The Internet Monk Archives

Damaris Zehner: Outsourcing our Brains

Outsourcing our Brains
By Damaris Zehner

Recently I gave a test in one of my English classes. Part of the test involved reading selections from five short pieces of literature and writing down the author and title to each. All five pieces were ones we had spent time on in class, and I chose very obvious passages from them to identify. The problem wasn’t identifying the passages. The problem was that not a single student had memorized the first and last names of five authors and the titles of their works.

I looked at what they had written in place of the complete name and title: a word or two, a last name with a question mark for the first name, names that started with the first letter but weren’t otherwise at all the same. And these were my best students. The ones who were struggling just left that page empty or drew emoticons in the answer blanks. What was going on here?

I realized that my students had learned exactly enough to type a search request into Google and most likely get the author and work they were looking for. They knew they couldn’t use the internet during the test; they are an honorable bunch with no intention of checking a cell phone under the table. So all I can conclude is that this is what memorization means now – the ability to find something on Google. We have outsourced our memories.

Well, so what. Socrates objected to writing over two thousand years ago because he thought it would make us stupider and damage our memories. Of course there have been plenty of smart people since then. In Socrates’ defense, while writing didn’t make us stupider, it did damage our memories. I will, however, continue to write, because what I lose in my own mental capacity I gain in the volume and accuracy of the information I am able to deal with. People defend the internet – and cars, and forklifts, and food processors – in the same way: that these are worthwhile technological trade-offs. So my concern here is not a question of technology versus no technology. I love the written word, and I’m very happy I don’t have to walk fifteen miles to work every day. But at what point do we outsource too much of our innate humanity and end up damaging ourselves and our culture?

There are many signs that we’ve reached the point of damage in the physical realm. Our bodies have suffered from our reliance on increasingly efficient technologies, whether we’re talking about developing an embolism from sitting on an airplane or in front of a computer game too long or just being a little overweight because we no longer walk anywhere. I contend that we are reaching that point in the intellectual realm, too – when to know something means to be able to type, click, skim, and forget.

Many people hold that it’s worthwhile outsourcing our memories to Google if it means we have so much more at our fingertips than we would otherwise. (Although do we even know how much we could carry around in our heads – we, who can’t memorize our own cell phone numbers because we have them on our phone and don’t need to? We may be giving up more than we think.) But I have two – actually three – caveats about outsourcing our memories.

First, are the technologies we are yielding our capacities to, and the organizations that control those technologies, really on our side? Do Google and Apple and Microsoft want us to be the best people we can be? Will they discontinue any technology that is found to be harmful, even if consumers still seem to want to buy it? Call me cynical, but I don’t think so. I’m not saying they are part of a vast conspiracy to rob us of our brains; they just want to make money and to grow. These corporations don’t need to conspire, after all, because we are all cooperating with them in this great outsourcing experiment. So no conspiracy — although I admit, in my darker hours, parallels with the Opium Wars or El Chapo come to mind.

Second, are these technologies we rely on so heavily even permanent? Can we count on our children and grandchildren being able to access our accumulated wisdom through the internet? I know by heart songs that have been around for centuries and can teach them to others. I own editions of books that are more than 150 years old and can still read them and pass them on to my kids. Will the internet in its current form be around in 150 years? Again, I don’t think so. The internet is amazing, but it is fragile. Think of the supply chains necessary for you to read this post, from mining the rare metals for the computers and smart phones, through the delivery to consumers by means of nonrenewable fossil fuels, to the reliability of satellites in increasingly crowded orbits. Think of the environmental and economic costs along the way. Think of the political costs, too, of information so freely available – and so able to be tampered with by those who would like reality to be other than what it is. If we are going to outsource an innate human capacity, should we be outsourcing it to such a vulnerable technology?

Third – and this should probably be first – by relying on these external technologies, are we shaping ourselves into the kind of people God intends us to be? This is a tricky argument and ends up too often in prooftexting wars, so let me just ask this: What exactly does God mean when he says again and again and again, “Remember; don’t forget?” God doesn’t say how we’re supposed to remember, and he was obviously fine with writing things down. But we won’t always have a Bible handy, any more than a computer. There may be times we need to actually remember. Scripture promises us suffering in this life, and we know that’s true when we look at our history. We also notice, when considering that history, that Christians who suffered relied on what they remembered – what they carried around in their actual, physical brains: the Bible verses and songs that were a comfort to them and the examples of saints and martyrs that they had heard of or read about. I’ve commented before that my students, even those who are Christians, don’t have any of those things stored in their heads. They don’t know Bible stories or substantive hymns, they are unfamiliar with our mothers and fathers in the faith, and they couldn’t recite a creed if you paid them.

I worry about them, about how they will manage now and in the future. Most of them get restless and anxious when they’re asked not to check their cell phones or computers for an hour and a half, which is reasonable if they are being asked to do without their memories for that long. I wouldn’t want to have amnesia, either. But if they have a hard time left to their own devices for a class period, what would they do if they were in a prison camp for a decade? Or in a more likely scenario, if they had a prolonged power outage? But we don’t even have to look at extreme examples to anticipate failure; they couldn’t memorize five names and titles for a test they knew about and had days to study for.

We don’t have to accept inventions mindlessly. We can ask ourselves what is good. If our bodies get flabby because we do too little physical work, we can reorganize our lives to walk more and work more. If our brain gets flabby because we do too little mental work, we can reclaim the intellectual skills of the past. We have a great capacity for healing, both in body and in mind, and can rise to the challenge. We just have to know what is right for us as human beings and then live that way – “just” that, as if it were easy! We can’t do it in our own strength; we need grace and communion with God through prayer. Prayer – hey, there’s an app for that, isn’t there?

Stuck with their noses in the text

The Samaritan woman at the well, Ravenna

Go and learn what this means, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”

• Matthew 9:13

• • •

In her book, Black and White Bible, Black and Blue Wife: My Story of Finding Hope after Domestic Abuse, Ruth Tucker references a prominent preacher who promotes the “complementarian” view of gender roles and who gives unrealistic advice in an online Q&A to women living with abusive spouses. She says this about him: “It’s almost as though [he] is living in a parallel universe. He just doesn’t seem to get it. Does he have any understanding at all of the law or of tyrannical husbands?” (p. 155).

I have the same question about Tim Challies.

With cool detachment, Challies reviews Ruth Tucker’s book at his blog and does what people who have their noses stuck in their Bibles often do: he fails to see and listen to a hurting human being and focuses his attention instead on where he thinks her ideas are wrong.

His empathy (and there is some) is faint and brief. He’s glad he read her book: “As a Christian and a church leader I gained important knowledge from reading her book and I believe it will help me grow in compassion and understanding toward those who are in similar situations.”

His criticism, however, is lengthy and sustained — a four-point argument against Tucker’s “case” for egalitarianism rather than complementarianism.

First, he writes these condescending and ignorant words: “The first weakness is related to the fact that to some degree Tucker defines an entire theological understanding out of her own experience. She understands her ex-husband to be a complementarian and in that way an exemplar of this theology as it takes root and advances to its logical conclusions.”

As I wrote yesterday, I took a course on women in ministry from Ruth Tucker back in the mid-1980’s in which she clearly displayed her grasp of the biblical text, without any reference to her own experience. She publicly debated John Piper on the subject in 1995 at Wheaton College, and over half of her presentation was a survey of the biblical argument for her position. She’s written and published more than enough on the subject that a little research would have put the lie to Challies’ contention immediately.

Of course, this particular book was not written to cover this ground again. It is not designed to be a dispassionate discussion of the biblical texts. It’s her story, and a discussion of some of the questions it has raised in her mind over the years about men and women and marriage and the church. In fact, she makes a specific point early in the book to appeal to her fellow Christians to set aside academic debates for awhile and listen to each other’s stories and experiences of life.

But no, for Challies that simply shows intellectual weakness on her part. Her position is based on her experience, not the text. She is writing from emotion, not from a careful analysis of the text. He simply does not get it, or perhaps he doesn’t want to get it.

