Let the Children Read

In an otherwise enjoyable report about the phenomenon that is Harry Potter, the Economist correspondent praises J.K. Rowling for avoiding "the temptation to sneak ideology into children's heads by wrapping it in fantasy. C.S. Lewis's children's books... are spoiled by creeping piety."

Seriously?

One would hope an Economist correspondent is not disturbed by the thought a book with ideas. Historically, the story has always been the preferred method of conveying morality, religion and philosophy. If my literature teachers are to be believed, Homer's Odyssey was meant to reinforce the idea that without the gods, men are nothing, for example. The best books for the smallest children are full little ideologies such as parents should be obeyed, home is a good place to be, or that people who are different should be nonetheless respected.

Lewis is at its best when his writing is clearly Christian. Aslan's (a lion who represents Christ) death and resurrection in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, a boy's transformation and conversion in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Aslan's appearance as a lamb at the end of the same book, a theological discussion with an evil witch (who insists that Aslan is not real, but a projection of cats the children had seen in her underworld) in The Silver Chair, Narnia's creation story in The Magician's Nephew and the apocalypse and paradise in The Last Battle are all Lewis at its best.

I should point out that the correspondent is an equally dismissive of Philip Pullman's "anti-clericalism," which causes his books to "suffer." I have not read his works, but my friends who have unanimously love The Golden Compass, though opinions of the rest of the series are mixed. Pullman is as blatant about his atheism as Lewis is about his Christianity. I suspect that this, in the same way, makes his books more interesting.

Perhaps the writer is offended that children could be exposed to religious (or anti-religious) themes? Pray, to what themes should a child be exposed? Granted, unlike Lewis or Pullman, Rowling's novels are not intended as an apology, per se. The Potter books are exciting as sort of a coming-of-age western with wands instead of guns, complete with a climatic magical shootout. But themes, philosophies, indeed ideologies persist, as they should be. These themes include self-sacrifice, the power of unconditional love and clear definitions of good and evil. No children's writer can be expected to write something without saying something about anything. The article even acknowledges feminist critiques of the series, but I wonder if a feminist might say the books are "spoiled" by creeping traditional gender roles. Some conservative Christians object to any book with magic, fearing that all such roads lead to demonic practices. Not every parent will approve of the Hogwarts hijinks, complete with snogging, butter beer and, something that made one parent I know very uncomfortable, perpetual lying to authority. Indeed, as the correspondent acknowledges, when a book becomes so popular, the critiques will follow.

The books that convey some sort of ideology, intentionally or unintentionally, must greatly outnumber those who somehow manage to avoid it, and many of those who try to avoid it command us to believe in nothing. Whoever penned the article should acknowledge that he or she simply is uncomfortable with religious ideas and speak with or censor his or her children as appropriate. Indeed both Lewis and Pullman were forthright about their intentions. While my own parents, encouraged certain books (as Christians, they happily read the Narnia series to my sisters and me), I am grateful that they did little to censor my reading. They did, however, keep the communication open. I hope to do the same with my children. I agree with and will attempt to raise them in the Christian faith, and Lewis will surely play a role. If they want to read Pullman, Rowling, Dan Brown or anything else that is clearly not bent on destruction, they may, but I will speak with them about it. Movies, TV shows, websites even commercials convey some sort of worldview, some of which I will find appealing and some I will find appalling. The fact that Lewis and Pullman have something intelligent to say about transcendence should be refreshing, and the fact that the writer seems to expect children to grow up without reference to ideas, or indeed ideologies, is baffling.

Children will be getting ideas from somewhere or something, all the time. Their teachers, whatever the form, will only in the rarest of cases be without bias. Part of their growing up will be deciding for themselves. Let's guide them, but let's give the a little more credit.

Where Do We Best Practice Evangelism?

A Facebook status went something like this:

"why is it so easy for me to talk about Jesus in America than in Germany?"

This was not the status of a frustrated former American colleague still fighting the good fight back in Freiburg. Rather, it was a German minister who my wife knew through an American Baptist church the old country. Another German, also in ministry, commented to suggest it was philology: some of the more "spiritual" words have negative connotations auf deutsch then they do in Yankee English. This may be true. But it is a German tradition to discuss in detail every possibility (even the most ridiculous - one of the few places we Americans are more efficient than our German friends is during a meeting. I was once in a meeting where no one was late - an important German value - but we spent a good twenty minutes discussing theoretical punishments for latecomers, dialecticly analyzing every contribution with no real conclusion. I'm sharing this because I find the example funny - not being a particularly efficient person, I did not mind, but I've already digressed...). Anyway, my hypothesis is that he found spiritual conversation easier in America for the very fact that he was foreign.

I say this, because I found it easier to talk about spiritual things in Germany. Yes, it is more of a taboo theme in continental Europe, but I found this to be freeing. Yes, part of my job meant, three to four days per week, sitting with German college students I had never met before to share the Gospel with them. I would try to bring a Gospel presentation into the first conversation. But the miry post-modernism forced any part of me that wanted to treat the Gospel like a sales-pitch to wither and be cut from the branch. (which suited me just fine)

My foreignness helped. The mere curiosity of why I was there (sometimes sprinkled with surprise that an American actually knew German) was an useful ice-breaker. I took advantage of the German willingness to at least consider all possibilities (my previous joking aside, I consider this an admirable trait), and it helped me even with those who had been trained by well-meaning humanists to believe my views were the basic cause of all human suffering.

In America, meanwhile, outside of a closer circle of friends, and especially with nonbelievers, I find it difficult to get past the superficial with anyone. I can do okay with what my father calls "news, sports and weather" conversations, but beyond that, it is simply difficult for me.

I agree, then, with one of my pastors, who himself moved to a foreign country to do ministry, that our biggest barrier to evangelism is the fear of alienation. Making your beliefs plain outside of sympathetic company will do this. Perhaps in Germany, I was a bit of an alien to begin with, and this fear was diffused. This is not, I should point out, a good excuse not to practice evangelism - Perfect Love ought to drive out all fears, and evangelism is both life giving and life saving.

This may not be true for everybody. And there could be other reasons why German evangelism came easier to me - such as my own personality or the fact that I was working for a missionary organization and it was my job to tell others about Jesus.

But often, I become nostalgic for those German nonbelievers, partial-believers, atheists, agnostics and others who spoke to me. It was not, of course, East Asia - there is much soil work to do before these seeds will grow. But our conversations moved from cafeterias to warm-glowing, smoky bars between satisfactory tastes of wheat beer, where the Gospel was proclaimed, discussed, analyzed and considered.

Seasonal Sensitivity for Our Atheist Friends

After watching Paul Rudnick explain how we get through the month of December without offending our Jewish friends, I began to reflect on another group of people who must feel isolated by all the blatant displays of religiosity: atheists. I read essays, articles and ad campaigns from various non-believers, and they all have one thing in common - they are ornery. I'd be ornery too if I had to suppress all these feelings of transcendence, thankfulness and hope and insist that I'm fine. Really. "Stop worrying and enjoy your life." I saw linked to Harpers a book by the usual suspects with some entertainers thrown in on essays to help them survive Christmas time. I'm looking forward to the Family Atheist Bookstore chain (perhaps with kitschy statues of Charles Darwin letting the little children come to him), but as our Atheist friends are surrounded by all this faith inspired hope and good cheer, perhaps we can help them feel more comfortable.

First, away with Happy Holidays. This is appropriate for inter-faith gatherings, but now that the atheists are out of the closet, it will not do. Holiday literally mean "holy day." And to say that anything is holy is implying something or someone has the divine right to set anything aside as holy. (While we're add it, I haven't heard a good atheists reason why we should have Saturday and Sunday off. If we had enough Muslims in this country during the industrial revolution, we would have gotten Friday off to boot) The truly all-inclusive greeting is "seasons greetings." As far as I can tell, atheists do not deny seasons ("it's nothing but where the earth is positioned around the sun! Away with your quasi-religious sensibilities!"). Incidentally, we should stop referring to other days of the year where we stop working to celebrate something as holidays. Can a season be a day long? For example, on Martin Luther King day, we can say, "have a good MLK season!" Just don't mention that he was a reverend.

Whenever you invite an atheist to your house, remember to remove any decorative religious symbols. Your tree should be decorated with simple, non-sentimental glass balls of no symbolic colors. Mangers and Menorahs are out. Stars are probably ok. As for as I can tell, atheists do not deny stars ("they are enormous burning fireballs scattered across the universe! Your gold plastic five-cornered statue could never symbolize that! Away with your quasi-religious sensibilities!").

Be sure to give gifts to the atheists in your life. They should be wrapped in paper with nothing descriptive on it. Perhaps a brown paper bag will do, as long as it is not the seasonal brown paper bags provided by some less ecumenical grocery stores this time of year. Be sure to write seasons greetings on it, and avoid the subject of why you gave the gift in the first place.

