Defending The Dufus President
by Michael Spencer

I have never written about my own journey from liberalism to conservatism, and I won’t be doing so anytime soon. When I was an enthusiastic liberal- I once journeyed hours to cheer at a Dukakis rally- I began to notice certain traits of liberals that bothered me. Chief among these was the openly sneering contempt liberals had for the intellect of conservatives in general. In short, if you were conservative, you were stupid and mean when compared to a liberal. To be liberal was to proclaim your intellectual and moral superiority over the hampered, zombied masses of the common conservative citizen.

On college campuses this sort of thing is understandable. It is comfortably adolescent to come home from a year at college, suddenly enlightened on all things, and feel a pitying contempt for your poor parents. They do not know the truth that liberals know, truth that can only be accepted and understood by those who are more intelligent, more compassionate, more reasonable than any conservative. I believe these impressions forever hold the images of Bill Clinton and JFK on one hand, and Barry Goldwater and Ronald Reagan on the other. The liberal heroes are Ivy league, intelligent and smooth. The conservatives are not just plebian in their roots, they are crass and low, mean and, yes, comparatively unintelligent.

So, while conservatives can laugh and make much merriment over the entertaining antics of the far left, it is not a conservative habit to proclaim themselves intellectually superior to liberals. Far from it. Most of us feared the intelligence of Bill Clinton. He was clearly smarter than his adversaries- God included. Conservatives might entertain notions that they are morally superior to liberals, but that would be a mistaken notion. We agree agree with William F. Buckley that we would rather be ruled over by the first one hundred names in the Boston phone book than the faculty at Harvard. Liberals, however, believe themselves intellectually superior to conservatives. So when conservatives have the upper hand, one may expect to hear what we are now beginning to hear once again about President Bush: he is an idiot.

Before I analyze and comment much more, I have to say that I feel sympathy for my liberal colleagues. There isn’t much for them to talk about these days. The Enron party has come and gone, with a nasty fellow called Great Crossings waiting in the wings. The recession was an apparition. Whatever slowdown of the economy we experienced did not have the requisite homelessness, breadlines and other symptoms needed to ignite the merchants and media of misery. The war on terrorism has made our President, alas, more popular than Jesus. So great is the cause before us that nothing the liberals can say really seems important. It is a time for giving speeches on the need to fill potholes and make better roads. It is a time to find a way to be photographed with the President and avoid being photographed with Mr. Daschle. These are difficult day, for everyone except a narcissist like John Kerry. (We remember such times well when things were booming for Clinton in the nineties.)

So desperation has brought out the liberal entertainments described at the beginning of this column. As Matt Drudge said, it is suddenly cool to bash Dubya again. The campaign 2000 books and documentaries are starting to appear and the elitists are watching in head-wagging astonishment. It seems our President is frat boy. He enjoys stupid nicknames. He makes funny faces at inappropriate moments. He winks. We waved at Stevie Wonder. (That is funny.) He lays hands on bald people and asks for divine healing. (I’m in that line.) He is not polished. He seems to crave boyish attention. Our President is a bit of a dufus.

Those who feel he needs to resign are so rare that they should be put in a special preserve. Like Sandra Bernhard, Alec Baldwin and the British Tabloids, their seriousness is spectacularly entertaining. (I have to say I believe that Bush’s popularity has done a great deal to crack the conservative ghetto in Hollywood and the media. I see more and more people from these communities coming out of the coma. Even Saturday Night Live’s comedy at the President’s expense is endearing, not poison.) These are people who must hate Bush, and they must hate him more than anyone might ever laugh at him. Thankfully, such tiresome people are few.

Should we be concerned that our President is a dufus? An Austin Powers fan? A cut up who winks at the wrong times? Should we worry that he is watching football and not reading Cornell West? Should conservatives by upset that the man leading the free world’s war on terrorism is so unpolished and un-Presidential? I tell you my good readers, the answer to that is clear. Thank God, we have such a man. Remember…..remember…

Remember what a polished liar Mr. Clinton was, and how we let ourselves be taken in? We wanted to believe he was what we saw when he was playing President. Remember how we wanted him to be the guy we saw on 60 Minutes? The guy who said he’d never had “sexual relations” with that woman? The thought that our president was a criminal, a lecherous adulterer, a profiteering, philandering Arkansas pol up to his elbows in corruption was not allowed by his liberal keepers. He was a statesman, an intellectual, a man born to be President. Watch how they marched out and proclaimed his innocence, so duped, so used that even now most of them cannot be angry. Watch how they defend his sham legacy, and ignore his incompetence, his raising skirts and raising money, all the while letting our nation’s well being deteriorate. Yes, Mr. Clinton was impressive. An impressive sham.

When Joe Klein wrote Primary Colors, liberals engaged in what became a religion for them. In the book, the governor and wife had all the real flaws of the Clintons, allowing liberals to acknowledge silently within themselves the existence of these realities, but in the world of words the President was always the flawed, but anointed political messiah, the Kennedy-esque keeper of the Camelot dream. It is sad- and I truly mean sad- to see men like James Carville castrated by the dualities of Bill Clinton. Pause and consider there is no such spin necessary with our current president. If you want to write a book exposing him as a dufus and a frat boy, shallow and unpolished, go right ahead. We will laugh. Because we already know this. Did you hear? We already know.

Conservatives should remember that America voted for George W. Bush with it’s eyes open, and the nightmare of Florida gave them time to think it over. Pre 9/11, America came to peace with the man in the White House. He would try hard. He would speak their language. He could be trusted. He wouldn’t have sex with interns in the Oval Office. Yes, he might be a little small in the suit, but that was alright. And after 9/11, Americans discovered that this very human man, this fellow who was in so many ways, like so many of us, felt what we felt: outrage and anger. He let it show. And what you saw, you knew was real. George Bush cannot act like President. He is discovering what it is to become the President.

Those troubled by the ridicule of our president should remember that it is his very emotional nature, his connection with the reporters in the back row and the bald guy at the photo-op that make his tears real. It is his transparent emotions that give that trembling voice authenticity. Did anyone believe Bill Clinton’s quivering lip? Does anyone doubt George Bush’s? Before our eyes, we are watching a man bring his humanity to a job that has become more than human. And wonder of wonders, we realize he actually came to the kingdom for such a time as this. He was made to be the man standing for us and in front of us.

Just a couple of days ago, President Bush visited with some of the families that lost sons in Operation Anaconda. Liberals and critics were second guessing our preparedness for that operation, and the loss of seven in one day was a shock to the system of a nation that had begun to act as if the war was winding down. President Bush looked at the audience, and looked at the families, and tears came to his eyes. His voice shook. He leaned forward as he does when he is earnest. His words were simple. The sacrifice was terrible, but the cause was just and the families could know their sons died for what was right. And there would be more. He can tell us these things, and our confidence in him, and in ourselves, soars.

My mind went to two stories I have heard many times about President Clinton. It was a ceremony for the soldiers who died in the “Black Hawk Down” incident in Somalia. President Clinton said the requisite lines, shook hands with the families, and was leaving. A father of one of the boys, clearly not a little cynically, asked the President what he should say when his grandson asked why his daddy died. The President reportedly said “That’s a good question,” and left the room.

The other story involved a video taken at the funeral of Ron Brown. Clinton was walking back to the limo with Tony Campolo, and the two were cracking up over something Tony had said, unaware that they were being filmed. Suddenly Clinton spotted the video camera. He morphed his laughing face into a face of grief, and put his hand over his face as if weeping. It was surreal, yet utterly true to character of the man.

As I recall these stories, I realize they could be replicated dozens of times. I safely speak for the vast majority of the country here: I will take the dufus. Proudly, gladly and without any hesitation.

Reports are telling us that Mr. Clinton is spending his post-presidential evenings in various night clubs, enjoying no doubt, the adoration of many of his fans. His career as ex-President clearly does not animate him as did the more on-camera role of President. While liberals criticized Reagan for acting his way through the job, I have a feeling Mr. Clinton’s presentation of himself as what he really was not will never be fully appreciated. On the other hand, if Mr. Bush is in the White House for eight years, I have no doubt he will be choking on pretzels, winking and watching Austin Powers the entire time. But when he leads us, when he speaks for us and tells us what being an American requires of us today, I will believe him. Because he is what he is, and there is no doubt that he our President. Like Harry Truman before him, George W. Bush makes us glad that history sometimes puts the little man, the flawed man, the honest man, in the most powerful of offices.

Are We Wrong About Marijuana?
by Michael Spencer

Drugs have cost me a lot of friends: my students. Like every school in America, the school where I work prohibits the use of drugs by students (and staff.) Three years ago we incorporated random drug testing as part of school life. Both before and after that decision, we lost students because of persistent drug use. (I might say at the outset that our school is unusually patient in this area, often suspending a student once or twice before expulsion for drug use, and readmitting a small number of students who convince us that they are serious about staying off drugs.)

