Whenever you are ready, I’d like to tour the dark side of this thing we call theology. I have high hopes that, once we emerge on the other side, we may be better theologians for having confronted some aspects of theology its promoters usually ignore.
I hate theology when it’s without humility. Theology and humility. They ought to go together without much trouble. I mean, this isn’t rocket science. It’s infinitely bigger than rocket science. On his deathbed, Saint Thomas Aquinas said, “I can do no more. Such secrets have been revealed to me that all I have written now appears to be of little value.” We know this is the proper attitude toward our theologizing, but it’s not our normal working stance.
The idea of knowing the truth about God has to be about the most seductively dangerous kind of knowledge we can claim. The more we learn, the more humble we should be. Following the usual theories of knowledge, If God is infinite and incomprehensible, then the more we know, the less we know. That is, when ignorance is replaced by knowledge it opens vast new spaces of the magnificently unknown, and we should be humbled.
Take the modern astronomer. He appears to know far more about the universe than his ancient counterpart who thought the stars were pinpoints of light held by gods or angels. But does the modern astronomer’s increased knowledge make him or her truly knowledgeable, or does it make him or her stupefied with wonder and amazement at what we know and all we don’t know?
So how did we miss this in modern theology? Arrogance, not humility, marks theological discussion and debate among evangelicals and protestants. You would think a few years of reading and study had opened up the mind of the Almighty to be picked through like a card catalog at the local library. The posture of a Biblical theologian ought to be constant worship and wonder, not glibly asserting all that he or she knows for certain.
Remember the story about the reporter asking Karl Barth what was the greatest theological truth he’d ever heard? The answer from the wizened old professor was, “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.”
1965 Rambler Classic 660 Station Wagon. Like your Chaplain, it has seen better days.
If we can get this old Rambler jump-started, we’ll be off and running in this late summer edition. There, I think we got it. Ready to ramble?
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Here are a couple of family pictures from our Labor Day weekend gathering at Cumberland Falls, Kentucky to celebrate my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary. No, they really are family pictures. You see, my great, great, great uncle by marriage, H.C. Brunson, ran the inn at Cumberland Falls for 30 years in the early 1900’s, before the falls were saved from the power company and turned into a state park. So, fittingly, we had our family gathering at an old family spot. Click on each image to see it full size, and learn what leisure used to look like.
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The 2015-16 NFL season kicked off Thursday, and we loyal U.S. sports fans will now pay absolutely no attention to presidential politics, unless, like Donald Trump here, the politicians set forth their positions and policies regarding how they will make sports even better.
Note from CM: I first met Charles Featherstone over a cup of coffee at Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago a couple of years ago. Even in our brief interaction, I was intrigued by him and the story of his wilderness journey. I learned only a small portion of it then, but now that Charles has written his compelling book, The Love That Matters: Meeting Jesus in the Midst of Terror and Death, it’s out there for all of us to read. This is a journey you won’t forget — and it’s not over yet. I encourage you to read his book, and if you want to read a good article summarizing his story even more than this interview, read the piece Charles wrote for Christianity Today: “Saved from Islam on September 11.” Charles also blogs at The Featherblog.
For our post today, I’ve asked Charles a few questions that trace the outline of his journey, with the events of September 11, 2001 right in the center.
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1. Charles, you write that this book “is the story of my struggle — to find a place in the world into which I had been born, a world that was all too cruel — unwelcoming at times. A world in which too many people didn’t seem to know what to do with me.
What are some of the particular ways in which you experienced the world’s cruelty? Was it in your family? At school? In the neighborhoods in which you lived? Is there a particular instance that stands out? And what do you mean when you say that people didn’t know what to do with you?
Well, I met it in my family — I had an early sense that my father didn’t particularly like me, and for some years, he was sporadically violent, sometimes horrifically. I could never know.
But there was also school. For a few years, particularly fourth through sixth grades, at Citrus Elementary in Upland, California, I was bullied pretty incessantly. It was mostly verbal, being teased constantly, but there were also threats. I was easy to threaten. And in fifth grade, my teacher, Ms. Johnson, was also part of the abuse. She was chief bully; she hit some students, but she never hit me. She organized all the other bullies, though. It was unrelenting. She was a monster, and I don’t use that word lightly. I can still see her face, red with rage, and hear her voice — which was always some kind of yell. She called me “stupid” a lot, and once told me in front of everyone during class that she was going to fail me so that I would have to spend another year with her. Then she laughed. She did those sorts of things a lot.
I lived in a world in which no one could be trusted, no one protected me, and the only value I seemed to have to those around me was as something to abuse. It only lasted a couple of years, but it was enough.