All public buildings should remain open on December 25th. I'm sure atheists would be willing to staff them. Saturday and Sunday too.

Jane Austen's sillier characters

When your wife is pregnant, movie date nights involves very mild films. This is because pregnancy tends to heighten a woman's emotions, and any film where anything truly bad happens to anyone, particularly if violence is involved, will cause your wife, your unborn child and you not to sleep through the night. This is especially true if, say, an innocent vegetable is hacked to pieces with a kitchen knife and thrown into a salad. A few weeks ago, deciding that HBO's John Adam's miniseries is too violent, we flipped through the channels in search of an alternative. Fortunately, the Disney Channel was showing Aladdin, and the giant-snake cartoon violence at the end was too unrealistic to be a threat.

Last night, instead of risking a non-family friendly rental, we broke out our copy of Sense and Sensibility, the most tolerable Jane Austen film for us men. In Jane Austen films (I'm using this for short-hand - I know Austen wrote the books and that directors and writers, in this case Ang Le and Emma Thompson, adapted it to the screen), the main characters are well developed and multifaceted, but many of the side characters, particularly the comically unpleasant ones, are very one dimmensional. I cannot speak for the books, have never read them (nor do I intend to), of course. The background characters are fools or gossips or greedy villains with no or few redeeming qualities to see, and watching Sense and Sensibility play off all of these familiar characteristics reminded me how easy it is to take the shallow view of someone in the real world.

One particularly despicable character reminded me of an acquaintance, and I was tempted to dismiss this person in my mind again due to the more awful characteristics. I know that there is more to this person, more than a cartoon sketch makes for comfortable categorization. Austen's work put to film would be too tedious if these characters were given more three-dimensional personalities. Of course, I can see myself in the cowardice and indecisiveness of many of Austen's men (though they are fleshed out in more redeeming ways). But it's good to be reminded that our loose characterizations of others - in our art, in our jokes, in our thoughts - don't show the full picture. How easy it would be for those who don't have the time or the space to get to know me assume my quirks, idiosyncrasies and, to put it bluntly, sins, paint the whole picture.

Pimp My Dad

What does the hip father look like?

I've seen him on Capitol Hill, Saturday morning in my favorite coffee shop, or strutting like a aged rooster over Washington's crooked sidewalks. He's over forty, and middle-age chub around the belly notwithstanding, he's a damned fine looking gentlemen. Well cropped hair (though he has a fairly normal haircut, you can tell he does a bit better than the local Hair-Cuttery), with a distinguished gray frost.

But what makes him stand out is his gear, something I would never have noticed before I shopped for baby gear myself. Baby gear reminds me of camping gear. When I spent my summer in Yellowstone telling hippies and foreigners about Jesus, everyone there was separated into the haves and the have-nots of camping gear. I had some modest hiking boots, a decent sleeping bag and a Jansport backpack. The "haves" had an impressive assortment of lightweight, expensive contraptions that made sure they would win any battle with whatever nature had to throw at them. Not only could they sleep in their sleeping bags and 20-below, but I suspect the material would have protected the sleeper through a buffalo-stampede. Grizzly bears couldn't bite through their fleeces.

The hip father wears similar gear, except it's all designed to somehow attached a baby to his person. His stroller would survive a monster-truck rally, and costs as much as a used Nissan. His baby carrier is bullet-proof, and can carry the baby front, back, sideways, up and down. Incidentally, with his smart phone attached to his face and his baby attached to his gut, his hands swing unfettered. The baby sucks on pacifiers and bottles custom-designed for his little mouth in lab somewhere in Nevada. The baby onesies are name-brand and designed in Milan.

My little girl will sleep, play, nap and be changed in her pack-in-play. Our baby-carriers will may give me a bad back, but I'll carry her around proud. Our stroller's just a frame where we can hook a fairly decent car-seat, which is a beautiful bright red. We've been blessed with all sorts of handmedowns for her to wear - and Lord willing we will bless others with our own hand-me-downs. For some reason, baby clothes seem better shared, and some of the stuff we have is cool. She's an infant, not a teenager. She won't care if her dad is not hip.

A Two-Part Blog on Buying a Book

Part I: The Bookshop

It's an intimidating thing, to talk about books with a stranger. At least, for me, it is. It's intimidating, because it is intimate.

This afternoon, my dad brought me, our bellies full of enchiladas from my birthday lunch, to a beautiful seaside bookstore. He would buy me a birthday book, in the middle of our seaside vacation for a little bit of birthday R&R. The bookshop was everything a bookshop should be. It shines like a star in a state where so much can seem inauthentic and plastic. It was tall and not wide, but the tall shelves were in reach of short arms. It was big enough to walk around with friends and strangers but small enough for the intimate exploration that is reading. When reading, you should have something close to you. It had an appropriate mix of popular and classics, old, new and things I had never seen before. I had a specific book in mind, but one that would be my little secret (ok, my dad knew too) until I met the cashier, where I could, afterwards, retreat to the parking lot and to my sister's friend's mother's beach house, which is also wonderfully tall and not wide.

If a stranger knows my book, he or she could know me or judge me. Sometimes, I don't know which is worse, but I fear them both. And, yet, I long for them both (hence, the blog). I wonder if I blushed, then, when a smart-looking woman with dark hair and a pointed expression asked if she could help me find what I was looking for. She was not overly friendly in a southern kind of way, but she was business-like and helpful in a way that I could not refuse. Like everyone else who worked there, I had the impression that she knew her books. These were not the bored teenagers at your local chain bookstore. They sell books, and then read them for fun. They sit on their second-story porch where they can see the sea from their hammock and read without inhibition, the wind lovingly combing their hair like a French servant. In fact, I found my dream job. Where else could I combine my passions for learning and leisure?

I told her I was looking for "The Man Who Was Thursday," by G.K. Chesterton. I enjoyed his short detective stories staring Father Brown, and I am always looking for cases when Christians write well. I did not tell her this because of restraints on time and context. She knew of the book but did not have it. What did she think of me? I wondered. Did she presume I was a Christian, and made the jump to talk-show religious politics? How she must have shuddered! Did she know that some of his statements, if taken the wrong way (and you know there must be all sorts of left-learning academics who take it the wrong way) could be seen as justifying evil acts of the Catholic Church? Ok, I admit, some of his phrases bother me too, the way Thomas Jefferson's racism bothers me. Jefferson and Chesterton are men of their times and should be read as such, but I digress. In any case, I told her my secret and found out it wasn't there. Did I mention the customer service at this place is great?

Part II: Choosing a Book

My Chesterton book was not there, but I am not one to let a birthday go to waste. I searched for another book. It's a task I can't take lightly. I once saw a quotation on a mug for sale at Barnes and Noble that admonished me to "choose your books like you choose your friends" or something like that. This is true. A book, a very good book, at least, is a commitment. It is a relationship, one that says, the mental energy spent on you is worth the time away from the television, the internet or the bar. Iron sharpens iron, and a well-written book can sharpen me. That is why I am such a slow reader. The first few chapters are an awkward courtship, testing the syntax, meeting the characters, feeling through the plot and, above all, wondering what the author believes and how much that will affect me. Furthermore, I had just ended my relationship with Anna Karenina. It was a violent and beautiful end, leaving me much to process and consider (times with journals and good friends, comfort food, warm cups of tea and the like). I admit it - I have some withdraw. But, for the sake of my own health, I cannot go back, and, for that matter, I need some time away from Tolstoy. I have read some of Chesterton's non-fiction and knew what to expect, so I decided he was a safer bet for another novel relationship. Whom to choose, with him, at the moment, spoken for?

At most book stores these days, the tables towards the front - tempting shoppers entrance and exit - are fling books. These books don't demand much from a relationship. The clever covers and entertaining authors promise a beach romp on your next vacation with no strings attached. They wave and wink from their low tables and store-front displays all the way to the shelves of novels from yesteryear. They require low commitment and have a high entertainment-to-challenge ratio. I'm not above slipping one in my carry-on for my next flight to Germany. Even respectable bookshops such as this one are not immune to such flirtatious marketing. It's where the money is.

But in my heart of heart, emotional scars and all, I need meat, not candy. Book flings are fun, but a deep challenging novel dares speak to me at a human level and somehow makes the rest of my life seem more complete. In a section exclusively for southern writers, I find "Jayber Crow," by Wendell Berry. I have only read Berry's essays and a smidgeon of his poetry. His prose alone is worth the price of the book, and his vision of community and local economy shake me. Expect me to throw out our computers and take up gardening if I prove malleable before his stern expression.

My dad bought the book from the woman with a pointed expression. She was not wearing trendy, bookish glasses, but part of me thought she should be. We stepped outside, tasted air brought in fresh from the Gulf Coast, and moved forward.