As a campus minister and Bible teacher, I frequently talk with students about this subject. Many are Christians who are committed to never using drugs. Others use drugs when they are away from school, but stay off drugs at school. Some have continued to use drugs. Many are upset at the drug testing policy and of course, upset at the loss of friends. I support the drug testing policy and believe it operates in the best interests of everyone, particularly students wanting to stay clean, but I am also frequently grieved by the loss of students to such a minor behavior problem.

Drug use in America involves everything from over-the-counter herbs to vitamins to prescription medications to marijuana to ecstasy to crack and heroin. To even speak about the “drug problem” is to say nothing and everything at once. For this article, I am going to discuss marijuana, the drug that has cost me so many students, and the drug that is the focus of much discussion regarding legalization, decriminalization and cultural acceptance.

I have never used this drug, but far from disqualifying me from writing an opinion, I think it puts me in the best position for evaluating the choices our society faces with this particular drug. How many Americans have ever used marijuana? Probably by the end of this decade, a clear majority. How many use it regularly for personal recreation? By the end of the same decade, probably a sizable minority. This is a drug that has made remarkable inroads into American culture, beoming a subculture all its own. This is all the more surprising considering the puritanical fanaticism with which our culture prosecutes users of tobacco and abusers of alcohol.

The difference between the treatment of marijuana, alcohol and tobacco in the media says volumes about public perception. Whatever one may say about the health risks of marijuana, it is celebrated in a way that alcohol and tobacco no longer can be. Foster Brooks, the comedian who made his fortune as a hilarious drunk, recently died. One must note that no one is doing that act anymore, and MADD is right to object to making light of a behavior that results in the death of thousands. And while tobacco has made somewhat of a comeback in movies and television, it is with the full awareness that the commercial airwaves and public billboards are dominated by anti-tobacco advertising.

I would measure the difference this way. A national level politician must plainly say he or she is against the use of tobacco and the abuse of alcohol, but he or she must also go on MTV and admit to some youthful acquaintance with marijuana. The reader may decide what is the reason for this irony, but I think it indicates a perceived deep public acceptance of some level of recreational marijuana use.

My students have a clear perception of the health risks involved in the use and abuse of tobacco and alcohol. They have little or no understanding of these issues in regard to marijuana. I cannot find any even aware of the increased risks of lung disease based on the chemicals within marijuana and the inhaling of marijuana into the lungs. Very few believe it is a gateway drug, despite overwhelming evidence that marijuana use precedes the use of other drugs. Few accept the concept of psychological addiction, any permanent affects on memory or increased risk of sterility, though all these are established as well. While all are well aware of its exaggerated medicinal values, few accept any significant effects on reaction time, and they are always quick to tell me that all sorts of people in high profile positions (“even the President”) probably use daily.

When I ask who would you rather fly your plane, operate on your heart or be driving your child’s school bus, someone clean or someone high, they sit with ridiculous grins of their faces and do not answer. In school, we called this cognitive dissonance, and one can almost hear the mental gears grinding to a halt.

So has the common sense of the ordinary citizen outrun the naysayers and do-gooders? Is the acceptance of recreational marijuana use a harbinger of impending nationwide legalization? Or at least decriminalization of small amounts for personal use? Should workplaces be drug-testing burger flippers as well as brain surgeons? Janitors as well as jet pilots? Should schools be expelling students for engaging in a behavior that has no more consequences than a couple of weekend beers? Are we just going overboard, both morally and practically?

My libertarian side kicks in here. I think the “War on Drugs” is a rather colossal and unnecessary empowerment of the Federal government and mostly an open bribe of state governments. It has accomplished nothing substantial except the extended imprisonment of thousands of Americans, mostly minorities, for crimes involving possession and use of marijuana. This seems a ridiculous waste of money and human potential. Programs like D.A.R.E. have proven to be ineffective and even counterproductive. For much less cost, many of those incarcerated could make positive contributions to their communities rather than costing taxpayers a fortune. Treatment, not incarceration, is appropriate in many cases, and no one believes this “lock ’em up” policy is making an impact on the average young person. Particularly if he is a suburban white kid with a couple of joints in his pocket.

I am also a Christian, and I have no doubt that marijuana use is wrong. For starters, there is no way to build a “WWJD” case for marijuana. If you can picture Jesus smoking weed with his disciples, you have been listening to too many Bob Marley records. I am aware that some advocates of marijuana are enamored with the King James translation of Psalm 104:14. ” He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth…” Modern translations translate the term in question as plants or vegetation, and anyone can see that it is referring to God’s provision of plants for food. Sorry kids.

While the Bible never specifically speaks about marijuana, it does teach a principle of “right use.” By “right use” I mean that created things that have a use have right or moral use, and other uses may be innocently wrong, or morally wrong. The right use of marijuana may be medicine, but not the alteration of consciousness. This seems as clear as saying one should not eat rocks.

The Bible does speak about the right and wrong use of alcohol, making the case in Psalm 104:15 ” And wine that maketh glad the heart of man…”, and in Ephesians 5:18 ” And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit.” For the Christian, this removes recreational marijuana use from any consideration as a morally neutral activity, for it is using a substance for a purpose which scripture says is reserved for God alone.

Now if you are looking for an opening, then you may think I’ve given you one. It would go something like this: “OK, what is the difference between wine that makes glad the heart of man and weed that makes glad the heart of the dude? If it’s not used in excess, but in recreational moderation, what is the difference?” A good question.

I honestly have to conclude that such a question sounds reasonable. And if I spent my time debating this subject, and not working with students, I would agree. But it is my experience with students that persuades me there is a difference, and also persuades me that the popular picture of marijuana use is underselling the truth.

I cannot entirely tell which of my students use occasionally and which do not, but I have a very good idea which of my students use regularly. There is a difference. In their manner, in their work, in their motivation and in their memory. It is not a difference that would stand out immediately, but day after day and year after year, the difference is discernable. There is an impact on motivation. There are obvious effects on memory. It appears to me that, much like other drugs, marijuana begins to play an increasingly important role in the life of the user. I couldn’t say there are obvious signs of psychological addiction, but I have observed that students who get in trouble with us for using marijuana have almost always gotten in trouble in other schools and in other situations.

Two simple examples. Many of the marijuana users that I have encountered manifest real symptoms of short term memory affectation. For example, it is not unusual for such students to leave their drugs and paraphernalia in coat pockets, book bags, desks drawers, even out on counters for adults to stumble across. There is a reason for these errors in judgment, and I do not think it is coincidence.

I would also bet any reasonable amount of money that if I divided my classes into “B students and above,” and “C students and below,” I would find the vast majority of non-drug users in the first group, and the majority of users in the second group. Again, this is not absolute, but it is also not coincidence. Such examples are admittedly not scientific, but they are persuasive to me. The man with an experience will never be intimidated by someone with facts and statistics. I have experience with students using marijuana, and there is far more going on than is happening with a glass of wine at dinner.

Most persuasive to me are the differences I see in students who stop using marijuana. After a period of time, the changes are evident to any teacher who spends an hour daily with students. Those changes in appearance, attitude, memory and motivation are not minor, but sometimes striking. Students who regularly used marijuana, and then quit, are never bashful about noting the differences. For those of us who see these changes up close, there is no doubt that the effects of marijuana are very real and quite substantial.

I once asserted in class that marijuana, in addition to providing a solo high, also produced an instant network of friends, and that any student, no matter how unpopular, would have a certain level of instant acceptance with other users. One student, later expelled for drug use, became angry and challenged my assertion. Ironically, that particular student was a poster child for my premise. I simply responded that if I were perceived as the worst teacher on campus, I could easily change my reputation by using and providing marijuana for interested persons.

I cannot help but think that marijuana has many friends in the academic community, in the media community, and among those who are responsible for the presentation of this issue to our culture. A movie such as “How High?” is financed and promoted and supported by a community that seems to feel quite differently about marijuana than about alcohol and tobacco. These are, by the way, the same Hollywood types that attended Clinton “Values in Media” summits and congressional hearing photo-ops, promising to be more concerned about young people than profits. Am I far off base to say there is a simple explanation for this gross inconsistency: the advocacy of the personal use of marijuana, and the hope for it’s widespread acceptance, decriminalization and legalization.

Marijuana is not the most serious drug problem in America. It does not deserve to be the reason thousands are imprisoned and prosecuted. At the same time, the lack of information and the misrepresentation of marijuana’s impact are dishonest, immoral and dangerous. It appears to me that a segment of our society has decided that it is their best interest to be less than truthful, and the interests of the rest of us can take a back seat. Should they be free to use recreationally without the threat of prosecution? Perhaps, but should these advocates be free to lie and distort their way to their goal? No.

I Have My Doubts
The many reasons I don’t believe.
by Michael Spencer

Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!”

• Mark 9:24

Let’s start with bugs.

Bugs have always….well…bugged me. They bite me. Wasps hate me. Mosquitoes swarm around me. Gnats head for my ears and eyes like some bad remake of “The Birds.” There are a thousand varieties of bugs that all seem dedicated to devouring me. When I was a kid, my friends called me “bug eyes” because of this curse. Now, I can go for a walk and look up to see a swarm of bugs like a cloud over my head.