After that, beginning in junior high school, I wasn’t bullied anymore. But I didn’t really know how to belong. For our talk about individualism, and even freedom, America is a deeply conformist society. Freedom is basically the ability to want and to choose the right things, to voluntarily conform. I suppose it has to be that way, or else nothing would hold the society together, but it also means that conformity is very internally driven. It also means there is quite a clash between what we as a people confess and how we actually live, and demand those around us live. And we really don’t know what to do with non-conformists. We really do not know how to accept those who, in their bones, cannot seem to belong, to want what everyone should want the way it should be wanted. I really wanted to belong, to be accepted, to be part of something in high school, and I kind of was — marching band, maybe — but mostly I was alone. I had friends, and some intense friendships, but not really the deep web of belonging I think I have been aching for much of my life. To be part of a people, enmeshed in them, and to have them be a part of me. I didn’t know any of this at the time, of course, I was just lonely and anxious and very angry and feeling my way toward something I was incapable of describing. I was the kind of person who could have been a school shooter given the right circumstances — I was THAT angry at the world — but it was the early 80’s and no one was shooting up high schools yet.
When I was 17, and I graduated from high school, I had three questions of the world — will anyone ever want me, will anyone ever love me, and will I ever be good at anything? Because I didn’t know the answers to ANY of those questions. I don’t know if that’s a common experience, but it was mine. And I struggled hard to try and answers those questions. Mostly, I failed — like with my 20 months in the Army — because I had no idea what I was doing and almost no guidance. I’m not sure I would have listened to anyone, but there really wasn’t anyone there to help or walk with me. Life isn’t a journey we are designed to take alone. We really do need each other.
In his book, Ragman: And Other Cries of Faith, Walter Wangerin writes about the way he and his wife Thanne fought throughout their marriage. Their bouts would follow a pattern.
He talked.
She was silent.
Then she would cry.
He would sigh to signal that he had troubles too, and would ask her what was the matter. And she would cry.
He would concede guilt and ask her what he had done. And she would cry.
He would press her, try to touch her, stomp around the room in anguish.
She would stop crying, and let him have it — “And then poured forth such an ocean of wrongs, such a delineation of sins in such numbered and dated detail (whether I had intended any of them or not!) that I would stand shocked before the passion in one so short, plain drowning in her venom, aware that things had gotten out of hand, but speechless myself and very weak.”
And he would throw his coat on and walk out.
Take that!
But then it happened that the Lord intervened, and one night there should have been a different ending to the battle.
…On that particular night (my birthday, as I remember, and Thanne had strung that fact in large letters from wall to wall of the living room, dear woman) we had followed the usual script of our non-fights latterly, through solicitation, tears, pressure, tears, stompings, undeserved accusations and the basset hound look in my face, and tears —
Indeed, all went well, right up to the jamming of my arms into the overcoat, the running downstairs, and the dramatic leap into the night. But then God piddled on the affair.
When I slammed the front door, I caught my coat in it.
Mad and madder, I rifled my pockets for the key, to unlock the damn door, to complete this most crucial tactic against Thanne’s peace of mind. Take —
But there was no key. My tail was truly in the door, and the door was made of oak.
I had two alternatives. Either I could shed the coat and pace the night unhouseled, unprotected. There was real drama in that, a tremendous statement of my heart’s hurt — except that Thanne wouldn’t know it, and the temperature was below freezing.
Or else I could ring the doorbell.
Ten minutes of blue shivering convinced me which was the more expedient measure. I rang the doorbell.
So then, my wife came down the steps. So then, my wife peeped out. So then, my wife unlocked the door — and what was she doing? Laughing! Oh, she laughed so hard the tears streamed down her face and she had to put her hand on my shoulder, to hold her up.
And I could have smiled a little bit, too. I could have chuckled a tiny chuckle; for this was the gift of God, arranging armistice, staging reconciliation between a wife and her husband, a gift more sweet than all the rains of heaven. Laughter: extraordinary forgiveness!
But what did the dummy do? Well, he batted her hand away, cried “Hmph!” and bolted to stalk the night more grimly than ever before. Then he should have wondered about the survival of his marriage, not by fights distressed, but by his stupid, blind, inordinate and all-consuming pride.
1606 Every man experiences evil around him and within himself. This experience makes itself felt in the relationships between man and woman. Their union has always been threatened by discord, a spirit of domination, infidelity, jealousy, and conflicts that can escalate into hatred and separation. This disorder can manifest itself more or less acutely, and can be more or less overcome according to the circumstances of cultures, eras, and individuals, but it does seem to have a universal character.