This shows in his second complaint: “A second weakness is that she does not deal well with the various texts that challenge her egalitarian viewpoint.”

Tim, once again, a little heads up here. This is not a Bible study.

Third, he defends complementarianism as a doctrine that offers equal protection and escape for a wife who experienced abuse as Tucker did.

Perhaps, at least on paper. However, Challies says nothing about the many examples of inadequate and incompetent counsel given to abused spouses by prominent “complementariness” that Tucker cites. A little humility and honesty would be nice here.

Finally, he criticizes Tucker’s interpretation of the historical examples of good marriages she commends, saying that they were actually complementarian unions, not egalitarian. To think Tucker is not aware of this is silly, and besides, this is such a minor point in the book that I don’t feel compelled to comment on it, except to say that Tim Challies is really reaching here to find something he can speak against.

In the end, Tim Challies says he’s glad he read the book, but he can’t recommend it to others.

Of course not. It doesn’t fit comfortably within his alternate universe.

Like the Pharisees, biblicists (and the neo-reformed are preeminent examples of this) are stuck with their noses in the text. Real life is too messy, too conducive to spreading uncleanness in the camp. So they stay above the fray, making absolute pronouncements from their sanitized pulpits and writing desks.

They can’t even set that aside when faced with a woman covered in bruises who has just escaped with her life. They barely look up. They question her ideas but cannot see her face.

How unlike Jesus.

Black & White Bible, Black & Blue Wife: Ruth Tucker’s Story

He dwelleth wyth his wyfe according to knowledge, that taketh her as a necessary helper, and not as a bonde servante, or a bonde slave. And yf she be not obedient and healpful unto hym, endeavoureth to beate the feare of God into her heade, that thereby she maye be compelled to learne her dutie, and to do it.

• Annotation on 1Peter 3:7, Matthews Bible (1549)

Women victims of domestic violence [are] often to blame for their own abuse because they [fail] to submit to their husbands’ authority.

• Bruce Ware, 2008 TGC conference

Someone reading this book might easily imagine I was married to a mentally disturbed man who could easily be identified as an abuser. But that was not the case. My ex-husband’s only outwardly identifiable trait was his strong opposition to women in ministry and equal partnerships in marriage and the accompanying misogyny, though well disguised in public.

• Ruth A. Tucker

• • •

I was a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School (TEDS) from 1983-1988. One of the fine teachers there at that time was Ruth Tucker.

The Evangelical Free Church denomination, to which the school belonged, had several theological/pastoral issues in the 1980’s that they were debating, among them the ordination of women. Wanting to carefully study and understand this issue, my wife Gail and I took a class from Dr. Tucker and Walt Liefeld on women in ministry. They were two of the stronger voices on campus encouraging the church to allow for women in pastoral ministry, and backing it up with reasonable and persuasive interpretations of the Bible. We came to appreciate both of them as careful students of scripture and kind, generous Christian people.

It was evident that Ruth had a heart for missions work, and she would salt her lectures with wonderful tales of the exploits of women missionaries who braved daunting circumstances to take Jesus’ good news and love to places where many men had declined to go.

Little did we know that Ruth was dealing with fearsome circumstances of her own at the time — a Bible church pastor husband who regularly used her as a punching bag.

Now she has written about her ordeal, in a book called Black and White Bible, Black and Blue Wife: My Story of Finding Hope after Domestic Abuse.

Ruth Tucker met her first husband in Schroon Lake, NY, on Word of Life Island in 1967. They impressed each other with their Bible knowledge in meetings with other college-and-career campers. They fell in love and had a whirlwind romance in that Adirondack paradise, waiting a year and then marrying. During their engagement, there were signs that his fundamentalist convictions might prove to be problematic.

He insisted, for example, that she subscribe to creationism, a literal six-day creation six thousand years ago. She was able to withstand that and hold firm to her disagreement on that subject, though he continued to hound her about it. Ruth’s mother expressed that she thought her fiancé was committed to changing her daughter and she didn’t like that. When Ruth met her future spouse’s family, she found her mother-in-law to be demanding and critical from the start. And she discovered that there were troubling incidents in his past. She learned that he had been expelled from two colleges and had been arrested for voyeurism. But he was also extremely intelligent, charming, and persuasive. He admitted mistakes but said he had found help and a new path through counseling.

After they were wed, she writes, “Little matters of authoritarian control had arisen on our honeymoon.” And then, barely two months after the wedding, he pushed her during a furious argument they had over politics, with him insisting that she must vote as he wished out of submission to him as head of the household. That was just the start of years of hidden rage and violent abuse.

Always, he justified himself with “biblical” reasoning:

During his violent rages, my ex-husband often hurled biblical texts at me, as though the principal tenet of Scripture was, “Wives, submit to your husbands.” He spit the words out, repeatedly beating me over the head, at least figuratively, with his black-and-white Bible. His hitting and punching and slamming me against doors and furniture, however, were anything but figurative. Nor were his terror-loaded threats. I felt trapped and feared for my life, while outwardly disguising bruises with long sleeves and clever excuses, pretending that ours was a happy marriage.

Things continued to get worse, but it remained a carefully guarded secret within their home.

It was a cold West Michigan evening in March. Spring quarter at Trinity had begun a week earlier. I recognized my husband’s mood before we had even sat down for the evening meal. When we finished eating, I tidied up the kitchen, took my books and notes, and went upstairs while he watched his usual TV programs and Carlton did homework nearby, listening in as he typically did.

After an hour or so, I heard my husband’s footsteps on the stairs. I stiffened, dreading the worst. He entered our bedroom where I was hunkered down and then, seemingly out of the blue, with not so much as a segue into the topic, demanded to know my interpretation of a particular biblical passage that related to women. I explained that I was very busy in course preparation and did not wish to discuss the matter, particularly because I knew it would create problems. He proceeded to give me his interpretation of the passage. When I remained silent and refused to agree with him, he became irate and began very loudly to threaten me and exclaim that he would not let me fly to O’Hare in the morning. He yanked me from where I was sitting, my papers flying in every direction.

Hearing his father shouting, Carlton was up the stairs two steps at a time. It was not the first time he sought to defend me. Normally, his crying out at his father put an end to violence. But not this time. My husband demanded he leave the room while at the same time squeezing my arms with all his might and viciously shaking me. Carlton did leave. He raced back to his own room and grabbed two knives, one no more than a hard plastic toy, the other a Swiss Army knife he had managed to open before returning to confront his father. At twelve, Carlton was tall and lanky, but no match for his six-foot-two father, who could do a hundred push-ups without breaking a sweat.

When I saw the knives, I screamed for Carlton to get out, but within seconds my husband had thrown him to the floor, taken the knives, and was coming at me again. In a second, Carlton got back up and tackled his father, crying out at the top of his lungs. And then somehow amid the mayhem, it ended. My husband left the room still raging, ordering Carlton to come downstairs with him.

The next afternoon I was in Deerfield, greeting students in my classroom and wearing a turtleneck and blazer that conveniently covered the bruises— black-and-blue finger marks on my upper arms. I had taught the course before, and once I was into my rhythm and a lively discussion was under way, I was in another world. (p. 20f)

Scot McKnight was a colleague of Ruth’s at TEDS in the 1980’s, when I was there. Over at Jesus Creed, Scot ran a piece about Ruth’s book, in which she answers the question: “Some people may wonder why you would stay in such an abusive marriage for 19 years. How would you respond?” Here is her answer:

Most battered wives would know instinctively that there is no easy answer to that question. For me fear and humiliation sum up my response. I first of all feared that my ex-husband could charm a judge into granting him joint custody of our son. So I waited until he turned thirteen and was allowed to testify. After hearing his horror stories of what had happened behind closed doors, the judge granted full custody. I also feared for my life. When I threatened him on one occasion that if he ever beat me again I would call the police, he viciously hissed: “That would be fatal.”

But shame and humiliation were also a big factor. This was back in the mid 1980s. I had read too many stories of how the woman is blamed in such cases. Sure, he beat her, but she was contentious. She provoked him. She deserved it.