Is this right? I mean, even if there is a curse on creation, didn’t mosquitoes always drink blood? Aren’t they designed that way? So why would God make the little bloodsuckers? Why make wasps that sting? Why make me in such a way that bugs want to appropriate my body for their own purposes? Sure, the wonders of biology speak of intelligent design, but wasn’t there some way to do this to the glory of God without eating, stinging and killing me?

It’s one of those thoughts that hit me a few dozen times a day. One of those thoughts that make me wonder if God is real, or if I am a fool to believe that God created and runs this universe of mosquitoes and gnats.

Ever think about forever? I hear the word all the time, but when I get down to thinking about it, it grinds my pea brain to a halt. An atheist friend once asked me if a person would want to do anything forever. No matter what it happened to be or how pleasant the experience. I’ve gotta admit, heaven seems like a wonderful alternative to earth, but every time someone says we will be “praising the Lord forever,” I get a little sullen. I’m sure to get bored.

It makes me stop and wonder if Freud was right. Do we make it all up to make ourselves feel better?

My daughter just got her driver’s license. I now go to bed, wake up and spend all day worrying that she will die in an accident. (I’m just being blunt here. Sorry if I am shocking you.) I worry about that because I know people–lots of good, Christian people–who have suffered such a loss. Most of them hold on to their faith and make it through–somehow. It’s a miracle to me. I can’t understand it because I suspect such a loss would gut me beyond ever being able to stand up and say I believe in God. My best scenario would be to become like C.S. Lewis, who at one point said his wife’s dying with cancer made him believe God was a vile, cosmic monster who no moral person could trust.

If God won’t answer my constant prayers for my daughter’s safety, why am I praying them? What kind of God asks me to trust him, and then is, in the matter of my daughter’s safety, very untrustworthy? Is it really easier to believe in such a God, or as Anthony Flew says, in no God at all?

One more. When I think of how often God has been real to me; how often I’ve sensed His reality in other people; how often I’ve seen direct and specific answers to prayer; how often I’ve had a no-questions-asked assurance that God is my Father, the Bible is true and Jesus Christ is Lord, I find myself wondering if it’s all true, or am I just pretending, faking and putting on an act? My honest Christian experience is pretty meager, and the experience I have that goes beyond all doubt to the “I just know it’s true” category is even slimmer.

I have my doubts. About it all. God. Jesus. Life after death. Heaven. The Bible. Prayer. Miracles. Morality. Everything.

“But you are a pastor. A Christian leader.” That’s right, and I am an encyclopedia of doubts. Sometimes it scares me to death.

I’m terrified by the possibility that I might have wasted my entire life on the proposition that Christianity was true, when in fact it wasn’t even close. I wonder if I have been mentally honest with myself or with others, or have I compromised my own integrity in order to collect a paycheck and have a roof over my head? Have I acted as if the case for faith was clear when it was a muddled mess in my own mind?

What’s really frightening is that these doubts persist and get stronger the longer I live. They aren’t childish doubts; they are serious, grown-up fears. I don’t have the kind of faith that looks forward to death. The prospect terrifies me, sometimes to the point I am afraid to close my eyes at night. I have more questions about the Bible and Christianity than ever, even as I am more skilled at giving answers to the questions of others. I can proclaim the truth with zeal and fervor, but I can be riddled with doubts at the same time.

When I meet Christians whose Christian experience is apparently so full of divine revelation and miraculous evidence that they are beyond doubts, I am tempted to either resent them or conclude that they are fakes or simpletons. The power of self-delusion in the face of a Godless, meaningless life is undeniable. If there is no God, can I really blame someone for “taking the pill” to remain in his unquestioning certainties?

There is sometimes nothing worse than being able to comprehend both all my doubts and all the accepted, expected answers. It tears at the soul, and declares war on the mind. I feel remarkably alone in my moments of doubt, and wonder, “Do other Christians feel this yawning abyss of doubt, or am I just a bad Christian?”

My doubts are bad enough that I have to make frequent daily reexamination of the very basics of my own faith. These aren’t matters that were resolved in a conversation somewhere back in college and have never visited me again. Oh, no. Almost daily I travel back down some of these well-worn paths. Walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Doubt has given me many opportunities to ask myself why I am a Christian, and to appreciate those who chose not to believe.

These doubts have made me respect my honest, unbelieving friends. To many of them, it isn’t so much the content of Christianity that is ridiculous. It’s the idea that Christians are so certain; so doubtless. They find it untenable that anyone could bury their own doubts so deep that you are as certain as Christians appear to be. Our television and radio preachers, our musicians and booksellers, the glowing testimonial at church, the zealous fanatic at the break table at work–they all say that Christians no longer have the doubts and questions of other people. Only certainties. And for many thoughtful unbelievers, that appears to be lying or delusion, and they would prefer to avoid both.

So do I. I profoundly dislike the unspoken requirement among Christians that we either bury all our doubts out in back of the church, or we restrict them to a list of specific religious questions that can be handled in polite conversations dispensing tidy, palatable answers. Mega-doubts. Nightmarish doubts. “I’m wasting my whole life” doubts are signs one may not be a Christian, and you’ve just made it to the prayer list.

Martin Luther was one of the few Christians who honestly experienced and conveyed what it was like to live in honest suspension between one’s worst doubts and fears, and the promises of God in the Gospel. In his book Luther: Man Between God and Death, Harvard professor Richard Marius says of Luther’s theology,

In this life, God does not lift the Christian out of human nature, and God does not reveal himself beyond any shadow of doubt. Weak human nature will not let us believe in the promises of God with a confidence that purges from the soul the anguish of fear and unbelief, the Anfechtungen… Therefore, in Luther’s discovery of justification the Christian was liberated from the self-imposed requirement to present a perfect mental attitude to God, to confuse belief with knowledge, faith with the direct intuition of an observed world. Whereas in the earlier Luther the fear of death was the ultimate form of unbelief, the Luther who discovered justification by faith understood that no matter how great our faith, it cannot be strong enough to stave off terror before death.

It is interesting that many skeptics fault Luther for being, well….frankly, nuts. But I believe Luther was courageous enough to see and feel the verities of a universe without God and a universe where sinners were under the judgment of a Holy God. With such options on the table, it is hard to be coolly academic about reality. Only in justification by faith through Christ did Luther find a spirituality that contained room for both his damning doubts and his liberating experience of grace.

Such a spirituality is the only option for an honest Christian. As Luther suggests, there is no escape from human nature, and therefore no escape from the kinds of doubts that can vacate the universe of God’s presence. It is precisely this spirituality that I find in the Bible, and it is a significant discovery.

The early chapters of Genesis make it clear that sin created a profound division between God and human beings. Not just an interruption in communication, but a universe-sized separation.. There is great evidence that this abyss creates a situation where human beings may reasonably, sensibly feel that God is absent, or that there is no God. This is not because of an absence of evidence for God’s existence, or because God has abandoned the world, but because human experience is fundamentally changed and we are blinded to the resident glory of God in the universe and within our lives.

We see this most clearly with Job, whose tragedies bring him into a disparate experience of being certain of God and his justice, and also being overwhelmed with the absence of God. The ringing cry of many Biblical sufferers is “Where is God?” The skeptic says “There is no God.” Israel experiences judgment and announces that “God has forsaken us.” It is not uncommon or strange for doubts to overwhelm faith, or for life to take on the appearance of a universe without God. The Bible attributes this to who we are as fallen persons, and seems to accept it as part of the fabric of Christian spirituality. Even Jesus, in his human nature, knew what it was for pain to bring him to the point of saying, “God, why have you forsaken me?”

Justification does leave us as people who are still fully human, and the more honestly human we are, the more aware of our doubts we may be. The question may become, “Do I banish my doubts, call them the devil and refuse to examine them, or do I accept my doubts as part of the paradox of my human experience, and realize that faith may exist right alongside such feelings and questions, as Mark 9:24 suggests?”

This is my own experience. I cannot remove my doubts, but I cannot erase my faith. At every level, these two experiences exist together, convincing me that I am, indeed and exactly, the kind of contradiction that Luther believed all Christians were at the center: both righteous and sinful simultaneously. (Simul justus et peccator.) While these two experiences are at war over the most basic assumptions of my life, they actually blend together into a single experience that is what one person called “the awesomeness of being human.”

At a fundamental level, I cannot get past the fact that the universe exists, and it is completely unnecessary. That there is something rather than nothing overwhelms my doubts daily. No matter how many times the brevity and meaninglessness of human life plunges me into despair, I look at the world around me, at the Hubble photos, at the beauty of the mountains or of my children, and cannot explain why these things should exist, could exist, or have any possibility of existing if some being did not call all this into existence, and sustain this universe out of pure pleasure. It is not the God of deism or of Islam or Aristotle that explains this. It is the God of Colossians 1:16 For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities–all things were created through him and for him. For him. There is no other explanation, no matter how contrary it all seems to the life I may experience today.