1607 According to faith the disorder we notice so painfully does not stem from the nature of man and woman, nor from the nature of their relations, but from sin. As a break with God, the first sin had for its first consequence the rupture of the original communion between man and woman. Their relations were distorted by mutual recriminations; their mutual attraction, the Creator’s own gift, changed into a relationship of domination and lust; and the beautiful vocation of man and woman to be fruitful, multiply, and subdue the earth was burdened by the pain of childbirth and the toil of work.
1608 Nevertheless, the order of creation persists, though seriously disturbed. To heal the wounds of sin, man and woman need the help of the grace that God in his infinite mercy never refuses them. Without his help man and woman cannot achieve the union of their lives for which God created them “in the beginning.”
MICHAEL SPENCER’S NOTE: In this essay, I venture into a highly personal area of my life and the life of the person I love most. Not to be sensational, but to worship and enjoy God, and to hold out hope to those readers who may have given up on their own marriages.
For Judy and Mike
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Jesus looked at them and said, “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.” (Mark 10:27)
God’s Big Mistake
There’s a picture that comes to mind every time I read Genesis 3. It’s a prison movie. A prisoner has escaped, and is running as hard as he can along a seemingly deserted county road. Then, out of nowhere, the police cars appear, catch up to him in a field and surround him. He has nowhere to go, and he collapses on the ground in anticipation of being manacled and taken back to prison.
Out of one of the cars steps a cigar-chomping, hefty, stone-faced captain of the prison guard. He stands over the prisoner, silently looking him over. Then the guard pulls out his revolver and shoots the prisoner in the leg.
“Now. Keep running.” And he gets back in the car, and they all drive away, leaving the prisoner bleeding, but alive…and confused. He gets up and runs off into this strange, wounded freedom.
How does it remind me of Genesis 3? Adam and Eve rebel against God and reap the immediate consequences. Their perfect marriage is shattered. They are selfish, arrogant, blaming and blind. They’ve turned from God and turned on one another. Adam blames God and Eve. Eve blames the serpent and whines. God pronounces a judgment of pain, estrangement, conflict and eventual death over them both. All is lost, it appears.
Note from CM: In this post, I will not be writing about same-sex marriages. They will be mentioned, but what I have to say is not about them. If you think SSM or other forms of “marriage” should be discussed in the comments, I will only agree if you are including them to talk about the main point.
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Marriage is a covenant of mutual promises, commitment, and hope authorized legally by the state and blessed by God. The historic Christian tradition and the Lutheran Confessions have recognized marriage as a covenant between a man and a woman, reflecting Mark 10: 6–9: “But from the beginning of creation, God made them male and female. For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one put asunder.” (Jesus here recalls Genesis 1:27; 2:23–24.)
…The church’s historical experience supports its confidence that solemn promises, made before a company of witnesses who ask for God’s blessing on a man and a woman, have the power to create a unique framework within which two people, a new family, and the community may thrive. Consistent with that experience, this church has confidence that such promises, supported by the contractual framework of civil law, can create a lifetime relationship of commitment and cooperation.
• ELCA Social Statement on Human Sexuality (2009)
This is a fine, traditional statement about Christian marriage, and I endorse it wholeheartedly.
I want to say one particular thing in this post: I affirm marriage between and man and a woman as a unique relationship designed by God for the blessing of humankind.
I do not want to talk today about other types of relationships: for example, same-sex marriage — the legal status of which has become such a point of argumentation in our culture. Whether or not I affirm that such unions should have legal protection in a free society is not the issue here. Whether or not we call such relationships “marriage” is not the issue here. Whether or not such relationships form “families” or whether they are suitable settings for the care and nurture of children is not what I want to talk about. I am not concerned to discuss the morality of these unions, or whether they are, in and of themselves, sinful because they involve same-sex intimacy. I’m not interested in arguing about whether the church should or should not recognize such unions as valid, include people participating in them in positions of ministry, or whether “discipling” people who are drawn to same-sex relationships should involve trying to persuade them that this is an unacceptable Christian path.
I could agree or disagree or have ambiguous convictions about any of those points, but whatever we might talk about with regard to such relationships, it doesn’t affect what I have to say about marriage between a man and a woman one iota.
I believe this is a unique relationship. That God designed it. That God gave it to humankind for our blessing.
I base my position on biblical interpretation, and two points from Genesis lead me to think this way:
Genesis affirms that the “male and female” makeup of humanity was designed to reflect the unity/diversity of God — the “image of God” is somehow bound up with the maleness/femaleness of humanity.
It also affirms that the union of male and female was designed to lead to fruitfulness — that is, the male/female union is the only relationship that can naturally produce children for the ongoing blessing of humankind.
So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.
God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.”