Ruth Tucker endured regular abuse until the day she calls “Freedom Friday,” October 16, 1987. On that day, she and her son Carlton ran away and found refuge in her church’s associate pastor’s home. Nevertheless, she still thought she should attempt to save the marriage, so she tried to press her husband into counseling. He refused to go to a certified counselor, however, and she conceded to go to another Bible church minister. Despite bringing pages of evidence to the session about her husband’s domestic abuse, arrests, job firings, and even child sexual abuse, the minister only wanted to discuss Bible verses he had given her on wifely submission. Dead end.

Thankfully, her story ends well. After they divorced, Tucker’s ex-husband virtually disappeared from her and her son’s life. In 2004 she remarried a kind and loving man who taught music at Calvin College, and they live happily together to this day as lovers, partners, and friends.

Ruth Tucker’s story provides a strong warning about the way bad theology can provoke and inflame our worst impulses.

[A]busers like [Ruth Tucker’s] ex-husband use theology to prop up and justify and empower their abuses. Her husband was a big-time complementarian — and I’d be careful to use that term in this context because the word for it is “hierarchical” or “patriarchal” or “dominant.” He used his (mis)theology of complementarianism (“from the kitchen to the bedroom”), his verbal skills, his corrupted and perverse mental skills to justify his abuse of Ruth and their son. I’m not blaming complementarianism, I’m blaming the abusive male who uses an idea to his own advantage. I would, however, raise a red flag here: complementarians, especially those with strong views of it, need to be vigilant about how that subject will be heard by males with abusive and violent temperaments. The use of this theological subject by abusers is toxic and sick, but it’s one of their favorite topics. Ruth routinely weighs in connecting his distorted complementarianism-as-patriarchy with her husband’s abuse: males were for him superior and in authority, women were inferior and were in submission.

• Scot McKnight, “Worst-Great Book of the Year”

• • •

Read the rest of Scot McKnight’s terrific post that responds to the problem of domestic abuse:

“Worst-Great Book of the Year”

Posts Michael Spencer wrote on domestic abuse:

Prodigal Father

A sermon for the fourth Sunday in Lent, 2016

❦

Text: Luke 15

There are words in our language that we seldom use. But we may identify them with one specific meaning or story, and whenever we hear the word, it brings that meaning or story to mind.

One such term is the word, “prodigal.”

I would venture to say that most of us rarely utter it. When we do, we are usually reflecting the Gospel story we read this morning. We call it “The Parable of the Prodigal Son.” The “prodigal” son in the story is the younger son, the one who takes his inheritance, goes to a distant land, and wastes his money, his health, and his life in sinful living. If we ever use the word “prodigal” I would guess that it’s in relation to this story.

We might be referring to the story itself, or we might be talking about our families. We might find one of our children or another child wild and uncontrollable. “That’s our prodigal,” we say. “We’re praying for him.”

But other than that, “prodigal” is a word we rarely use. As a result, I think we have a skewed definition in our minds when we hear it. To us, “prodigal” always carries a negative connotation. We hear it and we think: wasteful, self-indulgent, rebellious, reckless. We imagine someone who is living a wild party lifestyle in constant search of pleasure and new thrills, new highs. Someone who throws their money away, who doesn’t care about the toll loose living takes upon his reputation, his own health, his relationships, or his future. Someone who embarrasses his family and doesn’t seem to care.

But “prodigal” doesn’t just refer to all those negative things. The word itself is related to the term “prodigious,” which speaks of something that is extraordinary in size, amount, or extent. Both these words speak of abundance. To be “prodigal” means to be extravagant, liberal, generous, lavish.

When used negatively, it can indeed signify someone who is wastefully or recklessly extravagant; someone who is willing to spend everything he’s got on his own pleasure.

But when used positively, it describes someone who goes far beyond what anyone would expect to bless others with lavish gifts.

And I think that’s really what this parable is about. It’s not so much about a prodigal son as it is about a prodigal father. It’s not so much about a son who wastes everything but a father who gives everything lavishly to the ones he loves. It’s not about a child who recklessly throws his inheritance away, it’s about a parent who says to such a child, “It doesn’t matter, you’re still my child, I’ll always love you, you are always welcome in my home.”

David Lose, who is one of our very best Lutheran preachers today, thinks we should call this story “The Parable of the Prodigal God.”

I mean, think what the father does in this story.

When his younger son insults him and breaks his heart by asking for his inheritance early, the prodigal father simply gives it to him. We don’t know all the reasons why, but perhaps this is an early indication of what kind of father he is. This father is a giver. He’s generous, forbearing, and long-suffering to a fault. Perhaps he suspects that this son will only learn the lessons of life by himself and not by the father trying to impose rules or discipline upon him.

Then, when the son had fallen flat on his face and had spent everything and decided the only thing he could do was return home, what did the father do? “While he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.” David Lose writes:

[The father] in Jesus’ parable does something landowners never do. He runs out to meet his wayward son the minute he spies him coming from afar. He doesn’t send a servant. He doesn’t wait for his son to come. He dashes down the road like no respectable landowner ever would, making a complete fool of himself. Why in the world, after all, would he be so eager to see a son who claimed his inheritance early (which is kind of like he said he couldn’t wait for his dad to be dead) and then wasted it all. Not only that, he doesn’t even give his son a chance to explain or repent but interrupts his sincere (or maybe half-baked, it doesn’t really matter) speech [and] embraces and restores him immediately. Trust me, all the other landowners will be talking about his ridiculous and demeaning behavior at the first-century equivalent of the Lion’s Club that week. But this landowner doesn’t care because he’s a parent before he’s a landowner and so he doesn’t count all the wrongs his son has done him but only tries to count his lucky and innumerable stars when his son comes back.

This story portrays a prodigal father — a generous, extravagant father. He is not one who is sitting at home keeping score. He’s not pacing and fuming, looking out the window for his scoundrel son to come home so that he can read him the riot act and make him pay for what he’s done. No! He doesn’t say a word about what’s been. He brushes off any suggestion that his returning son will have to do penance for his actions. His arms are open wide. His tears and laughter are genuine and abundant. He’s ready to throw a party! All that matters is that the boy has come home, and he is willing to break the bank to celebrate that.

But this prodigal father does not just act like this toward his younger, erring son. He treats his older son with same kind of prodigal love and grace.

Look at the way the father in this story responds to his complaining elder son. The older boy saw his younger brother as a jerk and a loser and resented it when his dad lavished all this attention on him. He had kept score. And on his scorecard, he was the one who deserved a party and recognition, not his loser brother. So he gets mad and refuses to go to the celebration.

What does this prodigal father do then? Once again, he doesn’t wait but runs outside and pleads with his older son. He takes the initiative. He listens to his son’s complaints. He reaffirms his love for him too and says, “You are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.”

The father excuses himself to his guests and leaves his own party, the one he is hosting, and once more risks embarrassment and gossip to deal with a family problem. Why? Because he’s a prodigal father! He loves both of his sons more than anyone can measure, and he will go to any length to show his love for them.

This father represents the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. And this is the kind of God he is. He’s a “prodigal” God, an extravagant God, a lavish and generous God who wants nothing more than for each of us to know we are loved and welcome in his house. It doesn’t matter what we’ve done, how we’ve insulted him, or how we’ve failed to be good children. He comes running out to us and cares only that we’ve come home and that we’re safe and sound.

Indeed, the God who is like this went far beyond the father in this parable. The Bible tells us that the cross is the ultimate symbol of just how prodigal our God is. There Jesus endured the worst kind of public humiliation. There he suffered total rejection and absolute abandonment. There he poured out everything — extravagantly, lavishly, holding back nothing — giving up his very life that we might be reconciled to God.

In the end, that is what really matters in this story. Not whether you and I have been good little children or not. No, this is about a prodigal God who runs — all the way to the cross — to welcome us home, time and time again.

• • •

You can read David Lose’s thoughts on this parable HERE.