My doubts exist alongside my appetite for God. I believe no one has put forward a more cogent and persuasive critique of theism than Sigmund Freud. Freud’s contention that human beings create a God in the sky out of their longings for a perfect father and their fear of death has the virtue of common sense and realism. As a Christian, I do not doubt that vast tracts of human religiosity can be explained by Freud’s analysis. Yet, Freud is wrong. The Biblical God is not wishful thinking, but the center of the spiritual “appetite” of human beings. Billions of human beings would prefer no God exist. Billions of human beings would like to make God in the image of Santa or Oprah. Yet, Christianity, Judaism (and even Islam) persistently put forward a God who is terrifying to who we are. A just, holy God of judgment. A God of heaven and hell. Not the God of the wishful thinkers, but the God who is a consuming fire.

And it is this God that we long to know. This God who repulses us and damns us. This God who demands the purity of thought and action. A God who demands that we love Him with all that we are and love our fellow persons as His creations. It is this God that we long to know in intimacy. It is this God we long to be accepted by, to trust and to praise. This God is the source of all the notions of beauty, truth and goodness that we find in this universe. C.S. Lewis said that appetite could not prove the existence of food, but I don’t think that speaks for the experience of the starving person.

I cannot explain my longing to know God. Talking about it is like undressing in front a crowd. I am not embarrassed that I avoid the topic. But I know to what extent it is a part of my deepest identity. As Augustine said, I have no doubt that I was made for God and my heart is restless till I find my rest in Him. I am persuaded that my longing for human happiness is the echo of my creation in the image of God. I believe my doubts are what it means to be told I cannot go back to Eden, but must go forward to the New Jerusalem.

My doubts about the Bible are profound, but my faith in the Bible is persistent. I know all the apologetic schemes for “proving” the Bible. They persuade me a bit here and there, but they fall far short of answering my worst doubts about whether a God that exists has communicated to me in words that I can understand and depend on. What ultimately persuades me that the Bible is, indeed, such a communication are two things. First, the truthfulness of the Bible in describing who and what I am is convincing. There is the glory of being made in the image of God contrasted with the rebellion and evil of my depravity. The shadow and the light within our souls. The Christian view of humanity is the only one that makes sense of my experience. The longer I live, the more the scriptures describe me accurately. This feeds my faith that scripture is also describing what I cannot see behind me and ahead of me in the journey of life. The Bible is not, as a whole, a book that would be created by persons like me. It is simply too truthful. It is not a fairy tale or a myth. It is autobiography of the most surprising kind.

Ultimately, I am persuaded of the truth of the Bible by its presentation of Jesus. I cannot explain or unpack this reasoning, for it comes down to an encounter with a person. Those who are Christians know well what I mean. You know what it is like to see no evidence of God in the world, in the church or in the mangled mess of your own heart, yet to be drawn powerfully after the Jesus of the scriptures. You know what it is like for Christians to act completely contrary to anything resembling Jesus, and to be sickened by their mistreatment of people in the name of God, yet to know that you cannot abandon Jesus himself as flawed, because you know the resemblance between Jesus and those who claim to follow Him is superficial at best.

The portrait of Jesus in the four Gospels towers above the paltry whinings of modernists, the thrown pebbles of critics and the repeated foibles of a scandalous church. Jesus is not the creation of any person or any tradition. He alone, of all the versions of a human soul, radiates the undoubtable evidence of “God with us” that other spiritual leaders only hint at. Jesus alone defies categorization and trivialization. He towers over history, culture and the human heart. This is no portrait of human longing or an exercise in wishful thinking about what we might become. This Jesus is, as John said, the Word made flesh.

I am persuaded that something happened that Christians call the resurrection, an event so galvanizing and transforming that its aftershocks continue to reverberate across history. Unlike any other person on planet earth, Jesus exerts a continuing and growing influence over individual human lives. The transforming, liberating, revolutionary power of Jesus breaks into the mundane of human history in a way that cannot be compared to Buddha or Mohammed’s insights into reality or inspirational example. Throughout the world, the Spirit of Jesus creates life and hope in a world where philosophy and technology have explained all the questions and made irrelevant all the answers.

There is simply no one like Jesus. And all the lofty things that might be said about him cannot begin to explain why one doubting soul will repeatedly choose to place his life’s hope of meaning in a person that lived two thousand years ago; a person who communicates unconditional love through his brutal death on a cross. Jesus is, ultimately, a mystery. We can point to him, and point to his cross, but each person must walk to that cross alone and choose whether this is a meaningless, pointless execution, or God saving the very world that despises Him.

What I believe Luther recovered was the stunning truth that God saves doubters who believe. Jesus chides Peter for doubting when he sinks on the sea, but the scripture also tells us at the close of the Gospel of Matthew, Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. And when they saw him they worshiped him, but some doubted. I have returned to this verse many times and thought about the meaning of its inclusion in the Gospel. Men who had seen miracles. Men who had spent days, even years, with Jesus. Men who had been with the resurrected Christ. Men who had personally experienced the power of God in their own hands and words.

These men doubted, even in the presence of the resurrected Christ; and these men believed and died for their faith, having turned the world upside down. Nothing could banish, once and for all, from their experience the possibility that they were wrong and that it all meant nothing but delusion and deception. For this Jesus did not condemn them, but commissioned them to be His Church, and to preach the announcement of the Kingdom to the world. I doubt if they ever stopped doubting. I also am quite sure they never stopped believing.

On that point, I return to a promise that belief itself, in this barren world of ours, is a miracle of God’s own creation. The seed of faith is planted by the very God that we reject in our disbelief. This is part of His gracious dealings with those He has made for Himself, and is surely among the greatest mysteries. Yet, for those who believe–and still doubt–it contains a hope. And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. (Philippians 1:6) If faith is the work of God in the life of those who believe, it exists and triumphs, in spite of the doubts that continue throughout our human journey.

Because of this, we can be honest about our doubts and be grateful and unashamed of our faith. Perhaps among Christians who are unafraid to say that they sometimes tremble in uncertainty, there will grow a more beautiful and authentic faith. Let the wheat and tares grow together, Jesus said, until the day of judgment. So our belief and our worst fears grow together, until the time when God Himself harvests the faith that He has planted.

Somewhere in the Basement of the DNC…
by Michael Spencer

Memo to: The Committee of Twelve
From: Darwin Mapplethorp Kennedy IV, Campaign Development Director, 2004 Democratic Presidential Campaign
RE: Prospects for taking the Presidency in 2004

As all of you are aware by now, plans for the 2004 Presidential campaign are already being implemented. As the Committee of Twelve, it is your responsibility to guide all party operations in the direction of total victory on the national level in 2004. This memo will apprise you of the issues that affect the plans being developed to defeat George W. Bush, take the House and secure the Senate.

• • •

1. The foundation of all of our optimism is the fact of our apparent Presidential victory in 2004 in the popular vote and, legal defeats not withstanding, in the electoral college. The people are on our side when the issues are those concerning personal prosperity, the need for more government and the importance of spending for social improvement. The rise of the Republican party since 1980 has been stalled, and our recent victories in two gubernatorial races shows this fact. Mark Green’s defeat in New York is a complete result of the support he received from Gulliani in the aftermath of 9/11. Otherwise, we would have won there as well.

2. Republicans have formidable present advantage because of the leadership of the President in the conflict in Afghanistan. This cannot be discounted or put on a schedule. It has removed our issues from the front pages and from the center of the national discussion. No talk of a “lock box” for Social Security will be welcome in the current environment. We must remember, however, that the worsening economic downturn favors our solutions. While Republicans will use it as an opportunity to push tax cuts and solutions favorable to the private sector, we still enjoy considerable support for increased social spending and stronger federal government involvement. Our patriotic support of the President during the initial days of the attack on our nation will provide a foundation for attacking his economic policies when they come to congress.

3. It appears that the conflict in Afghanistan may not be a long one. Political and humanitarian involvement will be long term, but the necessity of supporting the President as commander and chief and abstaining from personal and political hardball may soon come to an end. We must be careful to remember that President Bush has acquired considerable stature in this crisis, and we will not be able to portray him as weak and lacking intelligence. Our long term plan must be similar to what President Clinton did in taking the Presidency from George H. W. Bush: increasingly and persistently make the economy the issue, keeping pace with certain decreasing interest in the war on terror and just as certain increasing concerns with worsening economic numbers. As “bread and butter” issues become more important to the electorate, we must have more to say about them. Eventually hit the familiar and effective theme that Republicans are not compassionate. As we know from ’92, no military victory can take away the concern of Americans about their own family finances.

4. The media presents a special concern for us. At present, nearly all of the usual tilt our way has vanished, as war coverage is feeding the news organization’s natural desire to draw numbers. Bringing the media back our way will be difficult. The loss of Geraldo Rivera to Fox is an example of what we are facing. Many of these media types would prefer to talk about war and terrorism rather than discuss or write about politics and spending. Our strategy must be to select those issues that are on the minds of the typical American. Americans are thinking about their children, security, jobs and the plight of the unemployed. We must be the party representing these concerns and show that the Republicans are not concerned so much about the average person, but are still loyal to big business.

