Strange Juxtaposition

Two headlines. Splashed across the homepage of Christianity Today. One tragic; the other triumphant. The first a bold proclamation: “Rick Warren’s Final Frontier – Saddleback wants to bring the gospel to the world’s 3,400 unengaged people groups. Why it just might work.” The second a shattering revelation: “Rick Warren’s Son Dies from Suicide.”

How do we reach the world when we can’t even reach our own?

Where does boldness become arrogance. Where does humility trip and tumble into defeat?

This isn’t a post about Rick Warren. This is me wondering what goes on inside us when the really bad stuff hits home. The industrial religious complex of evangelicalism churns out Idea after Big Idea on how we’re going to win the world for Christ, and yet we are losing our own children and losing our own hearts. Sons stray. Pastors fornicate. Evangelists lie. Flocks sleep in and watch football.

Maybe instead of strategizing, we should be repenting. Maybe instead of being cool and relevant, we should make ourselves nothing. I’m not saying whether we are or aren’t doing such things, but I  can’t help asking, do we give ourselves too much credit – for the good, and also for the bad?

God gives victory. God gives trials. God gives choices. And in the midst of it all, we stand here like Job, mournful, angry, desperate, confused, certain of our righteousness, and boiling over with questions that seem to have no answers.

 

Shrouded in Mystery

Easter weekend always brings out journalists’ religious curiosity. So we’ve got a new Shroud of Turin book coinciding with the release of a new Shroud computer application and also a rare opportunity for the public to view a live television broadcast of the normally-locked-up relic.

The big news: that whole “medieval forgery” theory might be hogwash. Which means the Shroud might be very, very old. Which means the miracle behind the Shroud might be real.

And if the miracle is real, the resurrection is real.

And if the resurrection is real, a lot of people need to start making some uncomfortable choices about selling their possessions, dumping secret lovers and waking up early on Sunday mornings.

Also, if the Shroud is real, that means we’ve got a near-photographic representation of what Jesus actually looked like. That, to me, is the most interesting part of the story. He left us with a picture to remember him by.

Marriage Equality or Marriage Freedom?

If the leaders of the pro-gay marriage movement had been Libertarians, they’d be beating us over the head with the call for “marriage freedom.”

But as it happens, the activists on the front lines are not Libertarians, and their motto is not “marriage freedom,” but rather “marriage equality.”

The rhetorical choice is no accident.

If Superheroes were Real

Tags

Batman, Comic Book Heroes, Superheroes, Superman, X-Men

I’ve gotten into a habit of watching superhero cartoons, thanks to the time-sucking convenience of my Xbox 360 Netflix app. The last I checked, Netflix was offering around six different Spiderman series alone, spanning about five decades of animation and storytelling evolution. They’ve even got a future interplanetary Spiderman and one short-lived series where Neil Patrick Harris lent his famous voice to the legen-wait for it-dary webcrawler.

Today’s animators have better technology, but the writers are still recycling the same old stories. The bad guys are still ugly, the women are still gorgeous, and Wolverine still hates everyone. And by and large, both hero and villain seem blissfully unaware of the controversial issues of the day (though when they do raise a real issue, you can bet your last dime that Marvel will always side with leftist politics, while DC is harder to pigeonhole).

If superheroes lived in our world – well first of all, they wouldn’t be so super, because radiation blasts and genetic mutations in the real world lead to cancer, missing fingers and blood clots, not six-pack abs. But assuming a certain suspension of disbelief – that Batman can build a batcave without attracting the attention of the zoning board; that glasses make Superman unrecognizable; that a cape is ever a good idea – would our fictional heroes be our real life friends or foes?

Free Thinking Homskoold Rebel

Mary McConnell’s new homeschooling monologue over at First Things has got me spooked. Spooked like a vampire seeing himself in a mirror for the first time (which, you know, isn’t supposed to happen…I guess that’s why they call it First Things). Not the whole article, mind you, but just this one segment that jumped off the screen and staked me in the heart:

One of the few negative studies that Murphy cites examined homeschool graduates’ record as enlistees (not officers) in the military. As the authors of the study acknowledge, their sample is small and almost certainly unrepresentative. Still, they found that homeschoolers drop out of the military before their enlistment period is over at a rate almost double that of public school graduates (41.5 percent versus 26 percent in the first three years of service), and often with unfavorable discharges.