Mondays with Michael Spencer: March 7, 2016

On Mondays we’ve been looking at several things that Michael Spencer, the Internet Monk, wrote on the subject of preaching. Today, an article about the relationship of public scripture reading to preaching, and a commendation of the former.

Past posts:
• Part 1: The sermon’s too long
• Part 2: The sermon’s boring
• Part 3: The sermon — I don’t understand it
• Part 4: The sermon — it isn’t practical
• Part 5: The sermon — More stories please!
• Part 6: The sermon in the Evangelical Liturgy
• Part 7: The sermon that needs no Jesus

• • •

The sermon is the servant of the scripture

The public reading of scripture is something that is strangely absent in the worship and preaching of the vast majority of evangelicals.

If you wanted examples of preaching that completely left out the Bible and any reasonable use of it, I could keep you here all day with some stories that even I have trouble believing are true. But to be conservative, it’s become rather typical for the average evangelical worship experience to…

contain no actual reading of scripture as a component of the “order” of worship.
to use more scripture in music than in many sermons.
to be dependent on the preacher entirely for what amount of scripture actually winds up in the worship service, and for how that scripture is presented.
in most cases, that amounts to 1) short verses used to bolster points, 2) retold Biblical narratives and 3) perhaps some exegetical excursion through a selected passage in the sermon.

This is an unhistoric, pragmatic, deplorable development in evangelicalism, and it needs to be fixed.

At soli deo, we use three full scripture lessons plus a responsive or sung Psalm. It would not be unusual for 10-15 minutes or more of corporate worship time to be be used for the public reading of these lessons. We believe this kind of reading of the word of God is ancient, wise, useful, worshipful, provocative, helpful, inspiring and, above all, God honoring.

We have a phrase: “The sermon is the servant of the scripture, rather than the scripture being the servant of the sermon.”

What do we mean?

Simply put, we believe the scripture lesson should precede the sermon and provide the direction and substance of the sermon, as opposed to the sermon using snippets and citations of scripture to provide legitimacy for itself.

I do not believe it is inappropriate to use topical preaching. I do it frequently. But the regular diet of any gathered group of Christians should be hearing the Word read followed by hearing the Word explained and applied. This does not always serve the agenda of a preacher or teacher, but if a preacher is constantly extracting parts of scripture to season a series on various topics, then something is wrong with the diet of that congregation.

Nor do I believe that expository preaching, per se, is the answer to the evangelical crisis. What passes for exposition today varies widely. Look at the expositional style of Mark Dever- covering whole books in a few sermons- as compared to John Piper’s most-of-a-decade journey through Romans or my own recent two years in the Gospel of John.

I do believe, however, that exposition in some form is the best way for the sermon to be the servant of the Word rather than the opposite. For all the good one can say about Spurgeon, he presumed heavily on the Biblical literacy of his audience in his career of topical preaching. Spurgeon spent little time with Biblical exposition in the pulpit, but his church did practice the public reading of large portions of scripture and weekly communion.

Interesting, our experience at soli deo has taught us that comments and discussion after each scripture lesson is welcome. At times, our gathering has several “mini-sermons,” one following each lesson and one tying them all together. In an age when “real preaching” is often a 45 minute to an hour plus lecture or comedy/motivational talk, I think we should reconsider the multiple shorter homilies/teaching segments that can be used with multiple scripture lessons.

We often associate public reading of scripture with the mainline Protestant and traditionally Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican and Lutheran churches. I have, however, discovered that many Reformed Baptist and emerging churches have public readings of entire chapters and lessons. The irony among evangelicals is that their largest church, Joel Osteen’s Lakewood Church, is full of people carrying Bible, repeating a confession of the Bible’s power and importance, and then, strangely, hearing almost no scripture at all from Osteen.

The public reading of scripture doesn’t require the lectionary, but I cannot recommend the usefulness of the lectionary enough. The arrangement of scripture in the Revised Common Lectionary is a major contribution to the appreciation of the Christian year and a tremendous gift of unity to the Body of Christ. Many of us who have been using the lectionary have discovered that it is richly suggestive for Biblical preaching that reaches into all parts of the Bible and brings us deeply into the Biblical story. There are also incredible collections of lectionary resources available for preachers.

Often, after reading a post like this, someone will write and want to know how to promote more public reading of scripture in their church. Let me prepare you for what may be an unpleasant surprise: don’t be at all taken back when you hear that there is “no time” for that much reading, or “the congregation doesn’t like that much reading,” or “it’s boring, and the time could be better used for more music.”

Many pastors and elders are, thankfully, open and motivated to include more scripture reading and will welcome the opportunity to know there is congregational support. Public reading allows the involvement of congregation members of all ages and genders, which all churches should welcome. Projection technology can be used to enhance the reading experience.

Churches that choose to have 40 minutes of music and no public reading of scripture are making a ridiculous mistake in the formation of the members of that congregation. From spiritual infants to the most mature Christians, all of us need to see and hear a weekly reminder that, in the church and in life, we all are under the authority of the Word of God, we all belong to the Christian story and what we have to say about God is of little importance compared to what God has to say to us about himself.

Pastors, if you cannot find a place in public worship for the reading of the Bible, you have too much of something that is less than essential. There is some kind of standard in your mind that needs to be abandoned.

Lent IV: Richard Rohr on the Ever-Moving Creator

Church of Good Shepherd. Lake Tekapo. New Zealand. Photo by Leo Hu

Lent IV
Richard Rohr on the Ever-Moving Creator

On Sundays in Lent this year I’m sharing some things I’ve been learning from Richard Rohr.

I was struck this past week by the most recent discovery of the Hubble Space Telescope. Here was the announcement:

NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope is an amazing time machine; by looking back through space, astronomers actually look back through time. Now, by pushing Hubble to its limits, an international team of astronomers has shattered the cosmic distance record by viewing the farthest galaxy ever seen. Named GN-z11, this surprisingly bright, infant galaxy is seen as it was 13.4 billion years in the past. The astronomers saw it as it existed just 400 million years after the big bang, when the universe was only three percent of its current age. At a spectroscopically confirmed redshift of 11.1, the galaxy is even farther away than originally thought. It existed only 200 million to 300 million years after the time when scientists believe the very first stars started to form. At a billion solar masses, it is producing stars surprisingly quickly for such an early time. This new record will most likely stand until the launch of Hubble’s successor, the James Webb Space Telescope, which will look even deeper into the universe for early galaxies.

Such vastness of time and distance is beyond comprehension. But I’m thinking not only of the magnificent creation. The Hebrew prophet Isaiah characterizes our incomprehensibly great God as the One who “marked off the heavens with a span” (the distance between thumb and fifth finger), and describes him as the “Shepherd of the stars”–

To whom then will you compare me,
    or who is my equal? says the Holy One.
Lift up your eyes on high and see:
    Who created these?
He who brings out their host and numbers them,
    calling them all by name;
because he is great in strength,
    mighty in power,
    not one is missing. (Isa. 40:25-26)

Richard Rohr likewise looks at creation and sees God as the great One who is “on the move.” He encourages us to move beyond static imagery and to embrace the potential, change, and growth that knowing this God must involve.

When, as a young man, Francis of Assisi was looking at the stars in his backyard, he exclaimed, “If these are the creatures, what must the creator be like?” [3] Some think this moment of wonder was the beginning of Francis’ spiritual curiosity and search. Thomas Aquinas also intuited the same when he said, “Any mistake we make about creation will also be a mistake about God.” Somehow they both knew that inner and outer reality had to mirror one another.

At a recent CAC conference, Ilia Delio, a Franciscan sister and scientist, shared how our view of the universe and God has been evolving. During the Middle Ages, when most of our Christian theology was developed, the universe was thought to be centered around humans and the earth. Scientists saw the universe as anthropocentric, unchanging, mechanistic, orderly, predictable, and hierarchical. Christians viewed God, the “Prime Mover,” in much the same way, with the same static and predictable characteristics–omnipotent and omniscient, but not really loving. God was “out there” somewhere, separate from us and the universe. The unique and central message of the Christian religion–incarnation–was not really taken seriously by most Christians. In fact, our whole salvation plan was largely about getting away from this earth!