5. The radical “fundamentalist” wing of the conservative movement- Robertson, Falwell, Buchanan- provide an excellent target for us. The similarities between these men and the rhetoric of the terrorists must be subtly pointed out. There are many, many Americans who are afraid of the unchecked agenda of conservatism and they must be made aware that a time of national crisis is no time to give these fanatics a greater hand in our national life. While we cannot directly smear President Bush with statements by these men, we can constantly remind the public which party stands completely apart from that kind of fundamentalism and which party is cozy with it.

6. Of course, we must have a candidate. At present, this may be our most difficult task. The option of bringing back Al Gore is being thoroughly explored. As much as his image has suffered since the election, there is considerable positive energy for Gore among some of the grass roots, and we cannot discount the “revenge vote” that would be generated for Gore. Still, it appears that Gore has lost his fire and there are many in the party that feel he lost the election through his own avoidance of Clinton and inability to define himself in the debates.

The major potential candidates are, as might be expected, considerably quiet at this juncture, waiting to see what the war does to the chances of any Democrat. Remind these potential candidates that President Bush’s numbers do not reflect personal support as much as knee-jerk patriotism. Even Rosie O’ Donnell says she is a Bush fan, but does anyone think a Hollywood liberal like her is really going to vote Republican in anything but the worst of circumstances? GWB is not FDR. The future may make him a candidate that cannot be beaten, but at this moment he is beatable. There is plenty of time for misjudgments, bad policies and the economy to make him vulnerable. Kerry, Gephardt, Leiberman- all these are men who we need to continue cultivating and convincing.

There is some discussion about the possibility of John McCain running as a Democrat. At this point, this seems impossible. But McCain does not care for Bush and he is a candidate who could successful challenge Bush for the office during wartime, but not as an independent. If he could be convinced to run as a Democrat, our fortunes would be considerably improved. Still, it is unlikely at this point.

Our two best candidates at this moment: John Edwards, senator from North Carolina, and Hillary Clinton, Senator from New York.

Edwards is a bright and rising star in our party. He has a future and is certainly electable on a national scale. The question is: Can Edwards sustain a loss on the national stage and still have the future he does now? We believe he can, and would like to push him towards President or Vice-President in 2004. His liability is his own youth and his lack of exposure on the national stage. He does not look like a person America wants in the White House instead of Bush.

Senator Clinton is both a strength and a liability at this point. She is ambitious for the office. There is no doubt she will fight for it and fight hard to win. She brings solid liberal, black, Hollywood and female support. Money would not be a concern. But she also brings the baggage of the Clinton Presidency. Many of our supporters are saying that these years out of the White House are necessary to “air out” the Clinton legacy, which is looking worse by the day. None of us wants to relive the ethical and political scandals of the Clinton years, and conservatives have in a Boy Scout like Bush the perfect antidote for that stigma, as Gore found out. We have little enthusiasm for her here in the DNC basement. In fact, in many ways, her installation of Macauliffe as DNC chair makes us fearful that her candidacy will be put on the fast track.

Can she win over a popular and confident President Bush? We do not think so. So we are left admitting that, at this moment, we do not see a national level candidate who wants the race or could win it. That is, to say the least, disheartening.

7. What if the war does not come to a reasonably prompt conclusion? What if further terrorist incidents happen in our nation? What if the war goes into Iraq? These are contingencies that we cannot control. It is clear that we have a responsibility to our voter base to represent an alternative to Republican policies that are hurtful and wrong, but we cannot campaign against what may be necessary or in the best interests of the nation. In other words, we cannot simply attach ourselves to an anti-war movement because it opposes the President. We must even be cautious regarding the legitimate and completely loyal questioning of wartime policies such as bombing or changes in the justice system. The electorate is in an unusual mood and we must not be labeled as the party that “blames America first.” Many who are modestly questioning the President’s decisions or our military strategy are discovering that McCarthyism is not just an excess of the past.

8. In all honesty, we have an uphill fight. Fund-raising is going to be difficult. As we recently learned in New York, the African-American vote is not to be taken for granted. Our candidates must appear to be more conservative than ever. Criticisms of the NRA are not appropriate for the moment. Our media appearances must be tempered. Even our loyal Union and Education supporters are being strongly wooed by the conservatism of George W. Bush. It is time to be patient, and to look for mistakes and openings that will come our way from unexpected quarters. There are scandals in this administration to exploit. There will be the usual excesses of conservative rhetoric. Americans haven’t changed their minds on issues like abortion or the minimum wage. Our time may not be now, but it will come.

The Boat In The Backyard
A father’s depression and a boy who finally understands
by Michael Spencer

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?

• David, The Psalms

When I was twelve years old, my father bought a small aluminum boat, just enough for two people to use for fishing in the local lakes. He put it in our backyard. It had a tiny motor that sat in our shed. He bought the boat so we could go fishing together, father and son. It was his dream, a father’s dream that I can now relate to as I share ball games and movies with my own son.

The boat never took us fishing. In fact, it never got in the water. It remains there in the back yard, photographed by my memory, waiting for a fishing trip that would never happen. In my tendency to personify objects in my world, I picture that boat as eager and expectant, then confused, and eventually depressed. Its purpose- its joy?- was not to be fulfilled.

At age twelve, I was about as interested in my father’s dream of fishing together as the fish were in getting hooked, cleaned and fried. I resisted my father’s overtures with a quiet, but persistent force. I was always busy. There was always something else to do. I wasn’t interested in being outside. My friends wanted me to play. Mostly, I wasn’t interested because my dad was interested, and I was at war with my dad. Not a physical battle, but a back and forth emotional war that had been going on as long as I could remember, and now that my dad wanted something from me, I was in a position to frustrate him. I felt the power, and I used it to disappoint his dream.

My father had never been like other fathers I knew. By the time I was a teenager, he was unable to work, but before that he’d done all sorts of things: worked as a flunky at car lots, made tools at a tool and die company, made change at a car wash, ran errands at local automobile race tracks, worked in the oil fields, rented boats at a lake, janitored. While he was unable to work, he was able to get out and do things he liked to do: fish, hunt squirrels, pick up pecans, hunt arrowheads, go to ball games and races.

My father was a collection of contradictions and mysteries. He was deeply and genuinely religious, but the entire time I knew my dad, I can never remember him in church more than a handful of times. He was divorced (I never knew why), and his chosen church- the Southern Baptists- ranked divorce just above treason and murder on the sin scale, so it was easy to not be present. He loved the Bible, and despised most church people as hypocrites.

He was from the woods and mountains of eastern Kentucky, but all my life we lived in cities, and he hated the city. We lived in Kentucky, and he wanted to live in Wisconsin. He was sociable and funny, the life of any gathering of family or friends, but he feared and loathed almost any other kind of gathering. He loved baseball, but wouldn’t let me join Little League. He had an eighth grade education, and was determined I would graduate from college. He wanted me to be a dentist, and never once took me to one.

He was afraid of everything. The weather terrified him to the point of hysteria. Government paperwork terrorized him. Travel was so frightening to him that I never went on a school trip if he had any say in it. Fear dominated my father’s life like no one I’ve ever met, then or now. As real as it was in my childhood experiences with dad, I couldn’t help but sense it hadn’t always been this way. I knew enough about his life to know he’d once been as wild and fearless as other boys, but somewhere along the way, something else entered the picture, changing my father from a man like other men into someone assualted, subdued and captured.

I would always compare my dad to other fathers or to my uncles, and something wasn’t right. He was older than anyone else’s dad. They ran businesses, took their boys to Little League, built tree houses and worked at factories. I understood my friend’s dads. I understood the men at church. I didn’t understand my father. He was unlike them all, different, unpredictable, like he was broken far under the surface.

It made me angry that my father was like this. Sometimes I was embarrassed. Sometimes I was humiliated. Mostly, I was just ticked off, and thought about running away, or at least spending all my time hiding somewhere he couldn’t find me. Over the years, I know I was ashamed that dad was my father, and I acted it out to him and to others. Being asked about my father by anyone else was an excuse to lie or change the subject.

Dad wasn’t without good qualities. He was very funny, warm and sociable to his friends and neighbors. He loved those who were close to him. He loved his grown children, and their children. He was broken-hearted he saw them so seldom. He had a generous and encouraging side, but it seemed to never appear for long before vanishing under the other, darker side. My father knew trees like a botanist. He was sober and dependable as a friend and a helper. He was a great partner for watching classic tv shows. He could make people feel at ease, and he was very smart. I’m convinced he knew a million dirty jokes. Though he wasn’t much of a reader, he could sing, calculate and “cypher.” He could teach squirrels to climb up his pants and eat out of his pocket.

Once dad told me about all the books he read as a young man. Zane Grey. Tarzan. There wasn’t a book in the house now. He helped start a church in Wisconsin. He worked in factories and on airplane engines. At one time, he was a skilled tool maker making great money. What had happened? How did that normal man disappear, and this person take his place?

When I was thirteen, I came home from school and was sitting on the front porch, waiting for dad to return home and let me in. He drove an old, green, 1954 Chevrolet on his daily outings. Before much time had passed, I saw the old car come up the road. But then a funny thing happened. The car drove right past the house, and dad never looked at me. Not a wave, not a glance. He drove on to the end of the block, and turned right. Heading toward the hospital.