• Genesis 1:27-28
How we deal with other “family-type” relationships is important and there is a time and place to discuss this. However, whatever conclusions we come to as individuals, communities, churches, and societies about other forms of sexuality and unions, it is my conviction that this one relationship stands apart as unique and incapable of being replicated.
Therefore, I agree with the author of Hebrews, that marriage ought to be held in honor by all. (Hebrews 13:4)
At home I have good wine and beer and a good wife, or, shall I say, lord.
• Martin Luther
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This past weekend, we celebrated my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary. I’ve been thinking a lot about the vocation of marriage and family lately.
One of Martin Luther’s greatest contributions was his emphasis on the high calling of marriage. Luther, a monk, married the former nun Katherine von Bora, and gave the following reasons defending his decision: he said the union would “please his father, rile the pope, cause the angels to laugh and the devils to weep.”
Though he was a man of the 16th century and believed men should be the head of the household and rule in positions of authority, he based his view upon the fact that God had imposed this kind of order on the world as a result of the Fall. However, God’s original plan in creation was for an equal partnership between husband and wife in the marital relationship.
Martin Luther’s own marriage reflected much more equality than those of most in his day. Katie controlled the family finances and ruled the household affairs. She also grew or raised most of the family’s food, brewed beer and made wine, and, in essence, ran a boardinghouse because of the many people who visited and came to stay with the Luthers. He once put Katie on a search committee for a church seeking a new pastor, to the consternation of those who thought such authority unsuitable for a woman. But Martin trusted her judgment and was unswayed by their arguments. He sought her opinion on intellectual and political matters, and asked her to handle much of his business with publishers.
The following is from Luther’s lectures on Genesis and reflect some of his comments on Genesis 2:23: “The man said, ‘This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. She will be named ‘woman’ because she was taken from the man.”
The word woman presents an amazing and lovely picture of the institution of marriage. Everything the husband has also belongs to his wife. Not only do they share their assets, but also their children, income, food, drink, bed, and home. Besides that, they are to be one in mind and spirit. The only difference between a husband and wife is in their anatomy. Otherwise, they are the same. Because of this, whatever the husband has or owns also belongs to his wife.
Compared to the very first marriage are marriages today are only pathetic copies of the original design. If a married woman is honorable, moral, devout, and God-fearing, she and her husband will equally share the cares, duties, and responsibilities of their household. This is why she was created and why she is called woman.
Even though a wife doesn’t come from her husband’s flesh and bone as Eve did, she is still a head of the household the same as her husband because she is the wife. This doesn’t invalidate the law, given after the fall into sin, which places the wife under the authority of her husband. This punishment, like the others, clouds the glorious life humans enjoyed in paradise. This passage reminds us that Moses wasn’t describing the miserable life of married people today, but the innocence humans enjoyed in paradise. Back then, the authority of the husband and wife were equal. Now, men are obligated to work by the sweat of their brows, and wives are commanded to place themselves under their husbands’ authority. Nevertheless, we still see a remnant of the original design in marriage because the wife is called woman and because she owns property and possessions jointly with her husband.
It was 1973, a year before my high school graduation. I was sixteen, a young preacher-boy at a revival meeting at a church in our community. I remember the tiny church being packed, but I don’t remember anything about the service, or the sermon or the preacher.
I do remember something that happened at the conclusion of the service. Something that has stayed with me all these years and haunts me.
I see the face of a preacher, looking at me, looking out across the room, to see if he is alone, or if there is someone who understands what it’s like to be human. Is there anyone else hurting like this? Is there anyone else this broken?
His face comes back to me across the years, and as I think about my own brokenness, failures, and the desire for common humanity that drives me to nail my thoughts to the door of the world, I wonder if he wasn’t showing me the face of every man and woman I’ve ever met.
You see, the invitation concluded, and that preacher began talking. His words were nervous, not the sure and confident tones of the sermon, but the halting, breaking, fearful tones of the guilty confession. He wasn’t in preacher-speak. He was speaking differently. Humanly. It bothered me.
In my church, our pastor seemed super-human. He was God’s man. A Spirit-filled man. He was different than all of us. He spoke differently. He dressed in suits all the time, even on hot summer days when he was doing yard work. He knelt behind the pulpit when he prayed, even though it was a very large church. He cried and shouted in the pulpit. He declared the Word of the Lord, and pled with sinners to come to Jesus. He was an embodiment of heaven’s man on earth.
He was not like the rest of us, and we knew it.
He did laugh, but not in the same way or at the same things. His wife was saintly, and always dressed like royalty. He could be tender, but he could also be frightening. You knew he spent hours with God, and was different as a result. He was a holy man.