Today, we know that the universe is old, large, dynamic, and interconnected. It is about 13.8 billion years old, and some scientists think it could still exist for 100 trillion years. The universe has been expanding since its birth. Our home planet, Earth, far from being the center of the universe, revolves around the Sun, a medium sized star in a medium sized galaxy, the Milky Way, which contains about 200 billion stars. The Milky Way is about 100,000 light years in diameter. Furthermore, it is one of 100 billion galaxies in the universe. We do not appear to be the center of anything. And yet our faith tells us that we still are. This cosmic shock is still trying to sink into our psyches.

…When we trust that our world and our own selves are evolving, we don’t have to cling so tightly to everything being just so, to being correct and in control. God is not static, and neither is our universe. It is ever changing, with the possibility–through our participation–of evolving toward greater love and wholeness.

• Leo Hu’s photos

Saturday Ramblings: March 5, 2016

mens_rambler_01 — 1894 Men’s Rambler Model 16

With spring just around the corner, we’re going to feature a different kind of Rambler vehicle for a few weeks, just to get us inspired for the warmer weather and outside activities to come.

The American Rambler brand started, not with automobiles, but with bicycles that were manufactured by the Gormully & Jeffery Mfg. Co., in Chicago from 1878. Back then, not only did G & J manufacture and sell bikes, but the company also operated “Bicycle Riding Academies” in various cities so that potential customers could try out Ramblers and learn to ride them.

The handsome men’s Rambler bike above is a vintage 1894 Men’s Rambler Model 16, first restored in America and then taken to England for final restoration. You can read about it and see lots of detail pictures at Rambler Bicycles and Motorcycles, the blog of the Rambler Owners Club. On the right, you can see a picture of its prototype, from the 1893 Gormully & Jeffery catalogue.

It was in 1900 that Jeffery and Gormully sold their interest in their bicycle company and bought a factory in Kenosha Wisconsin. There, they began making automobiles.

And we’ve been ramblin’ ever since.

What happens to old subway cars?

Over a period of three years, photographer Stephen Mallon captured a series of pictures to document the unusual methods that New York City uses to dispose of its subway cars. When you look at them in chronological order, at first you might be put off. You see, NYC loads barges full of their old cars, takes them out into the ocean, and dumps them.

You might be thinking, “That’s a horrible idea! Now we’re polluting the ocean with a bunch of environmentally unfriendly vehicles!

But wait. Take a look at the next picture of one of these cars at the ocean’s bottom, taken ten years later.

Over time, every surface of those subway cars gets covered in life, creating an artificial coral reef system. Every metal pipe, edge, ridge, and corner provides surface area upon which coral can grow. So, rather than destroying the environment, these old cars have enhanced it. The process of creating artificial reefs is a great help to restoring areas damaged by human activity. Way to go, NYC! This is a wonderful example of good stewardship of creation.

The strange story behind a favorite tea.

Back when I was coming of age, quite a few hippies were finding ways to introduce products compatible with the “flower-child” ethos and lifestyle. One such guy, Mo Siegel, started serving something unheard of back in 1969 — herbal tea.

Mo and his friends took to hiking up into the Rocky Mountains and they harvested enough herbs for 500 pounds of a blend they called Mo’s 36 Herb Tea. Another blend, a sleep-conjuring tea made of chamomille, spearmint and other herbs soon followed — they called it “Sleepytime.” It wasn’t long before Mo and his pals went to the bank to get a loan for a new business, “wearing jeans, smelling of herbs, and armed with Tupperware containers of Mo’s 36 and Sleepytime blends.” They called their company Celestial Seasonings, and it became the largest specialty tea company in North America and a huge contributor in making “health food” a successful industry.

Why “Celestial” Seasonings? Well, one of the founders had taken that as her “flower name.” But there is another reason as well, according to Megan Gillar at Van Winkle’s.

Mo Siegel and John Hay, two of the founders, were avid believers in a new-age bible called The Urantia Book, which followers call “an epochal revelation authored solely by celestial beings.” The book touches upon everything from mind control to a eugenics plot to eliminate the “inferior races” of our great nation.

…The Urantia Book, a 4.3-pound, 2,097-page tome, published first in 1955, is a modified Seventh-Day Adventist text supposedly communicated to an anonymous man in a trance by aliens. In reality, it was likely authored in the early 1900s by a psychiatrist named William Sadler who used it as a vessel for his racist ideas. (You can download the entire thing for free: Because the Urantia Foundation asserts that its authorship is superhuman, an Arizona court ruled in 1995 that it’s not protected by copyright and is, thus, in the public domain.)

In her article, Gillar tells how Siegal and his partners based their company and the way they did business upon The Urantia Book. And Siegel is now the president of of the Urantia Foundation and hosts a weekly study group at his house. And she includes recent quotes from the Foundation that give evidence they continue to hold and promote many of the racist and eugenics views their founding text advocates.

Mo Siegel retired from Celestial Seasonings in 2002, and it is unclear whether or not The Urantia Book holds any sway over the way the company is run now.

However, next time you take a soothing sip of that Sleepytime Tea, you might remember that the guy who invented it believes in things that’ll give you nightmares.

A humble act of service (and why don’t churches do cool things like this?).

Arun Rath at NPR introduces us to six seniors at Roxbury Latin boys’ school in Boston who volunteer to do something quite unusual for teenagers. They volunteer to be pallbearers for people who die alone and for whom no next of kin was found. Many are buried in graves with no tombstone, in city cemeteries.

The students, dressed in jackets and ties, carry the plain wooden coffin, and take part in a short memorial. They read together, as a group:

“Dear Lord, thank you for opening our hearts and minds to this corporal work of mercy. We are here to bear witness to the life and passing of Nicholas Miller.

“He died alone with no family to comfort him.

“But today we are his family, we are here as his sons

“We are honored to stand together before him now, to commemorate his life, and to remember him in death, as we commend his soul to his eternal rest.”

Each of the young men in turn read a poem, verse of scripture, or passage about death. Emmett Dalton, 18, reads “A Reflection On An Autumn Day,” which ends “death can take away what we have, but it cannot rob us of who we are.”

Mike Pojman, assistant headmaster at the school and senior advisor, was inspired to start bringing students to these funerals by a similar program at his alma mater, St. Ignatius High School in Cleveland. He turned to a local funeral home Lawler and Crosby — which is one of the very few funeral homes in the state that steps in to help with these kind of burials. “It’s the right thing to do,” says funeral director Robert Lawler. “You know, you can’t leave these poor people lying there forever.” In fact, on occasions when no family members or volunteers are available, Lawler goes to the grave himself to offer prayers.

But what a wonderful, sobering, instructive, and life-affirming thing it is for all involved when students like those from Roxbury Latin take part.

Working together to provide simple, quiet, humble service.

For those who can never say thank you.

Can you say “Jesus-shaped”?

The most distant galaxy yet seen.

Newsweek reports: “On Thursday NASA and the European Space Agency released the ultimate photo throwback: an image of the farthest galaxy ever seen. A red dot above the big dipper, the spot is 13.4 billion years old, putting it just 400 million years after the Big Bang, mere minutes on the cosmic clock from the start of the universe.

“The new measurement breaks a record set in 2012, when the telescope captured a dwarf galaxy that was 13.3 billion years old. And it positions us at the end of the dark ages and the start of the reionization era, the moment when the first galaxies formed out of a fog of hydrogen gas.”

I can’t wait to tell my friend, Ken, so he can make space for a new exhibit in his museum.

Stinking, selfish, small.

Well, at least give him credit for eating his words. “The negative reaction to the clip from last weekend’s message is entirely justified. Heck, even I was offended by what I said! I apologize,” said Andy Stanley.

In his Feb. 28 sermon, Stanley, whose church averages over 35,000 attenders each week on six campuses, dissed about 90 percent of the churches in the U.S. and those who attend them.