I stand corrected

It pains me to see them win, but congratulations Miami. I was complaining to my colleague as to how awful these Noles-Canes Labor Day games have been. This was an amazing game.

Embarrassing

I know she was on the swim-team in high school, but my 6-month pregnant wife swam faster than me yesterday. Maybe she was wearing one of those confounded new swimsuits the Germans wore at internationals...

Resurfacing

My work commute was temporarily changed so that I rode the Metro to Crystal City for a few mornings this week. While it is no fun changing trains at L'Enfant Plaza, which must be built close to one of the sweltering outer circles of hell, I got to make the trek with my wife, whose regular workstation is Crystal City. The morning commute is easier with a hand to hold.

The other nice thing about the trip is that, as any DC resident knows, the Yellow Line train goes over the Potomac instead under it (as the Blue and the Orange line do between Rosslyn and Foggy Bottom). We, the morning passengers, rise out of our darkened journey to be reminded of the world - a flowing river, greenery, DC's beautiful skyline and Arlington's less beautiful. We resurface from our newspapers, blackberries and blank stares to see sunlight, touching beauty, making it softer and more beautiful. It is a small but meaningful pleasure, before 8 AM, on our way into white walls, florescent lights, air conditioning and computer screens.

Scott's Voice

I will mostly remember Scott for his voice. He had many qualities worth remembering: He was a talented musician whose fingers would dance effortlessly around his six-string. He had a face that would light up with a disarming smile as he shared told a joke or led a congregation in worship. He had a love and passion for people - his family, his friend or the needy men and women who he would counsel in a school that would train the un- and under-employed in job skills. But when he sang, all of these noble qualities were a passionate platform off of which to launch his voice. His voice would soar over the congregation in an arch ever upward, leading us with him, to give glory to God.

I never saw him as he fought his cancer. It destroyed his body over the years since I moved away from Orlando. I read his email updates and learned more about him through my father. He refused to wallow in his sufferings, and allowed them to be a testimony to the Lord's love, the Lord's strength, that the end that awaits us all is not the end.

Scott is with the Lord, to whom he so passionately sung. The beauty of his voice was never in that he sang for others. When he sang in front of the church, there was only One to whom his passion, his energies and his voice were focused. Today his voice, unhindered by any sin or suffering this fallen world throws as us, is raised to Him. And like his Savior, Scott will rise again and sing His glory with his beautiful voice.

A Camp for Atheists is a Chance for Engagement

If I had grown up going to the Christian summer camps Lexington describes in this week's Economist column, I think I would start an atheist summer camp too. Atheists, evidently, find comfort that a camp promoting skepticism is joining a market saturated by, among other things, religion.

About the atheist summer camp, Lexington writes: "They are not pushy or preachy, but scepticism flavours nearly everything they do. Lunch comes with a five-minute talk about a famous freethinker. Campers are told that invisible unicorns inhabit the forest, and offered a prize if they can prove that the unicorns do not exist. The older kids learn something about the difficulty of proving a negative. The younger ones grow giggly at the prospect of stepping in invisible unicorn poop."

How should we as Christians react to this? According to Lexington, "the kind of people who send their kids to Bible camp are appalled. Answers in Genesis, a Christian fundamentalist group, berates Camp Quest for drumming a “hopeless” world view into young minds."

I'm not so sure this camp, as Lexington describes it, is any more hopeless than the worldview of their atheist parents, or for that matter, the barrage of media children receive every day. I think, instead, this could help us better approach our atheist friends. Like Christians, and like almost any other subset of people in the U.S., atheists feel alienated. Lexington devotes a good portion of the column to the "lonely 1 in 12," and describes how less likely they would obtain elected office as compared to almost any other unpopular minority. Yet, they do not have networks through churches or other associations that almost any other group would have. Atheists need community, as do all of us. Consider this paragraph, for a moment:

"Many atheists opt to remain in the closet, except perhaps with their closest friends. It is the path of least resistance. Deny the existence of God and you may be challenging your neighbours’ most deeply held beliefs. That could get you ostracised, so why risk it? Yet living in the closet has costs. Christians have their beliefs constantly reinforced by neighbours who proudly and openly share them. Atheists often wrestle with their consciences alone, even though they are perhaps 8% of the population. Christopher Hitchens, the author of an antireligious polemic in 2007, observed that half the people who came to his book-promoting speeches had thought they were the only atheists in town."

Two weeks ago, my pastor preached on hospitality, and that hospitality towards those who provide us with no advantage, including the alienated, is a mark of a mature Christian. Since then, I have wonderd where we are with hospitality. Has Christian hospitality gotten to the point that atheists must wrestle with their consciences alone? Do we really need to ostracize anyone who challenges our most deeply held beliefs? The victims of the so-called culture wars are not necessarily the children who are exposed to pagan or atheistic ideas - that is unavoidable in this world. The victims are those who grow up in an environment where friendship with those of different beliefs is discouraged and conversations between believers and non-believers are squelched. If atheists feel unwelcome in American society, however secular we are becoming, then who can blame them for wanting their own camps and social institutions. We need to see this as a new opportunity for engagement.

There are a couple things to find encouraging about a summer camp for the children of Atheists. First, it is a reminder that everyone is seeking community. God made us for it, and commanded us to love each other. The camp will not last forever, and if we can provide, or at least be part of, community in a way that is genuinely loving and welcoming, there is a good foundation for further, potentially life changing conversation. Second, the seeds of skepticism can be used in our favor. If this camp truly encourages children to "weigh the evidence" and "explore ethical questions," then the foundations can be made for belief. Coming from ministry in Germany, a country where for obvious historical reasons skepticism is held in relatively high regard, I learned that a true skeptic will eventually be skeptical of other skeptics. Moreover, we could almost say that the history of Christianity is rich in skepticism. Jesus taught his followers to be skeptical of the ways of the world, and He ushered in a new Kingdom where the meek were blessed and enemies were loved. They were skeptical of imperialism, revolution and showy religiosity. We protestants can look to Martin Luther, who was skeptical of the structures of the Catholic church. Skepticism cannot be the end-all some may want it to be, but it can be the beginning of changed lives.

We need not always be "appalled," surprised or intimidated by the actions of unbelievers. We need to lovingly engage atheists (and anyone else) at the community level, encourage any honest search for truth, speak the truth ourselves and pray that they will find it.

Food Blogger

Justin has a new blog about food - always one of my favorite subjects. He even has the occasional guest writer...

Want to Work in Politics? Put on Your Uniform!

In Federalist 10, James Madison wrote, "the latent causes of faction are thus sewn into the nature of man," and he went on to argue for the creation of a Republic to render all factions "subservient to the public good." Living on the Capitol's back porch, I get to witness competing factions of all sorts.

What Madison could not have foreseen is the advent of 24-hour news, the Internet and social media to make politics so entertaining. Indeed, political theater has become like sporting events. With so much exposure, it may be difficult for the average fan to turn on C-span, CNN or YouTube to figure out who is who. I therefore propose a new regulations for our factions. Taking a cue from our friends in the sports world, I say that all political players should wear uniforms.

Most DC politicos wear drab, conservative suits. Under the new rules, Republicans (politicians and their staffers) would wear bright red suits and Democrats would wear bright blue suits (red and blue being the media's colors for the respective parties). The Green Party would, of course, wear green, and independents purple. Smaller parties would have to choose their own colors, (provided they choose ones who are not already taken) perhaps with the help of public relations agencies.

This would not stop with political parties, however. Special interests would have to wear their own uniforms. The pharmaceutical lobby, and for that matter any special interest group related to health care, would wear long, white doctor's coats and stethoscopes around their necks. Likewise, patients advocates would don hospital gowns. Lobbyists for the defense industry should dawn second-hand army uniforms and camouflage face paint. Auto industry workers should wear mechanics jump suits with the name of the car company they represent embroidered on the upper right-hand side. Tech lobbyists would dress like my friends in the tech community - trendy jeans, clever t-shirts and flip flops. The farm lobby, of course, would dress like the couple in the American Gothic.

You get the idea. Foreign diplomats would wear the traditional clothes of their native countries. Religious advocates would don the appropriate vestments. Peace advocates would dress like hippies (as some already do). All in all, these uniforms would enhance the entertainment value for the viewing public, as they watch the factions compete for their share of the public good.

What is Worth Dying For?

When a German diplomat warned H. to move his family out of Yemen's increasingly dangerous northern territories into the Sana'a, its Capital, he did not listen. When the brother of a man he shared Christ with threatened H.'s life if he did not remain silent about his Christianity, he did not listen. Neither did G. or S., a nurse and a worker in H's hospital, respectively. The bodies of both of them, women in their mid-twenties, were discovered in a riverbed. H. and his family are still missing. Last week's Spiegel gives its readers front row seats to modern martyrdom.