As a young preacher-boy, I wasn’t a thing like him. I’m not sure that I wanted to be. I had walked the aisle and “surrendered” to preach, but could I ever be like that? Holy and separate? Anointed with power? I did believe, I am sure, that being a preacher meant I would be different. God would give to me…..something. The mantle of the prophet. The fire of the preacher. A light in the darkness. I wouldn’t be like other people. I would be safe and protected.
But this evening I was looking at another preacher, not my pastor. And he was not supernatural or holy or other-worldly. He seemed small and frightened. He was talking about his wife. He’d come home, and found his wife with another man. He just said this, to the whole church, as if they must know. He wept. His fear and self-loathing oozed out of him and into the atmosphere of that revival. Everything changed.
His wife was not present, though we all looked around to see her. I was uncomfortable. I wasn’t the only one. I wanted him to stop talking. He was scaring me. Real humanity, and the mess of a broken marriage, weren’t welcome in this revival, or in my world.
He said he and his wife had a lot of trouble, and he’d been taking medicine. But the medicine hadn’t done any good. Now his wife was with another man, and he wanted the church to pray. We did not know what to do with this. It was too much. Too much. Too real.
This was the pastor. The pastor was talking like this. I felt sick. I wanted to leave. Eventually, we did leave, and I went straight to my car and drove home.
Something had changed, though. The world was different. There were Christians- preachers- who were messed up. Christians and preachers with mental problems and wayward wives. I didn’t want this to be true. I wanted Christianity to be a safe zone, a magic place of protection from such terrible brokenness.
I did not realize until many years later what had happened that night. The preacher was calling out of his darkness, calling into a room of other people, looking for something. What? He was looking to know he was not alone. He wanted to know if anyone else knew and understood what it was like to be human, to hurt and be a failure. To have failed at marriage and now, to have failed at being a “good Christian.” Did anyone care that his life was a wreck, or would they just condemn him? Would they pray for him, or did they just want him to go away?
I have no idea what he found. In me, he found the shock that comes from being confronted with my illusions. I wanted this to be a freakish exception to the rule that God makes us all better and makes everything all right. I wanted this to be a bad dream that would go away, because I did not want to think about the waking realities of infidelity and mental illness and desperate, despairing people. I did want to think that the man standing in the pulpit with the answers might not have all the answers for himself.
My faith rejected such a vision. I thought of that preacher as a sick fool. Today, I know better. He was a window into my own soul. A picture of the human race. A representative of the our true nature. And even more, he was, for that moment a sacrament of honesty in a religion of pretense. He stood there, falling to pieces, asking, “Am I alone? Am I the only one?” But we couldn’t let the secret out. We had to say the “amen,” and go home to a religion that protects us and makes us better.
Some twenty years later, that preacher took his own life. I do not know his path, I only know that in the end, he could not live with himself.
How many times did he stand and tell others to trust in a God of love, mercy and grace? And what did we hear? Did we hear the truth….or did we hear, instead, the invitation to paint ourselves in colors of self-deception and denial, and pretend another week, another year?
Over and over, Jesus reached into the lives of people like that preacher. The last, lost, least, losers. The unacceptable, the unreformable. The failures and the frauds. Those whose lives could not be tidied up with a little cultural religion. And from that, we have constructed a Jesus who prefers the “good Christian.” A Jesus who wants moralizing and religious superficiality. A Jesus who hardly needs to die for us, because a little exhortation to do better and keep on the straight and narrow are more our style. A Jesus without a cross, but with smiles and blessings for our homes and marriages full of “Christian moral values.”
The preacher stood there in his honesty, asking, wondering, reaching….not so much out to God as to his fellow humans. He looked at us and asked, “Am I alone? Am I the only one?”
I still hear him, and I still see his face. And I wonder what I would do today? Would I sit there….or would I embrace him as my brother?
1954 Nash Rambler Custom Country Club two-door hardtop
Welcome iMonks! Ready to ramble?
The truth is out. Daniel is no longer doing Saturday Ramblings (at least for the time being) because he was offered a pastoral opportunity at a new cutting edge church.
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This next bit of astronomical creativity is from The Christian Post. Of course it is.
A historical researcher has observed that the planets Saturn, Uranus, Jupiter, Earth and Venus aligned in an orrery model to form what can be seen as a man on a crucifix on the day associated by some with Jesus Christ’s crucifixion, namely April 3, 33 A.D.
“More than a few studies have pinpointed that date based on the Bible, calendars, astronomical conditions, even geology,” researcher and University of Wisconsin-Madison history major Miguel Antonio Fiol said in a statement.