When I hear adults say, ‘Well I don’t like a big church, I like about 200, I want to be able to know everybody,’ I say, ‘You are so stinking selfish. You care nothing about the next generation. All you care about is you and your five friends. You don’t care about your kids…anybody else’s kids.’ You’re like, ‘What’s up?’ I’m saying if you don’t go to a church large enough where you can have enough Middle Schoolers and High Schoolers to separate them so they can have small groups and grow up the local church, you are a selfish adult. Get over it. Find yourself a big old church where your kids can connect with a bunch of people and grow up and love the local church.”

“Instead… you drag your kids to a church they hate, and then they grow up and hate the local church. And then they go to college and you pray that there will be a church in the college town that they connect with. And guess what? All those churches are big.”

Andy may have apologized (and I fully accept it), but I guarantee this kind of thinking is not at all unusual among church-growth enthusiasts.

Twelve steps to healing our land.

Pastor Steven Andrew of USA Christian Church [note what comes first], and author of ‘God’s Plan for the USA’ is asking everyone in the USA to repent of national sins from now to May 5, 2016, which is the National Day of Prayer. To help us, he has given us a prayer that is a checklist of twelve national sins from which America needs to repent.

“Humbling ourselves and following God is top priority for the nation,” Andrew said.

I thought we’d look at them today and comment on the twelve he’s chosen, then compare Andrew’s list of national sins with lists that you come up with. Here’s his list:

If you were to put together a list to help you offer repentance for your nation (I’m assuming we’re not all from the U.S.), what would be on it?

Today in music: Love those jangly guitars.

One of my favorite sounds in pop/rock music is that of the “jangly” guitar. If you follow the link in the title, you will find a great article about how the Rickenbacker guitar changed music back in the 1960’s and helped create a “jingle-jangle revolution.”

The Rickenbacker 360-12 was the most revolutionary design, with a headstock that featured tuning pegs for all 12 strings in an ingenious set up with six in standard position and the other six facing the back of the neck, so that a guitarist could tune it much more easily. This model also reversed the previously traditional arrangement of placing the treble string of each two-string set above the bass string. These features, along with its sound, made it the most successful electric 12-string ever – it remains so – and the gold standard for instruments of the type. In the early ’60s, these guitars cost (in today’s money) the equivalent of $2,750 for a 325 and $3,800 for a 360-12. They were worth it.

When the Beatles gave us their Mersey beat, John Lennon was playing a 1958 Rickenbacker model 325 (he later added a 1964 model). The Rick has been referred to as the Beatles’ “secret weapon”; George Harrison’s 1963 12-string 360 model is the source of the compressed, ringing chime that is the signature sound on “A Hard Days Night,” “Eight Days a Week,” “Ticket to Ride,” and numerous album tracks, including his own “If I Needed Someone.” Paul McCartney played a Rickenbacker 4001 bass on their 1965 American tour and much of their middle period music, like “Rain” and the “Magical Mystery Tour” songs and videos. If Rickenbacker had made drums, Ringo probably would have played them. The guitars’ special sound was not lost on other British bands; the ones that had the biggest impact were probably the Searchers and the Who. “My Generation” was recorded with Pete Townshend playing a Rick, as well as “Substitute” and several other early Who tracks. Bassist John Entwistle also played a Rick bass, and a number of Townshend’s axes were shattered to bits at the end of the incendiary band’s early shows (a thought that almost draws tears). The jangling chimes on several Hollies tunes bear the unmistakable sound, as well as “As Tears Go By” by the Rolling Stones.

The Brits were still setting the pace when Dylan went electric in 1965, and folk-rock music became a commercial sensation. And again, right there, in the middle of it all was the Rickenbacker sound. One of the most influential American bands of the decade, the Byrds, played Dylan songs and modeled their instruments directly on the Beatles, building the sound on their first several albums around Roger McGuinn’s Rickenbacker 360 12-string. “Mr Tambourine Man,” “Turn! Turn! Turn!” and other songs were big hits, and were widely imitated. Other pop bands soon followed suit; the Turtles recorded another Dylan folk song with the Rick sound and scored a hit with “It Ain’t Me Babe.” Simon and Garfunkel put out “The Sound of Silence” in 1964 on a folk album that flopped; in mid-1965 a chiming, Rick-sound guitar track and echo effect were tacked on (by someone else) and it went to number one. No surprise. A similar approach was done on “I Am a Rock,” built on a 12-string riff, and it became a number three hit.

Here is a contemporary version of the jangly guitar sound by Jackson Browne, who updated his 1967 song, “The Birds of St. Mark,” when he found a guitarist who could replicate the sound. In concert, he dedicates this song to The Byrds, prime early purveyors of “jingly jangly” guitar rock.

“How do you say ‘no’ to God?”

When you’re a poor kid from a poor family, and when a priest pays attention to you, it’s a big deal. How do you say no to God?

• Phil Saviano in Spotlight

If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to abuse one.

• Mitchell Garabedian in Spotlight

• • •

Fourteen years ago, while America was still reeling in the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, The Boston Globe ran a story that punched us in the gut again. “Church allowed abuse by priest for years” ran the headline. The story began:

Since the mid-1990s, more than 130 people have come forward with horrific childhood tales about how former priest John J. Geoghan allegedly fondled or raped them during a three-decade spree through a half-dozen Greater Boston parishes.

Almost always, his victims were grammar school boys. One was just 4 years old.

Then came last July’s disclosure that Cardinal Bernard F. Law knew about Geoghan’s problems in 1984, Law’s first year in Boston, yet approved his transfer to St. Julia’s parish in Weston. Wilson D. Rogers Jr., the cardinal’s attorney, defended the move last summer, saying the archdiocese had medical assurances that each Geoghan reassignment was “appropriate and safe.”

And so the lid was blown off what has become known as “The Clergy Sex Abuse Scandal.” Since that opening salvo by the Globe newspaper, the scandal has become a worldwide crisis for the Church. A 2014 Frontline documentary on the current state of the problem stated:

It’s difficult to estimate the full scope of the abuse crisis. While allegations first surfaced in the U.S., the problem has become a global one, with widespread reports of abuse emerging in Ireland, Spain, Germany, Italy, Latin America and elsewhere.

In the U.S. alone, 16,787 people have come forward to say that they were abused by priests as children between 1950 and 2012, according to the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, the organization for the Catholic hierarchy in the country.

They also noted that the data was incomplete and investigations ongoing. Here is a BBC page (from 2010) with summaries of some of the scandals in various countries around the world.

Just this week, a grand jury report came out about the Altoona-Johnstown (PA) diocese, stating that there was widespread abuse by more than fifty priests, involving hundreds of children, over the past four decades.

And the Church has been under fire in recent days in Australia, as a bishop gave testimony in Rome about a Royal Commission investigation.

Though Pope Francis has spoken about the scandal, saying, for example, in Philadelphia last fall, “The crimes and sins of sexual abuse of minors cannot be kept secret any longer. I commit myself to the zealous watchfulness of the church to protect minors, and I promise that all those responsible will be held accountable,” the New York Times (Sept. 2015) commented: “Since becoming pope, Francis has taken steps to address the abuse problem, but has not made it a top priority. His only known encounter with abuse victims came 15 months into his papacy, when he celebrated Mass with six victims, then met with them individually over three hours.” The National Catholic Reporter opines about the “strange disconnect” between the Pope’s words and actions with regard to this matter.

Houston, we continue to have a major problem here.

Last Sunday night, the Oscar for Best Motion Picture went to Spotlight, the story of the investigative team at the Boston Globe that first broke this story back in 2002. I found it a thoroughly engaging film. It focuses on the diligent work of a special group of reporters to bring the truth to light.

I concur with Ty Burr’s review, which affirms that the film does not present a screed which draws a simplistic contrast between the heroic media and the evil Church. Instead it shows flawed but caring and talented people doing their jobs, with their own conflicting emotions and perspectives, “stumbling around in the dark” (as their editor says) while attempting to bring truth to light.

