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.