An illustration released to the public shows the positioning of the planets on the date close to 2,000 years ago, noting that Saturn’s rings at the top of the figure could be seen as representing a “halo” or the crown of thrones placed on Jesus’ head. Uranus and Jupiter form the stretched hands, while Earth and Venus form the feet.
“Even at first glance I knew it looked like the crucifixion,” Fiol added. “But it took time to uncover all the incredible parallels.”
The researcher says that the planetary alignment began in mid-March and lasted through mid-April of 33 A.D. The same alignment occurs once every 333 years, and has been observed six times between the year 0 and 2000 A.D.
Fiol admitted that not everyone will see a crucifix in the planetary alignment, which is open to different interpretations.
“People will see what they want to see though I think coincidence is a hard argument,” the researcher said.
“It’s like spotting Jesus on a Reuben or any kind of sandwich, either you see it or you don’t.”
Researcher Claims Discovery of ‘Jesus in the Stars’ (PRNewsFoto/Miguel Antonio Fiol)
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Kim Davis has been all over the news this week for taking a stand against same-sex marriage. The problem? She is the county clerk in Rowan County, KY, responsible for issuing marriage licenses, and these are now legal for same-sex couples to obtain.
Hers is the highest profile case since the Supreme Court issued its ruling about same-sex marriage in June. Davis went to the federal courts, arguing that being forced to issue same-sex marriage licenses as part of her duties as clerk would violate her religious liberties. The courts disagreed, and the Supreme Court refused to grant a stay she requested that would have allowed her to avoid granting the licenses. So, she’s simply refused to grant any marriage licenses, and she released a statement saying why:
I never imagined a day like this would come, where I would be asked to violate a central teaching of Scripture and of Jesus Himself regarding marriage. To issue a marriage license which conflicts with God’s definition of marriage, with my name affixed to the certificate, would violate my conscience. It is not a light issue for me. It is a Heaven or Hell decision.
Sen. Lindsey Graham, Republican from South Carolina, perhaps an unlikely voice against Davis’s stand, went on a radio show and disputed the Kentucky clerk’s position:
“The rule of law is the rule of law,” Graham, a South Carolina conservative Republican, said on Hugh Hewitt’s radio show. “We are a rule of law nation.”
“I appreciate her conviction, I support traditional marriage, but she’s accepted a job in which she has to apply the law to everyone,” Graham added about Rowan County Clerk Kim Davis, who has defied the Supreme Court and continues to refuse to issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples. “(She) should comply with the law or resign.”
A judge agreed with Graham this week, found Davis guilty of contempt, and put her in jail.
Some have suggested that the fact that Kim Davis has been married four times and became pregnant while unmarried makes her a hypocrite for taking such a stand about marriage. However, others have pointed out that Davis only became a Christian four years ago and that her sexual and marital problems occurred before that.
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Will he eat bugs? Drink his own urine? Hug Ted Cruz? What will he be forced to do to survive?
President Obama will Run Wild with Bear Grylis on his adventure show in the Alaska wilderness later this year, discussing the effects of climate change and becoming the first U.S. president to receive a crash course in survival techniques.
Actually, the President has done pretty well surviving the wilderness of Washington, D.C.
The person who could really use Bear’s survival training right now is a certain city gal named Hillary.
• • •
We lost Wes Craven this past week. A lot of horror fans left tributes like this one around the web:
In a 1997 Chicago Tribune interview, Craven reflected on his years at Wheaton. He chose the college for one reason only: “My sister’s fiance went there. I was the first member of my family to attend college, and, frankly, the idea of applying to more than one school never occurred to us. Our worry was that Wheaton College might be too liberal. I seem to recall some discussion of that subject in the family.”
At Wheaton, the future horror icon edited the literary magazine known as Kodon, and in 1962, he later recalled, “there were two stories, one about an unwed mother, the other about an interracial couple, that were not well received. After the second issue, (the administration) announced I had been derelict in my duty as editor and that Kodon would cease publication for the year. Our response was Brave Sons, a literary magazine produced off campus that went on for several issues, if I recall.”
The Tribune interview went on to quote Robert Warburton, a retired Wheaton College professor of English literature, who said: “I was sympathetic to Craven and his friends because they were asking nothing more than the presence and dynamics of Christians in the modern arts. They wanted to know, ‘Where are Christians in the arts? What is our role in film, theater, music and dance?'”
Craven also remembered something very fondly about his time at Wheaton. As a college senior, he suffered from a debilitating neurological disease that left him partially paralyzed and unable to attend classes. “The illness set back my graduation by nearly a year,” Craven said, “but the support I received from students and faculty members through that period was so moving to me. People I didn’t know came to visit, to pray for my recovery. To me, their thoughts and prayers represented the best side of Christianity. I’ll never forget that side of Wheaton College. Never.”