Der Spiegel, according to my German teacher at the now-defunct ABC Deutsch language school, is the magazine German university students carry around to look intelligent. It is as well circulated in Germany as say Time or Newsweek, though it uses more trees to go further in depth than any of these magazines. Like, say, the Economist, its covers are meant to be provocative, though I find them two steps less clever and three steps in the direction of the National Enquirer (the cover in the wake of the financial crisis was a picture of the Statue of Liberty's extinguished flame). In one issue, (speaking of the Enquirer) the weekly attempted to give credibility to some pretty wild conspiracy theories about 9/11.

Provocativeness aside, the articles are patient enough to go deep, to follow stories and people, and they are essential reading to anyone interested in exploring the intellectual left of Germany (any takers...? am I the only one?). Throughout this article runs an unsurprising perplexity with why anyone would risk their lives to talk openly about their religion in a hostile region of the world. Evangelical, fundamentalist, Bible-true, missionary - as the journalists journey from missionary hospitals to Bible-schools, there is no distinction between these words. The writers stand outside of the believing bubble, wondering how any belief could lead someone to lay down their life for anything.

Der Spiegel briefly contrasts this philosophy with a state-approved protestant pastor, himself bewildered by such extreme actions. We have a different interpretation of mission, he says. The article does not expound on his interpretation. Is it different than Jesus' interpretation? Jesus, who quoted Proverbs when I said that greater love has no man than he who gave his life for His friends? Jesus who died so that we may believe on Him, and in doing so overcome death? His immediate followers had the same interpretation. They immediately began preaching in a Roman world as hostile as northern Yemen. Powerful and dangerous men did not want to change their views of God, of imperial power, of religious morality, and Jesus' disciples laid down their lives for their friends. And they laid down their lives for Jesus.

One of those followers, Paul, wrote in Romans 10:9, "if you confess with your mouth, that Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." Growing up in a Christian home, I have always found this a comfortable verse, a beacon of evangelical simple salvation after nine chapters of heady theology. I even learned a childrens song about it. Not so for a Chinese lawyer who preached in my church recently. This lawyer represents those who are imprisoned, shamed, tortured and killed for confessing with their mouth that Jesus is Lord. He said in ancient Rome this verse was a death sentence. The Roman government sanctioned the early church, as long as they did not say this verse. Caesar was Lord, not Jesus, and to say differently was serdition. What was true in the face of Roman centurions is true in the face of Chinese policemen and Yemeni Islamists.

For those of us who live in the comfortable West, in Germany and America, we get to decide for ourselves, as individuals, who is Lord, without fear of death or violent persecution. We risk being unfashionable. We risk being mocked in respected magazines. More dangerous, we risk believing the fashions and the magazines. We risk falling for an interpretation of mission that does not ruffle feathers, that does not love our enemies, that does not risk laying our lives down for our friends, much less our Lord. We risk using professional politics to try to accomplish the Lord's work rather than spreading the Kingdom through words and deeds of kindness.

If the Spiegel article is to be believed, H. reported to his home church about the man he shared Jesus with. The same man whose brother threatened him with death. H. saw this man as a friend, someone worth giving his life for. I do not know if he is alive, but I pray he is, that he may further astonish us with the courage God gave him. If he is dead, then he, as the writer of Hebrews says, "was to good for this world," and he "placed his hope in the resurrection to a better life." The German diplomat who warned H. to leave northern Yemen reported that he appeared to be living in his own world. I disagree. The problem for many westerners, myself included, is that we live in our own worlds. It is too uncomfortable not to. H. lived, and perhaps died, because he, like his Creator, so loved this one.

Will the Kindle further isolate readers?

I do not have the disposable income to purchase an Amazon Kindle. Some of my more technically-minded friends love it. Brian says it helps him read more. Justin and Wes enjoy theirs too. I am a book lover, so at some point, I see myself with a later generation of it. My back would not hurt from dragging around a 1400 page Tolstoy or a Bible with commentary. When I am older and losing eyesight, I can adjust the font on my Kindle without having to by those atlas-sized large print books. Plenty of trees could be saved as newspapers and college text books are converted to electrons. The Kindle and the other reader products it has and will inspire are the future of reading.

There is a traditionalist in me, however. The traditionalist loves me smell of a library, the touch of paper, covers and cover art. My joke about the the Kindle has been, "but what about my pretentious bookshelf?" I do have a pretentious bookshelf. I used to be able to brag that I had read everything on it, until one of my pastors gave away a whole bunch of seminary books. Now I have a bunch of seminary-ready books and commentaries that I will never get to short of a masters degree (if I had the disposable income for one of those...).

Yes, there is an element of pride in my bookshelf, though plenty of other Washingtonians would find it quaint. I have, however, a nobler reason for my bookshelf. I like books as conversation starters. I want someone to come over to my house and learn more about me through my literature. I want people to say, "oh, you read Chesterton? I do to. What did you think of The Everlasting Man?" or something to the sort. Chances are, if I have been to your house, I have done the same thing. To know me is to know the stories and thoughts I like to explore. A good place to start would be my bookshelf. Would a Kindle further isolate you from me? Sure, we could ask each other about what we read, what we have read. Regardless, on my bookshelf, there is further information that I would forget or refuse to tell you, worth one thousand of my words.

With the Kindle, reading becomes more private, especially for those of us introverts who prefer not to volunteer our information, but secretly want you to know us. Do you every look at what people are reading on the DC Metro? I do, and I am sure people notice me. The older black ladies and I read Bibles. The hurried young professionals, including me, read The Economist. I share a small connection, usually silent and unacknowledged, with anyone reading the same book as me. There is another connection to people who read different things than I. Can you judge a person by the cover of the book they read? I know I do. This is not the sort of condemnation the Bible warns us about, but it makes me more curious about the person. It says something about their interests, their feelings, what they want to know and what kind of story they like. A practical economist might ask if any of these connections have turned into a real friendship. Of course not. But these connections, however fleeting, are significant. They make us human. Actual books humanize my follow Metro-travelers (and Barnes & Noble browsers, and Peregrine loiterers) in a way a bunch of drab, electronic folders cannot. This is a daily source of comfort to me, as a train hurries me to work.

Justin also points out that it is difficult to share books with the Kindle. I am sure there are good reasons for this. I could imagine a publisher's or author's reluctance for their books to go the way of the album. They should remember, however, that book sharing is good marketing. It is also another good way to connect with people. It requires a certain openness. "I loved this book, and I imagine you would too, " or "I've wanted to try out that author, may I borrow your book?" Bonds form through sharing things, and there is nothing better than sharing a book.

I talked about judging people by the cover of the book they are reading. Keep in mind, we do judge books by their covers, and the Kindle takes away the cover. My Metro-browsing is also good marketing for publishers and authors. I might see a book on a subject that interests me, or I could be reminded of an author I have been meaning to try, or an issue magazine I want to read. Likewise, I happen to like commercial art. Design, of course, is "in," and book design is very appealing to me. There are some very creative book covers out there, and, yes it is shameless marketing, but looking at covers in and of themselves is no small pleasure.

Since we can assume the Kindle is the future, I hope its producers and readers consider its potentially isolating effects. One suggestion I thought of is putting a screen on the front that displays the title of the book or paper you are reading. If old-fashioned books invite connecting-curiosity, why not design the Kindles to do the same? Second, we readers need to actively share what we read. Book clubs will continue. What if we read aloud to one another? This was what many did instead of television in the 1800s, and what better way to bond family and friends? I got the idea from this morning's New York Times, which I read on my Kindle-sized laptop. Verlyn Klinkenborg comments on the "lost art of reading aloud." Yes, I know, who has that kind of time? But in a room with people you love and a mutually loved book, if everyone actually took it seriously, imagine the learning, the bonding, the discussion afterwards?

The image of the bookworm is the bespecticaled loner crouched in a corner with a book that will soon be with a small machine. This image is not without truth. But books are full of too many ideas, jokes, thoughts and stories not to share. Let's bond with one another in our reading.

How God may be drawing you, and why Christianity is better than vague spirituality

New York Times statistic/chart guru Charles M. Blow has noted that people who grow up in families with no religious affiliation are increasingly turning to religion, much to the chagrin of his “non-religious” friends. He cites evidence why this should be preposterous. The Bible, apparently, is full of contradictions, evolution is irrefutable, and neuro-research is beginning to suggest that God is merely a product of our minds. However, people have a vague since of spirituality that draws them to community, ritual and worship. To sum it up, Mr. Blow’s non-religious friends should accept at a distance the comfortable notion of a vague spirituality that might draw someone who was once perfectly reasonable through the doors of a church, mosque or synagogue.

