupt the country and cause the healthcare system to go into overload and breakdown.  We are too old to be cool any longer, and we are just now entering that time in our life when we will be in the way.  How will the other generations, bent on having their way like we had ours, deal with us?

     Which brings us to the question of what is the current generation like?  The Apostle Paul spoke of a generation that would be the last immediately prior to the return of Christ.  He gives a prophecy to Timothy, his young protégé.  Here is what he said: “This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, Without natural affection, trucebreakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, Traitors, heady, high-minded, lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God; Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.  For of this sort are they which creep into houses, and lead captive silly women laden with sins, led away with divers lusts, Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth” (2 Timothy 3:1-7 KJV).  Is not this description unsettling in its likeness to our day?

     If the Boomers were our nation’s first truly narcissistic generation, what today is the nation as a whole?  We are a culture of death, that is what.  Narcissism is a death wish, a wish that all else that does not recognize and accept my self love will go away and die.  Ultimately, the self possessed are left alone, to die alone.

     Is it too late to live?  For some, yes.  Because some are still obsessing on self and rejecting the Creator Who gave them life.  For others, no, it is definitely not too late.   There is time to turn to Him, time to seek Him, time to abandon what is left of self, time to seek His face and live; time to return to the faith of our father which is living still.   Almighty God ( the God so many pretend does not exist), has extended this invitation to us: “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land  (II Chronicles 7:14 NIV).  It need is not too late to accept His invitation.

     ddf

Generational Narcissism (Part 4 of 5)

     The Greatest Generation had known sacrifice, hunger, privation and the death of so many at so young an age.  When they took up the business of rebuilding the nation and their own lives, they determined that their children would have it better, and they did, and we do.

     Many have suggested that the desire to give a better life to their children blinded our parents from fully understanding the depth of our rebellion.  Others have speculated that they were tired of fighting anyone, even their own children; while yet others have offered up the theory that they thought as we matured we’d grow out of it.  There is probably truth in all of it.  But could there have been more to it?

     Could it be that fomenting such rebellion was a force of evil more maniacal than they dared to imagine?  Could it be that this was the same force that having failed to destroy America’s Christian influence through an external war had turned its attention to an internal conflict?  To some, such an idea is sheer nonsense, and that may be the power behind the success of it…that it is not to be believed as true.  Yet, how else can we account for such blindly stupid notions of personal freedom and the arrogant casting off of restraints as we, the Boomer generation set into motion?

     Whatever one may think of the idea, we proved to be America’s first fully narcissistic generation.  We were in love with our music, our clothes, our cars, our ways, our hair, and mostly ourselves.  No, not all of us, but enough of us that we created a phenomenon that is still the dominate cultural force in the nation…a force that is amoral at best, and immoral at worst.

      The Boomers were the hippies, the bra burners, the free love advocates, the marijuana puffers, the draft dodgers, the generation that pushed for no-fault divorce laws, the psychedelic generation that insisted we have abortion on demand, and then kicked God out of public education and substituted the folly of evolution for the hopeful comfort of creation.

     One may rightly wonder where has it gotten us, and where has it taken the nation?  We must now ask this question.  We are no longer young, no longer cool; we are grandparents, and our grandchildren are inheriting our moral and ethical fortunes.  What have we bequeathed to them, and how are they spending it?  That question in the final installment.

     ddf

Generational Narcissism (Part 3 of 5)

     Who are we, the generation now known as the Baby Boomers?  Technically, we are the children born to the Greatest Generation during the fifteen years following the end of WWII.  However, for the purpose of this article, we shall limit our attention to the children born between 1945 and 1949 because these are the first children to worship Rock ‘n’ Roll, the first children of the rebellion, and the first truly narcissistic generation in American history.

     Beginning in 1959 in the know-it-all age of our early teens, we presumed the music, dress, religion, and lifestyle of our parents unimportant at best, and a hindrance to our freedom of expression at worst.  We coined the term “cool”, and thought we were.  We rebelled, and the nation took notice.

     Now, fifty years later, I as one of those who rebelled, am asking myself two questions….exactly what it was we that were rebelling against, and why did we do it so mindlessly.  The questions are not unimportant.  The consequences of our rebellion have been far reaching, and few of us would now claim that they created a benefit for the current generation.

     What were we rebelling against?  The question is deeply disturbing to me now, especially in light of the mathematics.  Consider the numbers.  Tens of thousands of twenty year old servicemen married girls as young or younger, and became the parents of the Boomers.  In 1959 when their teenagers were obsessing over Elvis, these parents were only 35 years old.  They were, themselves, young people.  The same young people who, only fifteen years before, had been spilling their blood on the ground in far away places like Normandy and Iwo Jima.  We never even thought about Normandy or Iwo Jima.  We only thought about how out of touch our parents were with the real world.           

     The real world of our parents…what kind of a world was it?  It was a world in which evil tyrants were out to enslave nations, and systematically exterminate whole people groups whom they, in their madness, considered inferior.  The real world of our parents was a world in which they had barely escaped such horrors, and had done so only through the strength of a massive collective effort, and the protection of Almighty God.  Their wounds were not yet healed, and their scars still painful when we attacked them for being out of touch, and not letting us have our way.