This poor sheep needed a haircut so bad, its life was in danger. Some hikers in Australia spotted the seriously unshaven merino sheep wandering on its own on the outskirts of Canberra, Australia. They sent for the animal welfare officials, who dispatched an urgent call for a volunteer to shear the woolly beast and save its life.
Thank goodness, four time Australian Shearing Championship winner Ian Elkins was listening and offered his services. Woolly Bully for him.
Back in April, in front of the Holy Door in the atrium of St. Peter’s Basilica, Pope Francis issued a Papal Bull proclaiming that this next Church Year will be a “Holy Year of Mercy.” He will go back to the site on December 8 to open the Door once more to commence the year. You can read the entire text of his September 1 letter about this emphasis HERE, but one paragraph in particular caught the notice of many:
The Holy Door at St. Peter’s Basilica
One of the serious problems of our time is clearly the changed relationship with respect to life. A widespread and insensitive mentality has led to the loss of the proper personal and social sensitivity to welcome new life. The tragedy of abortion is experienced by some with a superficial awareness, as if not realizing the extremeharm that such an act entails. Many others, on the other hand, although experiencing this moment as a defeat, believe that they have no other option. I think in particular of all the women who have resorted to abortion. I am well aware of the pressure that has led them to this decision. I know that it is an existential and moral ordeal. I have met so many women who bear in their heart the scar of this agonizing and painful decision. What has happened is profoundly unjust; yet only understanding the truth of it can enable one not to lose hope. The forgiveness of God cannot be denied to one who has repented, especially when that person approaches the Sacrament of Confession with a sincere heart in order to obtain reconciliation with the Father. For this reason too, I have decided, notwithstanding anything to the contrary, to concede to all priests for the Jubilee Year the discretion to absolve of the sin of abortion those who have procured itand who, with contrite heart, seek forgiveness for it. May priests fulfil this great task by expressing words of genuine welcome combined with a reflection that explains the gravity of the sin committed, besides indicating a path of authentic conversion by which to obtain the true and generous forgiveness of the Father who renews all with his presence.
The fourth “blood moon” is due to occur on September 28.
Husband and wife evangelist couple Anita and Ignacio Fuentes have been using this fact to proclaim the impending end of the world fervently. In addition to the sign of the blood moon, in a YouTube video they cite a long list of global events foreshadowing doom including, the rise of the ISIS and ebola deaths, global nuclear tensions and financial crashes, Chinese hack attacks on the US, multiple animal deaths, the Jade Helm military operation in the USA, the emergence of the occult game Charlie Charlie and the CERN hadron collider being turned back on.
But — as the TV adds say — that’s not all! There’s more!
The Fuentes’ also point to “several Walmart stores closing in the US over plumbing issues for six months,” [excuse me, huh?] two drones penetrating the grounds of the White House, a meteor shower, bankers and natural health practitioners dropping dead mysteriously, and two cows being born with the number seven on their faces.
And, of course, the list would not be complete without the decision of the US Supreme Court to recognise same sex marriages.
The video ends with this auspicious message: “We are living in the final seconds.”
Oh sorry, there’s one more thing: an appeal for donations.
Hey, the end of the world can get expensive. You’ve no idea.
Oh, I forgot, this too: they’re expecting a baby in late January.
• • •
After the sheep story, I just had to end with a song. What could be better than this performance from 50 years ago by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs?
I like to use the phrase “good works” to describe Christian living. Doing so reminds me of Ephesians 2:10, a favorite text of mine:
“We are his workmanship,” says the apostle, “created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.”
His workmanship. Created in Christ Jesus. This eliminates any possible understanding that “good works” on our part have anything to do with our salvation, our justification, our acceptance by God. That work is his and his alone.
Good works which God prepared beforehand. Even the good things we do as Christians were planned ahead of time by God and are not due to our initiative or origination.
That we should walk in them. Christians get to actively participate in good works that God mysteriously uses in the development of his Story. It is our privilege every day to discover what “God has prepared beforehand” and join with him in his mission to bless and restore the world. We walk in God’s works — even our activity is described in terms of God’s gracious involvement in our lives.
However, when people hear the words, “good works,” any number of misunderstandings rise to the surface. Let’s talk about a few of them today.
• • •
First, the word “works” puts the focus on what we do, so there is an assumption that we are talking about something that is distinct from or in opposition to faith and the grace of God.
However, if you read the three points above, they add up to grace, grace, grace. Through Jesus’ finished work, God made us new in Christ. God planned the good works he made us to walk in. We walk in God’s good works.