Even though I know the story, tears came to my eyes as it unfolded and the horrors of the situation became clearer.

Earlier in the day, I had listened to NPR’s Here & Now as they interviewed Mitchell Garabedian, a key attorney and moral center of the story (played in the film by Stanley Tucci). Garabedian believes that the abuse is continuing today and that the Church’s culture of power and secrecy must be broken.

There has to be a fully independent entity investigating the church’s activities. They state that they have these programs for the prevention and safety of children within the parish, for instance, but what they don’t tell you is those programs are voluntarily implemented.

…The church’s commission has not done anything. It’s just a PR stunt by the church. What has Cardinal O’Malley done to help victims? He made a statement. They’re not helping victims. How can you possibly trust an entity that has allowed sexual abuse to occur for decades and centuries to be a watchdog over themselves?

I agree.

And in that light, one of the best responses I’ve read is by a prosecutor named Burke E. Strunsky, called, “The Treacherous Intersection of Faith and Child Abuse.”

This problem of abusing power to exploit the vulnerable is not simply a Roman Catholic problem, but it has been and can continue to be a definite problem in communities of faith, where authority, secrecy, trust, intimacy, and lack of outside accountability can create a dangerous mix.

Strunsky posits that those of us who are members of faith communities sometimes forget that we are human just like all other people, and that the faith we hold is not about escaping or denying our humanness, but recognizing it and nourishing its best qualities while fighting against its worst. That includes being transparent and accountable before our neighbors.

He writes:

Too many make the tragic mistake of relying solely on their faith in cases of crimes, particularly child sexual abuse. Some religious groups might see these events as strictly a crisis of the soul when, in fact, concealing these atrocities only contributes to even deeper spiritual crises for the victims and their families. That’s why I make this plea to families of all faiths: Please do not rely exclusively on the guidance of your religious institutions to deal with the crime of child molestation. If people truly believe in God or a higher power, then they should open their minds and hearts to the possibility that, in addition to their capacity to believe, they also possess the ability to reason for a reason.

…Washington State attorney Timothy D. Kosnoff has dedicated more than a decade of his life to representing survivors of child sexual abuse. He has won cases against many well-respected groups–the kinds of organizations that make you think the world is basically up to everything good, including the Boy Scouts of America, a number of Catholic dioceses, the Salvation Army, the Jesuits, and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, among others. “Church leaders too often cover up or turn a blind eye to evidence of child sexual abuse and attempt to deal with pedophilia exclusively as a matter of sin and not as a crime and a grave threat to children and families,” Kosnoff says. “No organization, and especially not a church, should knowingly allow such a thing to happen.”

…Religious leaders have a responsibility to care for and protect members of their congregations and communities. That’s why the reporting of child abuse to the police and child protective services (rather than to the church’s legal department or clergyperson) should stand as the primary tenet in any book of faith. The confessional was created so that people could reveal their torments to God and genuinely ask for forgiveness. In fact, the meaning of the word “repentance” indicates actually altering one’s thinking and making a significant change.

Although I agree that we need the legal protection of the clergy, penitent privilege should never be broadly or loosely interpreted. Our laws should be based in the common sense and common morality of what we, as a society, believe is right or wrong to do to another human being. We can’t allow this exemption to shield child molesters.

Michael Spencer used to write about the dangers of being “too God-centered” in the way we approach our faith and practice.

How horrifyingly tragic when such a “faith” provides the context for allowing those in power to inflict harm on the helpless.

Lisa Dye: The Blind Leading the Blind – Jack Update

The Blind Leading the Blind: Jack Update
By Lisa Dye

“Dogs and cats should always be brought up together,” said someone, “it broadens their minds so.”

• C.S. Lewis, The Business of Heaven

I found this Lewis quote in The Business of Heaven, a collection of excerpts from several of his books. He further explained that affection is often an aspect of any kind of love, but that it most interestingly grows when two unlikely personalities overcome the trials of their clashings and mismatchings. It is when we at last recognize a strange and quirky goodness in another, that we have “crossed a frontier” and have consented to enjoy and appreciate what may previously have been beyond our willingness to appreciate.

And so it is with Jack and me.

While initially won with cuteness, I quickly resented having my newly emptied, peaceful and orderly nest wrecked with the chaos and upheaval of an unwanted, explicitly unasked for puppy. Seriously, I can’t tell you how many of my evenings ended in tears of frustration over being gnawed and tugged and yapped nearly to death. My clothes were torn, my hands shredded by sharp puppy teeth, and I made innumerable trips to the backyard … in rain, wind, ice and snow, in dark of night, in robe and fuzzy slippers. The good news was that Jack at least was fastidious in the potty department. I might have cleaned up after him in the house a handful of times in the first week. Otherwise, he signaled his pee- and poo-mergencies with timeliness and clarity.

Another bit of good news was Jack’s inexplicable (considering his clear distrust of larger humans, which I will explain momentarily) love of children, maybe the result of his birth into a family with a large brood of little ones. Kids seem like home to him.

The bad news was … actually, there has been quite a lot of it.

First off, I consider myself a fairly seasoned dog owner, especially of Labrador Retrievers. Jack is my fifth. While all of them have had oral obsessions and chewed various things into oblivion, none ever chewed on me quite as much as Jack or seemed so lacking in gentleness. By end of day I was beaten, bloody and done, done, done. No amount of training seemed to work. None of the books I read took into account the mind and psyche of Jack. None of the videos or training contraptions I bought at the pet store made the slightest impact. To offer a treat was to risk the loss of a digit. He was senseless in manners and moderation of jaw pressure.

Fine … I’ll run the legs off the little $#!* with walks. I have endurance. I’m not a runner, but I can walk fast all day long and I like it. (A priest with a Labradoodle also foisted upon him by family members so he wouldn’t be lonely told me that the only good dog is a tired dog.) If Jack would walk with me, there might be hope for our relationship. It seemed that even that was not to be. Our road, originally gravel and rural, is now a speedy suburban parkway. Despite the relative safety of the wide pedestrian path alongside it, Jack was terrorized by engine noise, horns honking, police sirens that started their shriek in close proximity and the ever present speeding bikers shouting, “On your left” five feet behind us, too late to pull my freaked out puppy into the grass without us falling over each other.

Jack and I made it to the corner … barely. At first, I was angry due to the number of times my ankle was bitten and the public embarrassment of being clawed and climbed like a human totem pole, but I finally recognized the sheer terror in his eyes. I scooped up Jack and carried him home.

About that time, I was realizing Jack also had social issues. He growled at people coming to the door. He growled at me if I surprised him coming into a room. When he growled at the veterinary practice where I took him for shots and checkups, a vet I didn’t normally see (and never will again), shot me an accusing look and asked if I got him from a puppy mill. “No, he came from a farm where both dog mom and dog dad live, where he played in the yard with his litter mates and where he was loved and petted by five children until we got him at eight weeks old.”

She slapped a muzzle on him and made the suggestion that perhaps he was mishandled in our home. My lower nature wanted to tell her that Jack likely had much more loving attention than her children did, but I restrained myself. Even if she did have it all wrong, I knew I needed help because I was seriously thinking of getting my own apartment.

The books and training techniques of the monks of New Skete had helped me a little, but not enough. I contacted a trainer who agreed to come to our home and work one-on-one. I was appalled at how much it would cost, but we were desperate. Training began at the door where Jack, hair standing in a ridge on his back, was in attack mode. He was still small then, but fierce. I can’t tell you exactly what happened, but trainer Brad proved to be a dog whisperer. It had something to do with aromatic treats, intense eye contact and an authoritative stance. Jack became a statue, sitting with eyes fixed and coat quivering with anticipation of unquestioned obedience. “Jack is a lovely puppy,” trainer Brad said.

A professional says he’s lovely, I thought in wonderment.