The boat in the backyard didn’t know it at the time, but its fate was sealed.

Health problems were always part of dad’s life. He complained of dizziness and chest pains to the point I wearied of what I thought, stupidly, was just whining for attention. I, of course, was never privy to just what was going on, and I wonder how much he understood his own problems. Now our family was going to become dominated by health concerns, hospitalizations, medical bills and medications. Dad was having the first of two heart attacks that would render him helpless against the onslaught of depression.

I’ve often wondered how dad’s heart problems would have been treated today. It was the late sixties, and dad stayed in the hospital for a couple of weeks. There was no surgery, as one might expect today. No miracle drugs. I would visit him in ICU, and he was glad to see me, of course. I was afraid he might die, and felt guilty that I’d wished that many, many times. He came home, and soon was sitting in a chair in the front room. He had survived a major heart attack. We were all happy. Right?

Dad grew stronger, but something bigger than the heart attack took over. Something worse than all his previous helath problems. He wouldn’t leave the house. He wouldn’t leave the chair. He sat in the chair with his hand over his face. He wept. Mom would plead with him, but to no avail. It didn’t stop. It wasn’t a bad day. It was like a living grief, a stuck record, an endless punishment. It lasted for weeks, months and then, years. Depression overwhelmed my father.

I didn’t understand. And no one could explain what was happening in a way a teenage boy could understand, though they tried, I’m sure.

Soon my dad’s oldest son, a doctor, came down to try and help. It was the first time I heard the word “depression.” I’d heard my parents always talk about “nervous breakdowns,” which I couldn’t find in any science book. But I had no idea what “depression” meant, other than the fact that dad was depressed, and it was clearly awful. I’d never seen or heard of depression. No one else had a depressed parent. Why did I?

At some point, dad went to the hospital. The psych ward in Louisville General. (He may have gone several times. I’m unsure.) Dad’s absence was always a good thing. Mom would take me out to restaurants, something dad wouldn’t ever do. We would be happy, and feel guilty about it. There was no dark, mysterious “depression” controlling our family. I didn’t have to keep my friends out of the house. Still, I didn’t understand. I did hope my dad would come back better. Doctors and hospitals made people better. I didn’t understand how elusive an opponent depression can be, resisting and defeating every effort to cure it.

I would see the boat in the backyard every day, and I began to feel badly about how I had responded to my dad’s attempts to be a regular father and son. I mowed around it, and wished it could go in the water, and that dad could teach me to use the motor. A day at the lake with my father really would be a nice way to spend some time after all.

Dad returned from the hospital, and while things may have gotten better, it wasn’t for long. Dad was still depressed. His thoughts, feelings and behaviors were the same. He talked about his stay in the hospital in hellish terms. He looked terrorized by his stay. I still remember his descriptions of the other patients. Apparently, in the days before today’s cushy psychiatric facilities, my father was part of a ward of people we would call “insane.” He received electric shock treatments. I’ve learned far too much about those. I hope they helped, because I’m afraid to think what they did if they didn’t.

Now we entered into years that were almost unbearably bad most of the time. Dad would be depressed, or he would be angry or just lost. He projected his anger out at everyone: his doctor, his children, his family, God, city people, Republicans, the neighbors. There was never any predicting what direction my father’s depression would go, only that we would certainly be the recepients of his anger.

Because I was naively analytic and stupidly verbal as a young man, I tried to convince my father everything was his fault, and could be easily fixed. It didn’t help that I became a professing Christian at age 15, and became even more aware that my father was not in church, but was sitting home cursing out the world. We argued constantly, over everything that teens and parents argue about, and then about a hundred things that were uniquely issues dad and I cooked up to fight over. Poor mom. I cannot describe the vehemence of these arguments. Surely I pushed dad to the brink of more heart problems many times, but I couldn’t see it at the time. Mom would beg us to stop. We would just get tired and quit.

I was bitterly angry that my father had ruined his part in my life and had turned our home into a horror story. First, by just being old and contrary. Then by refusing to let me be a normal kid. Then by falling apart and becoming a depressed invalid.

And then, there was one break in the darkness. I began preaching at age sixteen. Even as a young man, I remember coming home and telling dad I was “called” to be a preacher. He was moved. I couldn’t appreciate then how much he had prayed for me, and how he lived hoping my life would be useful to God in ways his had never been. All I knew was there was finally some tenderness between us. Some definable love and forgiveness.

The fighting did not stop. My understanding of depression did not increase. But Dad, slowly, began to go out again, drinking coffee with other men. On a few occasions, dad even came to hear me preach. In all my life, I believe my father heard me preach five times. Once he drove me to a small church where I was supplying, and on the way back, gently tried to tell me my sermon wasn’t very good, which I suspected, but didn’t want to acknowledge. He began to show me kindness, and by God’s grace alone, I started to receive it.

A gentleness began to enter our lives as I started to realize my father was a sick person. He’d said this many, many times, and I didn’t accept it, because it was too complicated and I was too afraid of something that couldn’t be fixed as easily as a flat tire. But as I got older, it made more and more sense. I started to notice my father in new ways, and to listen to him more closely. I could see that my father didn’t want to be this way. He was covered in a darkness that clung to him like a wet blanket. He fought against it, but couldn’t toss it away. It had, inexplicably, become part of him. He would have to live with it.

I had to live with it as well. I had to accept who my father was, and how depression had made him, and me, what we were. In my Christian journey, I was frequently confronted with my duty and need to forgive others as God had forgiven me. I never contemplated this truth without thinking of my father, and how I had denied him forgiveness for this thing that had taken so much of our family’s joy away. I needed to forgive him, because he wasn’t responsible for depression. I needed to forgive the depression more than my father. I needed to forgive myself for how I had reacted to this unwelcome visitor.

It’s funny how God works. I took a job at a local grocery store, and how I spent the money I earned became a major war zone with dad. My first paycheck turned into new clothes, and dad- who had lived through the Great Depression- was outraged that I hadn’t put all the money in the bank or paid for the family groceries. But later, I spent a good bit of my paycheck on a citizen’s band radio for my 65 Chevy. I cannot describe my father’s reaction, but it was explosive.

So it is divinely ironic that within a few weeks, my father began buying CB radios. He was fascinated by the hobby. Soon we had a base station in the house, radios in all the cars and were joining CB clubs in the area. My father loved the ability of radio users to make small talk with one another anonymously. What medications, hospitals and therapy couldn’t do, CB radio did. My father came out of his depression by talking on the CB radio. My father became “Two Bits,” and Two Bits wasn’t depressed.

Dad and I loved this hobby. I could talk to him from wherever I was, and it was actually an honor to be the son of the now famous “Two Bits.” As my interest in the hobby waned, dad’s interest increased. In the years to come, he would buy bigger and bigger radios, making friends with people all over the area, the nation and even the world. Radio brought him a magnificent amount of joy.

Dad sold the boat. We didn’t speak of the lost dreams of years ago or the bitterness that had passed. I tried to never think of those days, but I cannot help but think of them more and more as the years go on. I want my children to know about that boat. I cannot touch it, but I can feel its presence and its loss. It is real, because the love my father had for me in that boat is real.

After I married, and became a man, dad and I became friends again. We stopped fighting and enjoyed one another. He was proud of me. He helped me, and listened to me. He loved my wife and our kids. Depression never vanished, and dad’s basic personality never changed. We accepted that this was the life we had shared. Depression had taken away more than I could ever calculate, but I was determined to not spend any more time staring into the void.

Depression is now a reality I face every day in my ministry with students. I know all about it. I have my own thoughts and theories about its origins and power. I believe in the mystery of its genetic and biochemical origins. I also believe we contribute to it by our own thoughts, choices and actions. It is complex, resisting simple treatments in some cases, surrendering to the mildest of medications in others.

We were not so fortunate. Depression invaded our lives when it was a monster of unknown origin or power. I now recognize that dad was depressed before his heart attack, but succumbed to a powerful depression in its aftermath. He did not understand depression, and the chemical miracles were not available or effective.

I believe that our world is a fallen and ruined world, not so much in nature, where the glory of God shines through, but in human beings, whose brokenness takes thousands of different forms and reveals the tragedy of the wreckage that began in Eden and continues in our lives. In this ruined world, depression is a result of sin. Sin as it wrecked our minds, chemistries and emotions. Sin as our thoughts became attracted to darkness rather than light. Sin as we cower in fear rather than trust a trustworthy God who we cannot see thorugh the darkness, and from whom we run away when we do glimpse him. I am so glad that this God doesn’t count on us to find him, but has found us all along, and never lets us go. As the scripture says, “Where shall I go from your Spirit?…even the darkness is as light to you.”

Nothing I believe about depression makes depressed persons into “sinners” on some special level. Like all of us, they are broken. Like all of us, God gives grace that we can accept or reject. Like all of us, they are loved by God and have the possibility of hope, and even healing. Like all of us, they are gathered together in the wounds of Christ, and raised in his resurrection.