Second, the phrase “good works” may suggest a special category of activity: “spiritual” work, work done for the church, volunteer work, work done to advance special causes.
When I use the phrase, “good works,” I simply mean what we do as we live following Jesus each day.
I’ve had the same problem with the phrase, “the Christian life,” as though Christians live in a life that is different than other people. No, the “Christian” life means life — common, ordinary life — lived Christianly, lived as though one is following Jesus. It is the same with “good works.” It describes our vocation as Christians, our “daily work” of living: as individuals, in our families, among our friends, at our jobs, in every setting in which we find ourselves. Again, Ephesians 2:10 — we “walk” (that is we conduct the course of our lives) in God’s good works.
In this regard, Richard Halverson was very helpful to me when he distinguished “church work” from “the work of the church.” Church work consists of the “family chores” that are necessary for keeping a church organization running, and it requires relatively few people. However, every Christian is called to “the work of the church.” Halverson put it like this:
Think of it this way. The program of our church is everything all the members are doing between Sundays. The church keeps house, goes to school, teaches, practices law, medicine and dentistry, runs business and industry, farms, works on construction jobs, researches in many fields, sits on school boards, city councils, county councils, state legislatures and congress. Between Sundays the church is involved in everything productive and constructive that is happening in our community. And it does so as a witness to Christ, to the glory of God, in His love and in the power of the Holy Spirit, sensitive to its accountability to Christ.
Third, “good works” may be perceived even more narrowly: as the kinds of religious works done by ministers, monks, nuns, and others who follow special vocations.
One of the greatest contributions of Luther and the other Reformers was to counter this notion. Marriage is equal to or may even be superior to celibacy. Common labor is equal to or may even be superior to the cloistered life of prayer. And so on.
There is always an impulse in Christianity (and other religions) to think those who “give up” more and “devote” themselves to the Lord for some kind of ordained service are better Christians, higher in spirituality and more impactful on the world for God. This is a mirage, and one day we will see the magnificent harvest that will spring from seeds planted by “ordinary” Christians doing ordinary things in everyday life.
• • •
Back in 2013 I wrote these words, and I stand by them.
Most of my life, I’ve been waiting to live.
The pattern has been like this: seasons of thinking about what it means to live and waiting to live and hoping to live, interrupted by moments of living.
I’ve spent most of my days thinking about life, pondering what will enable me to live. Hoping for that break that will allow me to live. Counting on that change that will lead me to circumstances in which I can live. Afraid that if I commit myself to living now, I will miss out on the real living that might have been.
Then, every once in awhile, life breaks through.
I hear my grandson giggle uncontrollably, and I know my place in the world: I am like Abraham, the father who laughs, and the promise is in the seed. I live in my family.
I sit in a living room with an octogenarian, while her demented husband lies drooling on the pillow in his hospital bed next to her. Though we have known each other less than an hour, she entrusts some of her deepest feelings and fears to me. I live in her tears and whispered confidences.
A line in a sermon I am preaching catches me off guard and deeply moves me. I pause. I catch my breath. I hear myself speak more softly and personally, and the people in front of me are my friends. We connect. In the word on my lips, the Word that did not originate from me but which came like an unexpected breeze, I live.
Driving down the road, I sing along with a favorite tune. It surprises me when my voice breaks and my eyes tear up. There’s some kind of life in that music, life that swells in my chest, life that carries me away. I live in the song.
The greenest groomed grass, immaculate raked soil marked with white chalk, the shape of a precious diamond, the smell of oiled leather, and smack of honed wood on cowhide. A leisurely day in the sunshine. Narrative and tradition emanating from a radio speaker. I live in the baseball game.
And this is my vocation — to simply live. Having found life and having actually experienced living, I find I am much less anxious to search for it, to think I must change my circumstances, do something different, pursue some new interest, gain some new insight, achieve some new status. As Merton says,
Suppose one has found completeness in his true vocation. Now everything is in unity, in order, at peace. Now work no longer interferes with prayer or prayer with work. Now contemplation now longer needs to be a special “state” that removes one from the ordinary things going on around him, for God penetrates all.
I would not claim that this describes me, or that I am anywhere near “completeness in [my] true vocation.” Heavens no! But I would testify to a bit more contentment, a bit less anxiety; a bit more acceptance, a bit less restlessness.
A bit less thinking about how to live, and a bit more living.
, it’s out there for all of us to read. This is a journey you won’t forget — and it’s not over yet. I encourage you to read his book, and if you want to read a good article summarizing his story even more than this interview, read the piece Charles wrote for Christianity Today: 
, Walter Wangerin writes about the way he and his wife Thanne fought throughout their marriage. Their bouts would follow a pattern.
The Internet Monk Archives 