First, I want to address his assumptions of the unreasonableness of Christianity. I cannot speak for any other religion, and anyone who takes religion seriously rejects the idea that they are merely different flavors of the same thing. But too many have accept Christianity based on reason to allow Mr. Blow’s crudely-dismissive generalizations to carry weight. I get it, though. I get why it’s cool to dismiss religion as a whole. The loudest voices seem to be the extremes – the Pat Robertsons and Osama Bin Ladins of this world, the violent and the reactionary. Perhaps religion was more palatable when the prophetic voices were those of Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa or Mahatma Gandhi. It takes a spiritual depth and a certain amount of patience, dare I say faith, to explore beyond the loudest voices, and I fear Mr. Blow’s hypotheses only add to the noise – an intellectually acceptable talk-radio on the pages of a national newspaper. Let me address his assumptions in turn.

There may very well something in our brain that makes in all-too natural for us to come up with the idea of a God. I have no intention in disputing the latest findings of neuroscience. To assume, however, that this proves that God does not exist is a philosophical fallacy. That science can explain why anyone would believe God exists does not explain away God any more than a scientific explanation of why I need and want love would explain away my wife. Any intellectually honest exploration of Christianity must separate the question of God’s existence from our ability to come up with the idea of him. Moreover, that our brains may have an innate God-picture could suggest that there is a creator who would want to be found by faith. It might be another way to look at these ideas.

The same principle applies to evolution. If evolution is irrefutable, is God disproved? Francis Collins, who led the effort to map the human genome and is a committed Christian, certainly does not think so. Neither did C.S. Lewis. The lines drawn on the creation vs. evolution debate are not the same as atheists vs. Christians. These are strands as Christian interpretation of scripture and understanding of natural history. A belief in science ought not dissuade anyone from a belief in Christianity.

I have the biggest beef with Mr. Blow’s assertion that the Bible is full of contradictions. Yes, there is scholarship that would support this. But it ignores twenty centuries of scholarship, including scholarship that has met, blow for blow, the skeptical writings of the last centuries. (N.T. Wright being one of the latest and most popular) As someone who has read the Bible daily for more than a dozen years, I find it most astounding that, with four excited evangelists and a few letter-writing apostles telling the same story, the Bible is remarkably consistent. If you want to explore Christianity, do not start with the dismissive statements of Charles M. Blow. Given that any provocative trend in Biblical scholarship is a sure best-seller, you probably should not start with books about the Bible, even those that I would recommend. Rather, explore the Bible itself – the Gospels, Paul’s letters. Read it with someone else. You might just find the spiritual nurture you have been longing for.

Finally, I want to say a few words about Mr. Blow’s nod towards a vague, comfortable spirituality. Spirituality is ultimately relational, and Mr. Blow acknowledges this. He notes that people are seeking community and religious ritual – things that seem establish relationship with God and other people. Should this surprise us that these spiritual needs are drawing people to the pews, rather than Damascus road experiences? Jesus said that the two greatest Torah commands were to love God and to love our neighbors. Paul writes to the Corinthians that his ministry is a ministry of reconciliation, that through Jesus we are reconciled to God. Spirituality needs to work in relationship, with God and neighbor.

This means that a vague since of spirituality, rounded out with good vibes, picnics and volunteer work, is not going to cut it, even if it is appealingly inclusive. A true relationship with God is a commitment, and a commitment has cost. The vague spirituality that Mr. Blow and others espouse, is a foretaste (sometimes a wonderful foretaste) that will not ultimately satisfy. The vague spiritualist reminds me of an immature young man in a long-term relationship who is afraid to commit to marriage. I know this young man, because I have been him before. The cost, the sacrifices, the changes, the entrance of this new person that will have a say in the way I act, think, wake and sleep. The dating can fulfill urges without actually changing me. But we know that ultimate intimacy will never work with one eye on the door. Like dating, vague spirituality is an important first step, and the immature, along with, often, with the rejected, the hurt and the broken, prefer to stay there. But intimacy with God awaits, a spiritual beckoning for the humble, leading where blood and body were broken with great cost, where we rise again, full, fulfilled, abundant.

Pages of Forgiveness and Reconciliation

I was surprised to see, on Catherine Claire Larson's Facebook wall, that someone had read her book As We Forgive in one day. It took me several weeks. Not because it is cumbersome or boring, but because it is emotionally and spiritually intense. And appropriately so. As We Forgive is the personal stories of Rwandan genocide survivors who found the grace to forgive the perpetrators, inspired by Laura Waters Hinson's amazing film.

Her book appears to be exceeding expectations on Amazon.com, but I do want to point a few reasons why you should read it (but clear your mind and find a place to rest first - you will need processing time).

First, at least from this amateur's perspective, it is very well written. This isn't something you could say about a lot of books you might find in an evangelical book store. Catherine takes the time to paint the picture of each of her subjects, ever sure to include Rwanda's landscape - sights, sounds, smells, touches. It's patient work, but a necessary backdrop to remind us of the humanity and history of victims and perpetrators. It also makes the brutality somehow easier to digest. Tragedy and hope happen between human interactions, ordinary work, school, church and family. It takes a skillful writer, and Catherine meets the challenge with grace.

Second, I like the way it was written. There are seven wrenching but beautiful narratives, but before and after each one are reflections on forgiveness and reconciliation. This helps make it possible to digest each of the stories, but they are also meant to challenge us. Some of our Rwandan brothers and sisters inspire us to forgive one another, but we still need to be shown the way. The reflections begin to achieve this. They are short, but they are still deeper than most self-help book, and there is a good balance of reporting, counseling and scholarship.

Finally, I want to say that though the book is more explicitly Christian than the film, this is a good introduction to Christianity to anyone who may otherwise put off by a Christian publisher. There is nothing in the pages of As We Forgive that could be considered proselytizing, but the stories speak for themselves. The ministry of reconciliation, where we are reconciled in love to God and neighbor, is what makes Christianity so compelling, so powerful to many, and a strong argument for the Gospel. If you have ever wondered why anyone would embrace this religion, read and see.

In short, read As We Forgive, take time to reflect, and ask yourself if you need reconciliation.

Natural, Wrong

A New York Times online headline reads: "Yes, Looks Do Matter: Snap judgments can be wrong, but scientists say they're only natural."

Yes, but we should probably remember that a lot of things that are wrong are also natural.

Two Years and Two Lessons

Two year's ago, I reflected on the Virginia Tech shootings. Blacksburg, Virginia is the town of my birth. When my grandmother was alive, we would escape from her house in nearby Christiansburg and make our annual pilgrimage to the beautiful university, so the idea that someone could run around shooting his peers in that wonderful place nestled in Appalachia disturbed me even more deeply than other newsworthy tragedies.

Lexington, The Economist's column on the U.S., reflected on the Virginia Tech tragedy this week. The columnist was apparently spurred on by Lucinda Roy's memoir: "No Right to Be Silent: The Tragedy at Virginia Tech." Ms. Roy, as head of Virginia Tech's English Department, interacted with the future killer, but, the columnist points out, "her attempts to make sense of his final explosion meets an insuperable obstacle." Lexington, channeling Lucinda Roy (I have not read the memoir myself and was not aware of it until this weeks' Economist came out) rightly criticizes Virginia's too-lax gun laws, reflects on media coverage, campus security mechanisms, and the "faulty conclusion" that we can always identify potential killers before they strike. Lexington concludes, and I can only agree that "there is no reliable way to prepare for the unpredictable." But the columnist continues: "And that, alas, is the only lesson to be drawn from April 16, 2007."

Regarding policy or necessary preparations to protect ourselves, that may be the only lesson to be drawn. But, being Easter, I would like to offer two more from a level The Economist avoids (and often has little regard for): the spiritual.

First, mankind is fallen. Our moral and spiritual selves are flawed beyond true human repair. The Virginia Tech killer was deranged; he was also human. His crime was an especially deadly symptom of the decay and sin fallen humans have. There is something each of us needs to escape from, repent from.

Second, there is hope beyond this wretched condition. While tragedy causes some to doubt or blame God, for others, it is a reminder that this is not all there is. My parents were campus ministers at Virginia Tech when I was born, and we still follow the ministry there. The response of the Christian community - the prayers, the gifts, the support - stem from a hope beyond death. Christ's death on the cross allows us to overcome sin, this fallenness that lies behind every great and small act of evil, and draw near to God, who is the end of our desires and the giver of Life. His resurrection means that we, too, will rise again. This will never make loss any less painful. It ought to pain us, because it was never meant to be so. But it points us to a hope that reminds us, such loss is not forever.

It's an interesting coincidence that this particular Lexington column was published during Holy Week. Whether or not you break bread or drink wine with me this weekend, I hope we will all reflect on the sobering and hopeful lessons of Virginia Tech.

What are Saturdays for?