     The real world of our parents was also a world where want and hunger were only a negligent choice away; a world of hard work, decency, honor in one’s word, self sacrifice, and a decided dislike for braggarts, bullies and brats.  They did not all profess Christianity or attend church, though the majority did, but they, almost without exception, did believe that people would someday have to answer for what they had done in this life, and that there was a Supreme Being who would eventually be doing the judging of what was good and bad.

     So what were we rebelling against…the sacrifices, the scars, the integrity, the hard work, the honest word, and their decency?  What?  Did we even really know?  What could we have been thinking?  Were we actually even thinking or were we, for the most part, doing little more than giving vent to our growing narcissism?  Was there something more behind it?  Why did our parents seemingly give in to us?  Was it because they were so tired from fighting poverty and evil ideologies that when we rose up against them they had no stomach for another fight?  And, why, for the most part, did the rest of American society give in to us?  We will consider the wider implications of that question next.

     ddf

Generational Narcissism (Part 2 of 5)

   Who was the Greatest Generation?  They were the fathers and mothers of my generation, the generation immediately following WWII.  The parents of the so-called Baby Boomers were the men and women who won the second great world war.  Immediately following, they set their heads and hearts to winning back their own life and the life of the nation.  They went to college, to factories, to farms, to businesses, they came home to their children, and they gave birth to even more children. 

     We were the children of their dreams… dreams that kept them alive during freezing nights on the German front; dreams that keep them from going mad on the sweltering islands of the south pacific; dreams that kept them hopeful at home when news blackouts prevented them from knowing if their husbands or sweethearts had survived some horrific battle.  They were our folks.

     They were also, for the most part young, though statistics vary as to how young.  Most research indicates that the average age of WWII servicemen was 26, but that figure certainly changed with the progress of the war, and even so, 26 is young.  Tens of thousands were under twenty when the war ended.

     The vast majority of them were social conservatives.  They held to certain core ideas that they knew had helped to make America great…values that the nations they defeated in battle did not share.  Most were Christian at least in principle, and shared common ideas of integrity and decency derived from the Bible for which they had great respect.  They kept Harry Truman in the White House, and later sent Dwight Eisenhower to the presidency.

     But that generation held one other distinction, they were among the generation of Americans who, along with their parents and grandparents, survived the greatest peacetime economic disaster in the history of the country…the great depression.  By 1933, unemployment was just under 25% of the U.S. workforce, industrial stocks had lost 80% of their value, 40% of all banks had failed in the four preceding years, farm prices had fallen by 53% in that same period, and the nation was forced to abandon the gold standard.

     WWII was still eight years in the coming, as were years of continued sacrifice and suffering.  The Greatest Generation would be called upon to fight and win two wars…one against national economic collapse, and the other a war against evil enshrined in nations hijacked by mad men.  They won them both. This is who they were.

     But who were we, the generation that social scientists and historians have labeled the Baby Boomers?  That we shall address in the next installment.

     ddf

Generational Narcissism (Part 1 of 5)

     Shortly after its publication in 1998, Tom Brokaw’s book “The Greatest Generation” contributed a new term to the American experience.  Almost as if it were a latent apology for having callously disregarded the sacrifices of their parents, the so-called Baby Boomers embraced Brokaw’s book so thoroughly that it became an instant best seller.  The book’s title has now become the most widely used term when referring to the generation that fought and won WWII…the Greatest Generation.

     Fast forward a meager fifteen years from 1945 when the war ended, and you arrive at the middle of what is often called the age of Rock ‘n’ Roll, also commonly known as the age of the rebellion.  This author does not need to study that era to know whether it deserves such a pejorative distinction.  He lived it, and has not forgotten.

     From the mid 1950’s through the late 1960’s, my generation rebelled.  We rebelled not only in our music, but also through our dress, automobiles, entertainments, language, sexual activities, attitudes, and lifestyles.  We rebelled against the Greatest Generation, and we did it without so much as a thought of what that generation had so recently given in order to make possible our very existence, and our right to rebel.  We were America’s first truly narcissistic generation.  Of course, not everyone rebelled, but enough of our generation did that the rest of our classmates were swept up in the socially violent flow.

     The purpose of this tome is to briefly explore that aberrant phenomenon and its effect on the Boomer and succeeding generations.   Without apology, it should be established that the rebellion was both deviant and intrinsically wicked.  The Greatest Generation were our parents, and in rebelling, we broke the fifth Commandment (Exodus 20:12; Leviticus 19:32) by failing to honor our fathers and our mothers.  Furthermore, ours was not the mild kind of rebellion common to all generations.  The rebellion that followed WWII was motivated and fueled by reckless self-absorption, and the fantastically irrational idea that individual rights always trumped collective rights.  It was generational narcissism.

     We shall begin by asking the question, “Who were these fathers and mothers, and what was so great about their generation?”  We shall take that up in the next installment.

     ddf