I can’t help wondering if many homeschool recruits rebelled at what appeared to be petty, unreasonable rules. One of my own children, upon return to “real” school, actively resisted tackling assignments that he did not enjoy. Previously homeschooled children in my Advanced Placement classes embraced self-directed learning and read voraciously, yet struggled with the strict timetable and subject-matter regimentation that success on an AP exam demands.

As it happens, I was a teenage homeschooler. I was also a boot camp drop-out. The memories of my brief, voluntary incarceration in the Orwellian world of Marine Corps training haunt me to this day.

My Political Speech

The recent political election got me thinking about what sort of speech I would give if I were running for president. I may not be a politician, but I am a writer, so here it goes. Prepare to absorb the epic monologue of my politically-connected alter ego:

President Obama points his finger at the American people and demands “shared sacrifice.”

An Open Letter to an Envelope

Dear Envelope,

Please accept my sincere gratitude for the timely arrival of my W-2 form this week. Your promptness seems uncanny when considered in context of a federal government that can’t propose a budget, read a legislative bill or even set its collective arse on a toilet seat in time to avoid catastrophe.

However, there is a small matter of complaint – or better, perplexity – I feel compelled to bring to your attention.

Sneak Peek #2

Below the cut, the revised draft of Chapter 1, plus Chapter 2 of my novel-in-progress:

Hit-and-Run Miracle?

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Vespa

If I’d stepped out of the Burger King just a moment sooner, I would have caught him in the act: the crazed lunatic who backed his van into my Vespa and then sped out of the driveway before the lone witness could get his plate number. If I’d arrived at the Burger King just a moment later, the hit-and-run felon would be a law abiding citizen enjoying a greasy burger and fries.

But as I’d arrived precisely on schedule for my shellacking by cruel Fate, what I found in the parking lot was my new Vespa LXV 150 toppled over and left for dead.

Filled with trepidation, I grabbed the bike and lifted it up on its wheels. If my life had a soundtrack, there would have been an eerie sustained note in the background, rising to a crescendo the way it does when the hero turns his friends’ body over and finds raw meat where a face used to be. The right tail light cover was shattered; the exhaust pipe scraped; the vintage portofino green paint job raked by pavement; the throttle slightly loose.

All in all, no major damage. Mostly cosmetic. But the cosmetics would be costly, and the bike is not insured.

An hour later, sitting at my cubicle, I was called to the reception desk. My bike had been hit AGAIN!

Sky Assault

As I write this, the hum of propellers waxes and wanes through my bedroom window. Any time the helicopters start to circle, I know it’s bad news.

Just a week ago, a similar spectacle drew me out to my back porch. Three or four copters hovered over my neighborhood, pointing a spotlight at some unseen nighttime horror. The following morning I checked the news and learned that a train had hit a vehicle at the railroad crossing just down the street, crushing it like tinfoil and killing the female driver.

Some weeks earlier, I heard the helicopters while detouring around surprisingly heavy traffic. Then I saw traffic backed up for a mile on the interstate by a police roadblock. A local officer had been injured in a collision with a fleeing suspect, who then exited his vehicle with a gun in hand and was shot to death by another cop.

The propellers are still coming and going. What is it this time? Murder? Theft? Abduction? Another high-speed chase? How many tragedies, how much wickedness, how much danger am I oblivious to each night, seemingly safe and snug in my humble little climate-controlled apartment?  

The clock struck midnight and the world didn’t end yesterday like the crazies thought it would. But what if it really should have? What if, from a cosmic point of view, our world is just a climate-controlled apartment in a vast, dark battleground, thundering with fantastic happenings beyond our wildest dreams and nightmares; happenings that, if we could just glimpse their shadows, would make us realize how much we rely on the will of God for our survival.

The Christian tradition never pulls back that veil, but it reveals that a veil exists, and it suggests the things beyond it. Dragons, serpents, princes of Persia, fantastic winged creatures, and majestic heavenly warriors fighting on our behalf. Keeping us safe.