I expected it, but I was not happy. I went to my PO Box this Saturday, and there it was. A yellow card indicating that something did not fit our tiny little square of property. Normally, this is cause for celebration. I like getting packages as much as the next person, and we have friends and family across two oceans who can send us pure warmth cloaked in brown cardboard.

But it's Saturday. Not just any Saturday, but the most beautiful Saturday since the fall. Not only is it the most beautiful Saturday since the fall, it is the peak of Cherry Blossom season. Now that my wife is working, Saturday is the only day we and many other Washingtonians can empty our PO boxes. Which means, I would spend the next, oh, 20 minutes, cosigned to the bureaucratic purgatory that is a post office line. Would the package be worth it? Unlike every other day of the week, Saturday is my time. Especially beautiful Saturdays during Cherry Blossom week.

As I waited, stack of mail in hand (which included good cheer wishing us a happy anniversary from my family - cheering me up quite a bit), I felt something gentle touch my heel. It was not creepy - it was gentle and, in a pleasant sense, without meaning. The heel toucher was a little girl, no more than three years old, who had decided to lay down on her back in the space directly behind my feet. I smiled at her, and she stared blankly at the ceiling. Evidently, she did not like to wait in line, either.

After the initial "what a cute child" thought passed through my mind, my next thought was, "my mother would never have let me lay on the ground like that." One look at her mother softened my judgmental attitude. She stood their, clearly exhausted, one more little girl (perhaps 5, but I'm a poor judge of ages sometimes) clutching her left hand. "She feels like I feel right now," she said to me. I smiled sympathetically. We do not have children, yet, but everyone I know who does is often tired as well. No question, they are a beautiful gift. Like marriage, they often make us better people, little reminders that life is not all about us anymore. But the things that make us better break through the kingdoms of comfort we build around ourselves. Perhaps this young woman, as she stared passed me, was missing Saturday mornings like the one I just had. The Saturday morning that this inconvenient post-office wait was cutting into. Saturday mornings where there is no job or child to get up for. Saturday mornings where coffee is not my crutch and companion to get me through the next hour, but where coffee is ground fresh and sipped with no haste or hurry. Saturday mornings where my wife makes pancakes with apples and cinnamon. Saturday mornings where I read things: online newspapers, sport pages, blogs, even books. Saturday mornings where I leave the door open, watch all the Capitol Hill people of different sizes and colors walk by, stretching in the spring's virgin sun.

One day, Lord willing, there will be a little version of me running around my house. He will wake me up on Saturday mornings around the unholy hour I need to get up for work. He will need to be fed, exercised, clothed, disciplined, taught and loved. He will come with me to the post-office, sprawl himself on the floor, and I might just be too tired to care about mini-me's social graces. But no question, as he tears down my kingdom of comfort, I will become something better, every Saturday.

An older black woman, short and stout, with large glasses, stood behind the mother in line. "What are you doing on the floor, child?" she called out. She probably was an experienced mother herself. The young mother, a beautiful woman who could have stood in for the Virgin Mary at a Christmas pageant, smiled weakly.

Speaking of wine...

I did not realize that there were still states where wine could not be sold in grocery stores. All of my wine buying days have been in Florida, Germany, D.C. and Virginia, where wine and grocery go together like soup and sandwich. Indeed, Suburban Orlando has only recently become the type of place where you would fine a wine boutique.

In today's New York Times, Marco Pasanella, an owner of a small wine shop in Manhattan, reacts to New York's decision to allow grocery stores to sell wine. I have to agree with him. Allow grocery stores to sell wine, but allow the wine boutiques to to sell food. (by the way, doesn't the fact that his name is Marco Pasanella make you want to buy a nice red from him?)

In the name of the Rose

Yes, it's happened before, but there are more violent threats from French wine-growers, according to The Economist's Charlemagne. This time, it's about a decision in Brussels to allow European wine producers to mix red and white wine to produce pink wine more cheaply. This would allow the Europeans to better compete against cheaper New World alternatives.

What do you think? Would relaxing wine standards cause French wine to "become Coca-Cola"? Or, does it not follow, as Charlemagne suggests, that the invisible hand would water down good wine?

I agree with Charlemagne in one respect: I'm not that big of a pink wine fan. Could anyone recommend a good one that would change my mind (I'm no expert, but red, dry Spanish wines have always suited me).

Is identity reallly such a bad thing?

A good way to understand the belief-fatigue in a post-modern culture is to watch the film Downfall (must-viewing for non-Germans considering ministry in Germany). Downfall depicts the last week of Hitler's life in the famous Berlin bunker, based on the memoirs of his personal secretary (who only died very recently). The film is not so much about the monstrous nature of Nazism (though it does not attempt to cover its monstrous nature), but a dark depiction of men and women holding on to their faith in a dark man and a dark system to the very end.

Among many painfully memorable scenes is one about two Nazi youths, a boy and a girl (perhaps 15 or so), who fight nearby in the trenches against the Soviets. There are few soldiers left, so old men and children are defending Berlin. When it is clear that the Soviet army would overrun the city, the two youths commit suicide. The girl has the boy shoot her as she raises her arm in a final Nazi salute. The boy then shoots himself in the head.

The lesson that many in Europe seemed to take from the war is that belief is not safe. The Nazis bunkered in Berlin died for their faith. People fought wars because they believed in things: their nations, Nazism, Communism, Capitalism, their interpretation of civilization or religion. The post-moderns concluded that in order to preserve peace, we should avoid commitment to any such meta-narrative.

This stands in contrast to the American lessons of World War II. It seemed like belief in country and the righteousness of our cause enabled our eventual victory. Unlike Europe, we walked away stronger. Americans had a strong sense of identity, and most saw nothing wrong with a strong religious or political identity.

That might be starting to change. Strongly identifying with with a country or party or faith is starting to look more and more unappealing. Perhaps September 11 and Islamist terrorism have something to do with it. Perhaps it was President Bush, whose strong religious and national identity helped him get elected, but whose politics from Iraq to New Orleans to the economy has made such identity look foolish. Perhaps ideological bickering among our leaders makes no sense in the wake of an economic crisis. There are likely more positive reasons as well. The rise of mass communication and travel exposes us to more points of view that may challenge the identities we once have. Many of us are tired of it. Paul Graham, observing fruitless religious and political arguments online, is too.

One of Brian's "daily dozens" a couple weeks ago included a Paul Graham essay arguing that we should avoid identity as much as possible.

His begins with observing the seemingly inevitable breakdown of civility when religion comes up on an online forum. He observes, "no thread on Javascript will grow as fast as one about religion, because people feel they have to be over some threshold of expertise to post a comment on that." Mr. Graham goes on to make the same point about politics.

I mostly disagree with this statement. The Internet surely attracts its share of loudmouths for whom anonymity frees to post whatever they want. But the problem with religion and politics is not one of expertise. Indeed, religion and politics are "for the people." Many of us have attended a religious education class every Saturday or Sunday (or Friday) since childhood. We have been educated in civics, politics and history. Perhaps I can be forgiven for thinking that Javascript has less dimensions that these subjects.

Nonetheless, I feel no small amount of sympathy for avoiding identity. I hate being identified with anything undesirable or foolish. I live in the epicenter of American politics, and I have good friends working on Capitol Hill (for both parties) and in the administration. Many are intelligent and passionate. I am often reluctant to plainly state the few political views I do have. When conversations turn to political discussions, I often fear I don't have enough factual information in my arsenal than those working in political think-tanks with information and experts at their finger-tips. Moreover, I hate being boxed in or pegged down. (I pointed this out to my boss in Germany one time as we were going over my Myers-Briggs results. He said that is a typical response from my personality type)

Like Mr. Graham, presumably, I have a strong distaste for "talk-radio" style political or religious discussion, with all its labeling and appeal to anger and hate. But Graham takes it too far. "People can never have a fruitful argument about something that's part of their identity," he writes. Later he says, "More generally, you can have a fruitful discussion about a topic only if it doesn't engage the identities of any of the participants."

Is this where identity necessarily leads? Idea dodge ball with no end in the best cases? War and terrorism in the worst?

Like, I said, I have a lot of sympathy for post-modern identity-fatigue. I despise fruitless discussion, and I certainly fear terrorists and ideologue politicians. But history has too many examples of people whose very identities played a role for the good. We cannot seriously ignore this. Of less importance, my life has been filled with fruitful, challenging conversations about subjects that all participants identified with.

Mr. Graham's conclusion causes me to wonder about his choice of friends. Do none of them have strong identities, religious, political or otherwise? Has he never once had a fruitful conversation about these issues with them? I worked in Christian ministry in Germany. Essentially, it means I have a strong religious identity, and it was once my profession to talk with others about it (something I still enjoy doing, though I have less context these days). I challenged many identities, and many people were perfectly willing to challenge mine. At the moment, I can think of only once where the conversation was unfruitful due to identity, and the person in question seemed all wrapped up in being unaffiliated. Before my stint in Germany, I went to college. I had all sorts of conversations, both fruitful and fruitless, about religion, politics, you name it. Has Mr. Graham ever taken a philosophy class? Was there not one person in the class who identified with a certain philosophy who could engage in fruitful conversation about it?