I have compassion for my depressed friends. In my own struggle with depression, I’ve benefited from the lessons of my father’s life. There are moments when I have found myself in the chair, hands over my face, weeping. I’ve gotten up, and decided to live. For myself, my wife, my kids, and my father. I will not go into the same night if I can help it.

I believe that fathers are put in this world to write life, goodness and wisdom into the hearts of their children. The best fathers have written boldly, deeply and legibly; they have written lessons that last a lifetime. Other fathers write painful or erring lessons, putting into their children not a path to love and joy, but a downhill slide to emptiness and desperation.

My father left many empty places in my life where he should have written his own unique imprint and example. I am acutely aware of these empty, fatherless places, and the legacy I have inherited because of them. It was my father’s depression, and his fearful, unpredictable actions and inactions, that left me with an abiding sense that I do not belong or deserve to belong in the society of normal, happy people. It was that depression that left me doubting my masculinity, and afraid to do a hundred things that boys and men ought to do to know who they really are in the world. Today, when you see me helping to coach our school baseball team, make no mistake about it: I am out there making up for those days my dad wouldn’t take me to join Little League.

It was my father’s depression that left me with vacant places where unconditional acceptance and fatherly delight ought to be. It was his fear of death that infected my mind from the time I was small, so that every suddenly ringing phone or unexpected noise can terrify me. In the place of the imprint of the father, I have written many stupid and evil legacies of my own. In my worst moments, I see my father’s depression and darkness in myself. I was so certain that I was doomed to live in illness and depression, sin’s false promises of joy looked convincingly attractive. In my own despairing, angry and confused words, I’ve heard the echo of my father’s cries.

The imprint of an earthly father is a treasure. Thankfully, the imprint of the heavenly father is a gift of grace that comes to the fatherless and the empty. Where my father did not and could not affect my heart, because depression wouldn’t allow it, God, and his manifold gifts of love have penetrated into the empty places and brought life, love and hope. In a hundred different ways, experiences and relationships, God has been a father to me in those places that my father left vacant.

I also know what my father would have done if he had not been depressed, and what I would do if I had the opportunity to do it all again. Of course, those times are past, and realities are real. Still, it comforts me greatly to know what could been and should have been. My father was not evil, but sick. Our home was not cursed, but coping with an illness that none of us really understood. The boat may have never seen the water, but the love represented in that boat is as real as ever, and more precious with time.

I know life will hold experiences where depression will inevitably return and demand its place in my life and family. I intend to resist, but I will also be realistic. There is no outrunning our fallenness, and no ultimate healing of our brokeness until heaven. There will be depressing days and seasons, but I am determined that the lessons of my father’s life will not be wasted. I believe he is waiting for me, cheering me on in the darkest of times. He made it home, and we will as well.

In fact, I am fairly certain that heaven contains a lake, where my father is waiting for me in a small boat. And I will not miss that afternoon of fishing. I promise.

We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Definitions
Liberals pull something called Christianity out of a hat.
by Michael Spencer

As a competitor to traditional Christianity, liberalism is a fascinating opponent. When it comes to generals and officers, they have more than they need. But when it comes to actual troops committed to the battle, it’s a different story. After an auspicious start in the mid-nineteenth century, liberalism within Christianity took a dip, and more recently a dive. The numbers of members in liberal denominations has drastically declined in recent years. With few exceptions, liberal Christianity has given every sign of becoming a fractious five percent of the Christian world.

I should underline the word “fractious,” for as their numbers decline, the volume of their protests has increased. Being on friendly terms with the dominant media culture, liberals never fail to appear at press conferences, conventions, talk programs and photo ops. They rule the classrooms of academia and have influence far outweighing their numbers in politics. Their voice is heard, while most of their churches are becoming empty.

Dominating seminaries, denominational hierarchies and most political and ecumenical organizations in the mainlines, liberals can lull themselves into ignoring the fact that they are dying off and shrinking. Evangelical and conservative churches are booming around the world. Note the considerable embarrassment of pro-gay Anglicans that their African brothers believe they are blasphemers. Living within their own world, liberal Christians seem frequently oblivious to the fact that evangelical-Pentecostal-Charismatic-Third Wave-Traditional Christianity has overwhelmed them.

Liberalism within the Southern Baptist Convention makes a good study, as it is the only denominationally established liberalism that was officially displaced in the seminaries and leadership of the denomination. Today, SBC liberals squabble among themselves in their tiny pseudo-denomination, counting any church that sends a dollar from a disgruntled member as one of their number. Pro-gay protesters attend SBC conventions, while pro-gay churches make up less than one-half of one percent of the SBC (generously speaking.) Liberal SBC-ers whine about the persecution of women pastors, while the SBC has no more than a handful of churches interested in having a female pastor. Under conservative leadership the SBC has not uniformly prospered, but the most conservative aspects of SBC life have boomed and blossomed. Writing in their own newspapers and web sites, SBC liberals perpetuate the illusion that the SBC is a denomination that hasn’t made up its mind on homosexuality, abortion, women pastors, universalism and the inspiration of scripture.

What planet are they on?

One of liberal Christians’ most persistent crusades is their claim that the only foundational and necessary Christian belief is the confession that “Jesus is Lord.” I first heard this among liberal SBC-ers in the 80’s, as they sought to distance themselves from what they saw as a pro-creedal SBC. While the SBC isn’t a creedal denomination (despite the knuckle-headed efforts of conservatives to use the Baptist Faith and Message Statement as a creed), its pastors are not going to buy this one.

Most evangelicals may not know what the minimalist fallacy in theology means, but they know that when a Jehovah’s Witness or Mormon says “Jesus is Lord” it’s not gonna take down at the church. If they’ve read anything on those cults, they would know that these groups have a totally different understanding of Jesus than the Bible teaches. They understand what it means to “use our vocabulary, but not our dictionary.” Liberals, beware. Your secret is out.

The minimalist fallacy says that when someone reduces a belief system to a simplistic statement, he may be substituting an entirely different belief system and meaning. This is exactly what many liberals are attempting to do. Their “Jesus is Lord” comes out of a framework that virtually no Christian of the past two millennia would recognize. To this, liberals make an amazing claim: Christianity can’t be limited or defined, but only believed and experienced. It’s self-authenticating and no one with the opinion that they are a Christian can be challenged. (This would certainly be news to the writers of the New Testament.) In its most radical form, this kind of liberalism rejects all definition, all history, all theology and all creeds and confessions as illegitimate because they are an attempt to reduce Christianity to a limited and defined belief system and not just a personal opinion or experience.

It was C.S. Lewis who observed that to understand a thing, we must know what it is. Is the building in front of me a skyscraper, a picture, a hallucination, or a natural accident? In the same way, to understand Christianity, we must be able to define key concepts of the Christian worldview. In teaching the Apostle’s Creed, I must repeatedly make the point that behind the affirmations of the creed were already defined and agreed upon definitions and propositions. For example, almost every statement in the Apostle’s Creed is in the language of the Bible. Christians agreed that the Bible was God’s inspired word, even if that statement is not found in the creed itself.

Liberalism doesn’t just affirm the diversity of Christian belief concerning non-essentials, but denies the essentials themselves. For example, liberalism frequently denies the Virgin birth, the Trinity, the historic resurrection, the atoning death of Jesus and the existence of hell. These basic Christian beliefs are rejected by millions of non-Christians who believe in God, the Great Commandment and some idea of Jesus as being worth listening to. How can liberal Christians maintain that they can reject these beliefs and still remain Christians? They have subtracted essential Christian definitions, but not added the beliefs of Islam or Buddhism, yet they still claim to be Christians.

It reminds me of a kid who comes to get a job at an engineering firm. Everyone in the firm has a degree from an accredited engineering school hanging on the wall. So in walks the kid, and asks for a job. When asked for his qualifications, he pulls out a manuscript from his backpack. “How To Be An Engineer,” it says on the title page. “I wrote it myself!”, he proudly announces.

One must wonder, what is the agenda of liberals in being devoted to the idea of stripping Christianity of the consensus of its history and remaking it into something literally unrecognizable to ANY significant person in the history of Christian orthodoxy? Liberal Christians act as if it is entirely pedestrian to destroy the foundations and collapse the structure, but keep the sign out front. They feel the reaction of traditional Christians is overblown, needlessly exclusive, and of course, unloving. Nothing is more predictable from liberal Christians than the charge that any critic is attacking their “faith.” As one wise man said, “Don’t hate the playa. Hate the game.” Liberal Christians are playing a game of “Bait and Switch” with the most valuable treasure of truth in the universe.

The problem is that liberals are seldom ever bothered by anything the Bible says. They feel little accountability to scripture at all, and usually don’t see the need to judge their assertions in the light of scripture. No matter how many times the New Testament talks about the very things they are doing, or commands Christians to contend for the very things they are denying, they can only say that traditionalists are hateful and nasty. It seems that nothing in scripture is precious enough for liberals to understand our defensive emotions, but if their rights to free thought or their contention that conscience is authoritative are challenged, the reaction will be predictably angry.

Just what is most important here? To conservatives, it isn’t their theology, but the place of scripture and its clear message. To liberals, it’s their rights to think, say, and do as they wish–and to call it all Christianity.