We spent $250 on two training sessions and for our money got some sanity. I have no doubt that had we spent more, we might have a bit more normalcy, but for that amount we learned how to make Jack take treats with his lips (most of the time) instead of his teeth, how to give him space to feel safe and stop barking when someone came to the door, how to achieve down-stays for reasonable lengths of time, how to make him “leave it” when he was commencing to kill the cat and, most important of all, how to walk happily at my side without mauling me. The latter required most of the second training session, pockets stuffed full of training treats and block after block of trainer Brad, Jack and me keeping a brisk pace along my street during rush hour traffic in high winds and freezing temperatures.

Next on the list was socialization. He’d been coming to my office with me, but it wasn’t a great arrangement. I spent more time throwing a rubber turkey for him than doing accounting, so we paid a visit to Happy Dog Daycare, three blocks from my office. I explained Jack’s issues, asked them to try him out and promised to come get him right away if he was more than they could handle. The owner, a lady about my age, was a genius and very wisely put him in a playroom with the big dogs even though he was still on the small side. Miracle of miracles … Jack’s annoying bad manners and hard mouth elicited some smack downs from older and bigger dogs. It was the beginning of an awakening for my little guy. He learned not to be a bully. And he came home ready for a long nap. Dinner no longer dissolved into disaster with Jack being sent to the laundry room to ponder his transgressions. Instead, he snored through our mealtime, groaning with exhaustion. My husband and I rejoiced.

At six months we hit a snag when Jack went for his neutering procedure. The whole thing actually caused a fairly vocal fight at my house. We’d never had a dog that had not had that surgery and I didn’t understand why it was such a big deal to my husband, but he had visions of Jack being an athletic bird retriever for his one annual pheasant hunt per year. And for that, I guess Jack needed his testicles.

When Doug realized he wasn’t going to win the argument, he lobbied for some new-fangled surgical implants called Neuticles®. They were supposed to be an ego booster and consolation for mutts who’d lost their … well, you know. It was a weak lobby as those little synthetic gems are ridiculously expensive and just plain ridiculous. Doug grimly loaded Jack in the car to drop him at the vet for the surgery. He looked like it was their last good-bye. “Oh stop,” I said. “You’re projecting your feelings onto Jack. He will be happier if he’s not distracted by all those natural urges every minute of the day. Besides, he can’t stay a stud and keep going to Happy Dog Daycare.” That was probably the most convincing argument for my husband. We counted on six hours of exhaustion-inducing daily playtime at Happy Dog and a nightly three-mile walk to keep Jack in a zen state.

I thought that was the end of it until Jack returned home completely weirded out by his experience, tail between his legs, hugging walls, racing through doorways like a devil was chasing him and refusing to walk on the hard surfaces of my kitchen or laundry room floors. Days later, when Jack returned to daycare and a Boxer named Brutus got Jack on his back and tried the dog version of making him say “Uncle,” Doug said, “I told you this was a terrible idea. He’s ruined.”

He had a point. Something was terribly wrong. Getting him into the laundry room at night where he slept with the cat turned into a logistical challenge. He would no longer go into that room through the hallway, but only through the back door … and only if one of us went with him. It was the dead of winter and getting Jack to his bedroom for the night meant us going out on the deck and with him into the laundry room. Getting him out meant the reverse. He would not go into the hallway for the love of Milk Bones, rawhide or peanut butter-filled Kong balls. One night, during high winds, a deluge of snow and sub-zero temperatures, Jack ended up wedged between us in our bed and we gave up on the laundry room. Free to choose where to snooze, he ultimately opted for guard duty on the family room sofa, now a permanent arrangement. Fortunately, Jack, unlike many other Lab pups, would rather sleep on the sofa than rip it to shreds. Other than drool and dog hair, that ancient and worn leather monstrosity is no worse the wear.

At daycare, Jack went through doorways with the whites of his eyes showing … and only on the right side of his handler. I began avoiding other people dropping off or picking up their dogs in the lobby and made a wide path around them. Dog lovers naturally love to greet and pet dogs they meet, but unless they had a canine in tow Jack would respond with hair raised, and rumbling barks. He was clearly a dog-person … er, dog-dog. I couldn’t figure out if he was scared or trying to protect me, but his behavior was rude and off-putting. I was always saying, “I’m sorry” and praying for Jack as I left.

One day I picked him up and he had been quarantined with a snotty nose, so I took him to the vet. Oh my … It became abundantly clear that going through the door to that place elicited pure panic. He was so upset, his hair was falling out, he was panting and his brow was contorted in wrinkled anxiety. Thankfully, the vet I like came in and casually handed him treats while otherwise ignoring him and talked with me until Jack calmed down a bit. Then she took him out to swab his mucus for incubation and to TAKE HIS TEMPERATURE. Dear Jesus …

The vet came back without blood on her lab coat and said he did fine, but a quick eye exam had shown some abnormalities. She was referring me to a canine ophthalmologist.

As it turned out, Jack is nearly blind. Without getting too technical, the central vision in his right eye is terrible, as is his peripheral vision in general and particularly on his left side. It’s at least one reason why he demands to go through doorways with me on his left. I am his protection for the side he can’t see. It explains a lot, including why runners with hats, trashcans on the sidewalk and any unfamiliar shape pose a threat to Jack. The ophthalmologist said that some dogs handle poor vision with docility, but Jack got a dose of neurosis with his. Despite his 90 pounds, Jack was a scaredy cat. He would need a lot of reassurance.

That bit of news ultimately led us back to training, this time for a weeklong boot camp where Jack spent 8-10 hours with a handler on meet and greet duty at the training facility and on a local walking trail where he had ample opportunities to have his mood changed about encountering strangers with lots of joyful “jolly talk.” I guess in the dog psyche, hearing low-voiced rebukes (i.e. from me) as he was tensing and barking at strangers sounded just like barking to him. It gave him affirmation that we were both under threat and he was indeed right to bark because I was barking too.

If all of this sounds crazy and indulgent, I completely understand. I never thought I’d find myself so enslaved to another living being. I’m not sure raising my kids was as complicated. But I’ve learned a few things for which I’m thankful. Jack’s neuroses, obsessions and fears are no worse, no less obnoxious and every bit as troublesome as my own. He is in need of grace and a patient dog mom just as I have needed God’s grace and patient Fatherhood. How good of God to act this out for me. How very sly and wryly humorous.

All of creation, including Jack, has been subjected to frustration as a result of the fall of man (Roman 8:19-23). And all of creation, including Jack, waits expectantly for the sons and daughters of God to be revealed. For whatever reason, and by the providence of God, Jack is waiting for me to get it right, as are a few others in my life.

It’s been a fellowship of pain, to be sure, just as it is whenever we “cats and dogs” of the human sort are made to dwell together. Ruth Patterson writes, “I know of no other way for hearts to be softened other than by a combination of love and suffering.” There is truth in this. Despite the incredible efforts Jack and I require of each other, I already grieve for the day I will not have him. Perhaps his sleepy morning kisses, his euphoric reaction to our evening walks and the resting of his big black head on my feet at night before bed mean the same for him. I only know that our two years of suffering each other’s quirks and failures have broadened our minds and softened out hearts. I could not love that creature more.

• • •

Read Lisa’s original 2014 post about Jack HERE.

There is a way through…

Here’s another picture from the Kentucky hills for our Lenten contemplation. Click on it for a larger image.

This shot was captured by our friend Alan Creech. Alan took this in Lee County, KY, just barely on the other side of the Red River Gorge.

I sometimes imagine our forbears here in North America, for whom a scene like this was common, and probably fearful. Making one’s way west through the wilderness was daunting.

When I think of how the state where I live, Indiana, as well as all of the Midwest, was essentially covered by forests just a little over 200 years ago, I stand amazed to think of those who saw beyond the trees and hills and the other obstacles of the land and envisioned that one day there might be farms and communities in those places.

Of course, we’ve destroyed a fair bit of beauty and life in the process, and therein lies reason for deep sorrow and repentance.

Nevertheless, the power and persistence of the human spirit, often motivated by faith in a God of salvation and providence, is a matter of continual wonder in this world.

There is a way through the rocks, the trees, the hills, the fog, the dim light of morning.

As your days, so is your strength (Deut. 33:25).