Let's move to history. Think of people who really worked for the good in history. Francis of Assisi. William Wilberforce. Abraham Lincoln. Mahatma Gandhi. Martin Luther King. Mother Theresa. These were persons of strong identities, whose identities helped them undertake monumental tasks for positive change. Their identities did not lead to stupidity. Their identities led them to a kind of courage too few of us have.

I think the problem is not identity, but of maturity. The Apostle Paul speaks of this when he warns the Romans of "zeal without knowledge." I would argue that this knowledge includes an understanding and appreciation for basic morality - the golden rule, found at least paraphrased in most religious school of thought: "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Zeal without knowledge is behind many violent acts, religious wars especially. Zeal without knowledge remains popular because it is politically useful and makes good television. Talk radio tends to wind it up, and the Internet allows us to express our zeal about anything without taking time to learn and appreciate. Maturity takes time and process and work, whether one is learning javascript or theology.

Perhaps Spiritual maturity would help here as well. Paul again teaches that the Holy Spirit provides this. The fruit of the Spirit, writes Paul to the Galatians, "is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control." It's disheartening that the loudest of Christians often posses so little of this. But I know I want to identify with the fruit Paul describes.

So, if we want to avoid being dumb (or fanatical or violent), we can keep our identities as small as possible, as Paul Graham suggests. Or, we can have strong identities, but commit to maturity.

Yes, I am an amateur

In high school and college, I was part of the swing-dancing fad. We used to go, wear khaki trousers and pay our cover fees and swing the cute girls from youth group all over the dance floor. But we remained amateurs. There was, however, a class of the professionals. I don't think these people had any sort of social life outside of swing dancing. They wore zoot suits, until zoot suits became too cool. Then they wore trendy, butt-enhancing jeans with tight t-shirts and Puma sneakers. Whatever they wore, their styles, combined with their excellent grasp of the "lindy-hop", communicated to all of us that they were the kings of the dance floor. I knew I could never live up to their standards, not without sacrificing any other extra-curricular activity that gave meaning to my soul. (that did not keep me from being jealous, as you probably already have guessed) Nevertheless, I still had fun as an amateur. Dancing remained beautiful, a way to connect and find your self in a rhythmic structure of artistic expression.

The other day I was described as a competent generalist, well read in all I do, but never an expert in any one thing. But the writers at Soul Shelter gave this comforting article on amateurism. I have been to jam sessions where I could play some rhythms on my guitar to keep from sounding cacophonous, but could never be on the in crowd. Yet, I love Soul Shelter's description of this folk festival. Yes, there were probably some amazing musicians. But there was a spirit that managed to celebrate everyone without excluding anyone. It appears loving and giving, where everyone, for the love of the music (or the dance, or the words, or whatever art form you choose), can still celebrate greatness, and have a part to play. It's comforting for an amateur who is well aware that his blog contributes nothing of professional value. But in my blog I can appreciate good writing, attempt to be a good writer, and celebrate, all for the love of the word itself.

Yes, I know. I'll keep practicing.

Best of DC

Hey DC residents - don't forget to vote in the Washington City Paper's "Best of D.C. 2009." I especially think you should give some love to our own Peregrine Espresso.

Yancey on the Election

A couple of months after the fact, Philip Yancey offers his reflections about the election of President Obama and the complicity of Evangelicals in racism (something he writes more extensively about in his book Soul Survivor). Living in Washington, I especially appreciate his last statement:

"Some evangelicals are wringing their hands about losing access to the corridors of power. Maybe it's time for us, too, to work from the bottom up."

Among the Least of These

Every spring, when I was in elementary school, I would spend a weekend at a rural Virginia ranch with sort of a Christian scout troop from my church. One of the couples who lead our group had a girl, probably a teenager at the time, with Down's syndrome. I remember one night, after our group was particularly rambunctious and disrespectful to her father, her mother tearfully explained the sacrifices, the physical and emotional toll it had on him to raise her.

Every Tuesday at 6:15 AM, when I was in high school, I met with a group of guys before classes. We met at Burger King, ate greasy breakfast food (one of the guys would have a Whopper for breakfast each week), read from the Bible and held each other accountable. As bad a wrap accountability groups have (fairly) gotten in Christian circles, the memories here remain to me a special time of honesty among friends. One morning, one of the guys openly shared that he was worried God would give him a mentally handicapped child. This would not be in the near future, of course - we are all teenagers who were abstaining from sex. But he was worried a mentally handicapped child would wreck the future world of marital bliss (and of course, sex) that we all so eagerly desired. It was an honest statement, particularly among a group of Christians who knew we were called by Jesus to love the least of these, which must include the handicapped. Whatever spiritual benefits may come from a situation, the task itself seemed monumental. We were not alone.

Last week, I read this sobering post from Judith Warner's excellent New York Times blog, "domestic disturbances." (man, someone teach me to write like her) In Nebraska, a law was passed that was meant to "keep desperate new mothers from abandoning their babies in dumpsters by offering the possibility of legal drop-off points at 'safe havens' like hospitals." It turns out, most of those who took advantage of the law abandoned, not unwanted babies, but teenagers with severe mental health problems. It is an eye-opening testimony to the lack of mental health care in our national and local structures.

Indeed, if my wife and I had a child with severe mental or physical health issues, we would likely be better off than many. We are not rich, but we should remain upwardly mobile (our current economic difficulties aside). We are blessed with healthy community here, and we would seek it elsewhere. Our capacity for handling hardship on our own is very limited, but we have help in family, friends, church, and if we are really paying attention, God.

Beyond structures of community and government, my hope rests in this, that if God helps you to love the least of these, you better know love Himself. I thought about this as I read the Economists obituary of Christopher Nolan. Mr. Nolan was amazing. Behind his crippled body dwelt an amazing mind, full of stories to tell. But for me, the hero of his story is his mother, who held him not just as he wrote novels and poetry, but as he ate and used the bathroom. Few of us will ever be able to produce such beauty with words, but her love made it possible, and he lived a fuller life.

I've also been encouraged by Henri Nouwen. You probably know the story. The Dutch priest had many things I wish I could have: he was a well-respected academic with teaching positions at elite universities. He used his position to write amazing books and support social justice. But his final joy was found when he left all of that to work at a home for the mentally disabled. He found a community of people who showed him God's love as he never knew it. A good book on this theme is Adam: God's Beloved.

For us Christian, all this means, beyond social or political policy, to embrace God and his way, above our own plans. The arrival of any family member with a mental or physical illness will shatter our own plans, often in ways God used for the good. It also means the difficult, but by faith, rewarding task of knowing and loving the least of our own community.It means hoping in a Savior who will one day put everything right.

I'll end with a small disclaimer - these thoughts are half-baked musings and reactions to several things I've read or thought about recently. I cannot in any way pretend to understand the trials and joys of taking care of such need as I have been describing. But there is a real possibility that some day I will. There is much more to say on such a theme, and I am nowhere near qualified to say it.

U2 has made more rock and roll

I'm probably the last person to know, but U2's new album is now available on their MySpace site. I was half-listening to it at work yesterday. It has not grabbed me yet as most of their previous albums have, but Bono's voice and the Edge's guitar remain something like old friends, familiar noises I heard over and over as I discovered rock and roll as a teenager. I'm sure I will buy it.

By the way, a question for the powers that be: is it still cool to like U2? I know the key to being hip is being, like, totally over things. The quicker you are over something, the hipper you are. I know, in the past decade, Bono was doing a lot of things: making platinum, award-winning albums, trying to save Africa and spreaking at universities, so a lot of hip magazines and people were over him. Can I be cool if I'm not over him, or his band, yet? I mean, I still try to give a lot of love to bands you may not have heard of, particular if I personally know people in them (please see the "listen" section on the left-hand side of your screen). But I still love me some U2.

Let it Mellow

From the high minded to the very low minded:

Les Miserables remains one of my favorite books, as long as it's the full, 1400 page, unabridged version. I like it especially for those poetic rabbit trails that could last for hundreds of pages, whether describing Waterloo or the character of a particular priest or even the Paris sewer system. Les Mis contains the first argument I have seen for using human excrement to fertilize crops instead of dumping it all downriver. 150 years later, more are arguing for it.