As much as evangelical conservatives like myself might find this unpalatable, it won’t be stopping anytime soon. Liberal Christians are convinced that they have the upper hand with the NPR class and that somehow there is little reason to reconsider the wisdom of consigning the entire project of traditional Christian theology to the dust bin. They hold out some hope that fundamentalism will eventually collapse under the weight of its own arrogance, and all those NASCAR fans and soccer moms will decide it’s time to fake right, but go left.

But there is another reason–a more influential reason–that the liberal fabrication of Christianity won’t be running out of steam in the near future. Liberals may deny virtually everything in the traditional definition of Christian doctrine, but they won’t deny Jesus. Remade into the image of the Jesus Seminar, spun into a clone of Che Guevara, stripped of his divinity and resurrection, and made into a wandering Palestinian pundit and sage, the liberal Jesus is still Jesus. The reason for this loyalty to some idea of Jesus is simple: Liberals want some kind of Jesus to legitimize their agenda. Particularly their agenda regarding homosexuality.

Jesus is the most powerful symbol of approval and legitimacy in Western culture. It is extremely rare for any group promoting a cause to not seek to say that Jesus approves of their goals and methods. Both sides of the abortion debate claim Jesus as a sponsor. Both sides of the slavery debate did the same. Jesus endorses computers, food products and political candidates today. Jesus marched with King and approved the actions of Bull Conner and the KKK. And, of course, Jesus approves and condemns homosexuality and gay marriage, depending on which Christian is talking.

Many conservative Christians observe–rightly I believe–that liberal Christians seem to be more defined by their allegiance to sexual libertarianism than by a commitment to Jesus. (A recent letter writer to IM described the evolution of a liberal Christian minister and family member from one loyal to Jesus to one who doubts everything about Jesus and confesses to being defined by issues of gender and sexuality.) It becomes a real question if most liberal Christians would continue identifying themselves as Christians if, for some reason, they could not endorse the homosexual agenda by way of Christian rhetoric.

This explains why liberal Christians engage in exegesis of the Bible that is embarrassing in its ability to make God approve of what scripture condemns. Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed for a lack of hospitality. Homosexuality between consenting adults was never a problem in the early church. Gay marriage is obviously acceptable. In fact, isn’t it possible that Paul or even Jesus were gay? Anyone who has been part of the liberal-conservative dialog is used to these kinds of nonsensical claims being tauted as insights of Christian scholarship.

(I am particularly amused that liberals can become regular grammatical fanatics if they think their pro-homosexual position can be extracted from a text. but if the text plainly says homosexuality is a sin, well, then the text is antiquated and useless and can’t be cited with authority. Liberals just can’t seem to decide if the Bible matters or not.)

I want to end this essay with some positive words about the relationship between those of us who are non-fundamentalist evangelicals and our liberal friends. Many times I am greatly blessed by the insights of liberal Christians. I am impressed, and even envious, of their zeal for much that we all should pursue in the name of justice and righteousness. I’m aware–and want others to know–that it was liberal Christians who embraced the civil rights movement, while many evangelicals promoted segregation. I have seen the food pantries, clothes closets, tutoring programs, AA groups and many other ministries sponsored by liberal churches that do not have large resources or growing congregations. I know that many liberal Christians are exemplary in their personal lives, love for others and devotion to the ideals they derive from their faith.

As an evangelical, I am grieved that my liberal friends advocate, in the name of justice and compassion, many things that a Holy God has spoken clearly about. I believe that while liberals may have much to teach evangelicals about service done in love, evangelicals have much to teach liberals about the nature of truth as the definition of love. If the liberal quest is to love neighbor, and thereby to love God, the evangelical quest is to know and love God, and thereby come to be persons who can love neighbor well and rightly. Both evangelicals and liberals must confess that their faith has often been shaped too much by culture and too little by God’s timeless Word. Can we confess this together, and so return to the Rock from whence we all were hewn?

Evangelicalism has thought deeply about the challenge of liberal Christianity. Men like Bonhoeffer, Barth, Lewis, Machen and Henry can help evangelicals speak to the heart of the liberal challenge. Men like Fosdick, Willamon, Craddock and even Borg can help evangelicals understand liberals as sincere fellow travelers on the journey, often on target, but increasingly not always recognizable as fellow Christians.

One closing note. It is a fascinating irony that many liberal churches continue to read scripture in worship and preach from the lectionary, even as they move toward more radical denials of historic orthodoxy. In contrast, many evangelicals rarely hear the Bible in church, but do hear the historic and orthodox truth of Christianity proclaimed and taught in sincerity from their leadership. In churches where the Bible is honored it is often rarely heard, and in churches where the Bible has been radically demoted in significance it is continually heard, even if not heeded. Perhaps the Bible will outlast its embarrassing silence among evangelicals, and triumph in places where its plain truth is a growing embarrassment to those who hear its words.

Preserve, Protect, Defend
by Michael Spencer

I am frequently asked to explain what is the difference between Republicans and Democrats. As anyone who has read the philosophy of this web site knows, I have a clear opinion on that subject. In short, Republicans seek to preserve what is essential about American life, while Democrats seek to replace what is essential with their own liberal brand of tyranny. There are many, many other differences, but this is the persuasive one.

This is often why Republicans seem to be the stupid party and the do-nothing party. Rather than impose, impose, impose in the process of government, Republicans prefer to reduce the role of the Federal government or to use it in a focused and limited manner. So while Democrats are constantly pushing for more, Republicans are frequently fighting for less. This makes Republicans seem appealing to more liberty-minded people, and less appealing to more coercively minded people. Democrats actually believe people’s problems can be solved by government. To a Republican, this is the lunacy, as all of human history demonstrates.

Part and parcel of this difference is the attitude each side has towards the Constitution of the United States. During the Presidential debates, Mr. Gore proudly declared that the Constitution was a living document with manifold new meanings for intelligent Democrats to discover. Just think, he opined, of what untold treasures are still to be mined from its pages: new rights, new obligations, new programs. (SHUDDER!!) At the same time, he decried the “strict constructionism” of Mr. Bush and the Republicans. We all know what that means, Mr. Gore said with terror: actually going by what the Constitution says! (Insert freaky music from “Psycho” here.)

Now, if you are one of those persons prone to think that Mr. Gore is correct, I would like you to meditate upon what happened to the United States Constitution in its last few hours in the hands of one Bill Clinton.

“…and he shall have Power to grant Reprieves and Pardons for Offences against the United States…” Article 2, Section 2, Clause 1. When Republicans read this, it seems obvious that the Founders felt the balance of powers was served by having a safety valve on the judiciary. The power to pardon insured that there was a hope beyond the judicial system when the system failed to take everything into account. Republicans have used this power without hesitation. President Nixon used it over a thousand times. In none of those instances, one should note, was there ever the hint or suspicion of corruption.

For Mr. Clinton, however, this Constitutional power fell into the same category as the Lincoln Bedroom and the interns: something to be used for his own ends. In short, Mr. Clinton saw the U.S. Constitution as a way to make money. He used the pardoning process to garner donations for the DNC, his wife’s campaign and his Presidential library. I’m telling you people, if this doesn’t offend you there is something seriously wrong with you. You have got to be dead to not wince at this kind of abuse.

The real pain for many of us comes when we remember the words of the Presidential oath of office. The President pledges to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution itself. He doesn’t pledge to not screw in the Oval Office or not rent out the Lincoln Bedroom. I guess we have to give you that much, Mr. Clinton. But it says you are to stake your honor to not abuse and harm the Constitution. In failing that charge, Bill Clinton has surpassed any other President in history.

As personally corrupt as Mr. Clinton is, however, he is performing right on cue. Remember Al Gore’s comment to the press that there was “no controlling legal authority” regulating fund-raising in the White House? These are the people crying out for campaign finance reform, and they just put Terry Macauliffe in the DNC chair? This is the party that was willing to overturn a certified election just because they didn’t like the result. Is anyone surprised?

This contemptuous use of the Constitution is, in my opinion, borderline treason. When (not if, but when) we discover that Mark Rich funneled money for a pardon, we will be looking at a pardon issued to a man who has perpetually done business with the enemies of the United States and its allies. Iraq and Iran are both his customers. This is a man who has renounced U.S. citizenship and bought citizenship in Spain and Israel. There is now emerging evidence that Clinton was manipulating his own Justice Department head, Eric Holder, to get what he wanted without the usual review. And now we find out DNC officials may have been aware and involved in all of this. it’s more disgusting than Madeline Albright in a bikini.

What we’re seeing is an attitude towards the entire process of government; an attitude towards the role of government and the opportunity to govern. This is the flagrant disregard of the rule of law that amounts to a prelude to tyranny.

Reasonable Democrats (and there are many of those) have a pea-green look on their face about all this. The usual apologists are silent. The few who venture on to the talk circuit look like whipped dogs. The more we learn, the worse Hillary dresses. Soon I expect her to shave her head and go for a Ghandi look.

The Constitution doesn’t just dictate the design of government; it reveals the nature of those who govern. By that test, Mr. Clinton is a disgrace to America. Send him to Switzerland.