Rose George argues in the New York Times that our environment and food production could be improvied through the use of a double compartment toilet that the Swedes already use. Perhaps it is a subject we would prefer not to spend too much time thinking about. But read her arguments, if you dare - they will give you some pause. It might be a good idea. (Although, we guys will still find a way to stand)

Joyous Lent

Today, I thought a funny Facebook status line would be: "Happy Lent! ...oh, wait..." But fearing that I might offend God-fearers who may not appreciate my self-depreciating since of irony, I held off. I still feel new at the Lent thing. Many of my colleagues are Catholic, and they sat at their desks with a thumb print smeared between their eye all day. I tried not to stare. Besides, my Anglican Service was after work, and my ashes have just recently stopped itching (they're still there, though). I'm still new at lent, since the awkward but reflective post from two years ago.

Tommy preached a great Ash Wednesday Sermon. Hopefully it will be on the church website soon. He brought us to Psalm 51, David's Psalm of repentance, which we read together every lent. And he reminded us that the purpose of repentance, beyond fasting and charity, is the joy of the Lord. The deep joy of being truly known, of being cleansed and of being forgiven. This is the joy of our salvation that David described. If you don't know this, I would say try it, but I can't. It's not something you just try. It's something that you throw yourself into. You can flirt with religion, go through rituals and think about God and good vibes. But at the end, to taste the deeper joy, you repent and believe, and that is to truly plunge yourself into it.

So I should not say happy lent. But whatever somberness, ashes and repentance there is, may it be of the true kind that leads you to joy.

Peanuts

Every once in awhile, I'll find something interesting on the internet and email it to myself with the heading "blog idea." As you can imagine, I have more "blog idea" emails in my inbox than I actually have blogs. Often, they go out of date. The shelf life for blog ideas is about as long as your average attention span.

Here is a few week old article from the New York Times, that, much like its subject, has withstood the test of time. I have always loved the funny-pages. I still do, though I don't think there are any great comics since Calvin and Hobbes and The Far Side no longer run (and whenever I need to cheer myself up, you can find on the couch, shoes off, laughing as Calvin picks himself up from a tiger-pounce).

Peanuts, of course, is the granddaddy of the American comic. Few strips manage to be that honest and consistent for so long. For instance, take a look at this article on "Peanuts scholars" examining Schroeder's musical scores. Who knew a comic could have scholars? These sort of stories demand that Sunday afternoons be much longer.

Creation Wedding

My wife and I shared a few laughs about the American wedding industry when we got married last year. As a woman, she wanted a beautiful wedding of course (and decried the outrageous cost of flowers in the U.S.), but as a German, she was immune from the idea, implicit in every bridal magazine, that the perfect marriage required the perfect wedding. Perfect does not mean, of course, the perfect amount of family and friends being blessed my Gospel truth and holy union. Perfect means that every decoration, cloth, cake and peace of food amounts to some sort of geometric ideal (which is quite expensive).

The dream of a beautiful wedding, with holy symbolism and holy union, remains, and I was encouraged when my wife forwarded me Luz's blog. In Luz's dream wedding, each of the bridesmaids represent a day of Creation from Genesis 1. The climax, of course, is day six, when God made man "in his own image his own image, in the image of God he created them, male and female he created them." The bride and groom, glorious and beautiful (I should point out, not naked as in the original account) emerge. Take a look at the drawings, and let me know what you think.

Genius

I sincerely wish I had thought of this first. Nothing for Ungood is an American blog about Germany that is as humorous as I try to be. John, you are a genius. Meine Frau hat auch gelacht.

Advice on drink from an experienced drinker

The New York Times has an online blog called "Proof," examining "alcohol and the American life." I have not been overly impressed with many of the articles, but Paul Clark, a spirit and cocktails critic from Seattle, has some sage advice about appreciating alcohol. I appreciate his G. K. Chesterton quote:

"The dipsomaniac and the abstainer are not only mistaken, they make the same mistake: They both regard wine as a drug and not a drink."

Burns Supper

Last night, I gave the "toast to the lassies" at a Burns Supper. The text is below. (Everyone should attend a Burns Supper at least once. Haggis, whisky, poetry, song and camaraderie. What could be better?)

First of all, I would like to thank the lovely Fiona for once again hosting another successful, delicious and poetic Burns feast. I feel heartier, manlier, now that I’m “Haggis-fed.” A special thanks to Lisa and her roommates for letting this group of hungry Scots invade her house (for, after all, if everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day, would it follow that we are all Scottish for the Burns Supper?). And, finally, biggest thanks of all to whoever brought the wine (whisky), without which no speech, for hearers or speakers, could be tolerated.

When I was asked to say the toast to the lassies, I knew I was in for a tremendous challenge. No man has ever been able to understand, much less explain, much less tame, the fairer sex. Now, I know that many here go to Church of the Resurrection. Rez is the first church I’ve attended to practice (it appears to me at least) ancient liturgy. And as part of a church that appreciates the ancients, I have decided to turn to the church father’s for wisdom regarding women. As we all know, as members of an “ancient-future” church, if a church father has said it, it must be holy.

St. Ambrose –

“It is just and right that woman accepts as lord and master him whom she has led to sin.”

St. John Chrysostom –

“Among all savage beasts, none is found so harmful as woman.”

St. Patrick prays against “the spells of women, and smiths, and druids, against every knowledge that binds the soul of man.”

Yet, St. Thomas Aquinas (who would flee any woman who approached him) aside, our very presence proves that throughout the ages, men have not heeded the advice of their church fathers. They have not avoided the fairer sex as they would vipers. Indeed, for venturing in this very room, where the lassies clearly outnumber the lads, John Chrysostom would have considered me very foolish man indeed. In sum, in spite the wise warnings of church fathers, we men continue to be attracted to women. We can discuss some other time if that is sin.

What is it about you lassies that intoxicates us so much, and in ways that strike fear in the hearts of ancient pastors? Is it adolescent hormones? Is it the biological and evolutionary need to make sure our genes are passed along to the next generation?

While there is certainly truth to these propositions, I would like to propose spiritual grounds for the perseverance of inter-gender relationships.

Look back at Genesis, before the creation of the first couple, we read of God speaking order into chaos. The culmination of his created order was:

“So God created man in his own image, 
in the image of God he created him; 
male and female he created them”

That is nice, isn’t it?

Now, we read on to discover that there was a time, in the original Garden of Eden, where there was man without woman. Can you imagine what the garden must have been like? If there were any decorations at all, they certainly would not have matched. Likely the only furniture was a couple of inflatable chairs advertising Miller-Lite and an old pool table covered with beer-stains, and perhaps a TV leaned up against the tree of life with a random assortment of action and comedy DVDs lying half opened in the flowery meadows. We probably don’t want to think about the state of the Eden bathroom, for that matter. I can imagine God scratching his beard, adjusting his spectacles and musing, “it is not good for man to be alone.”

To bring order into this man-made chaos, an animal would not do. Pets are great, but they would not have brought about the created order. God created a human partner suitable for the task. As the story goes, when Adam first saw Eve standing there, he dropped his video game controller in the grass and said, “whoa, man!” And the rest, as they say, is History.

In short, God has given men few things other than woman to help us grow up. I have known the dirtiest scoundrel become the most proper gentlemen for the sake of the lassies. I’ve seen lads transformed into responsible, contributing men, bringing order into chaos, when they realize the bewitching eyes of woman have fallen upon him.

I am an example of this. This year, I married the fairest lass of them all, who, through grace and love from God only knows where, reached into my manly little world, beer stains (and mustard stains, and marinara stains, mysterious meat stains)and all, and brought me into a sense of things bigger than myself. Indeed, it’s no wonder that Ambrose and John Chrysostom feared something so mysterious and transformative. In one of his more positive poems on marriage, Robert Burns put it this way:

On Wedding Rings 

She asked why wedding rings are made of gold;

I ventured this to instruct her;

Why, madam, love and lightening are the same,

On earth they glance, from Heaven they came.

Love is the soul's electric flame,

And gold its best conductor. 

Whether we happen to be married or single, love of woman, received or given, changes men into something more courageous, orderly and adult.

Now, lassies, I warn you. All this does not mean you will be able to completely change your man (just ask my wife, and the stains she is constantly washing off of my shirts). The story of Adam and Eve does not have a happy ending, and we live in a fallen world. Our beloved Poet’s relationship with women was often over-abundant, to say the least. Yet I read Proverbs 31, the wife of noble character, perhaps, aside from our Lord himself, the best description of a real grown-up I find in the Bible. Liberated, yet committed. Working, in the family and in the community. Devoted, and true to her calling. Loving, in a way that was contagious, especially to her husband.  Much like my own wife, and much like the women of God in this room.

Lassies, this does not excuse you from savagery. This power you have over men has been wielded for evil and pain, and we must often take pity on the lads. But I look around the room, this table, this food, the decorations, the order and beauty – much of what works well in the world not be without the work of woman. It is truly not good for a man to be alone. So all ye rustics, haggis-fed, raise your glasses! I give you, the Lassies!