American Expectationalism

When the American colonies erupted in revolt against the Stamp Act (1765), poor King George could not understand.  Weren’t these subjects well-treated?  Did they not prosper as a result of benign neglect? As for this taxation they were incensed about, part of it was to cover the expense of defending them, and what was their problem?

Our problem is basically the same now as it was then: whether a nation conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal can long endure.*  The colonies were jealous of their liberties as Englishmen first.  All those stamp act protests, some of them very ugly and violent, stemmed from the assumption (not the revolutionary idea) that they could not be forced to fork over money involuntarily.  By the time the shooting started ten years later, the issue had crystalized: they were fighting for their rights as Americans.

Whatever that means.

Americans have always disagreed about what that means.  Has a nation ever clashed so often over what it means to be at peace?  Since we born unsettled, I suspect our differences will never be settled, even though they come from the same source.  Because they come from the same source.

O my America!  My new-found land!  John Donne described a woman that way (before getting into bed with her).  Not a bad metaphor for the nation, though: a new-found land for all conflicted ideals and idealists; “America” as the undiscovered utopia humanity is blundering toward.  Even those who hate her do so for what she might have been: O my America—you let me down.

Think of all those extravagant hopes, from 1630 until now:

A City on a Hill . . .

We hold these truths . . .  

The Last Best Hope of Earth

Give me your tired, your poor

That’s not who we are

We’re better than this!

Do other nations refer to their founding ideals anywhere near as often?  Are other citizens as prickly about their rights, as contentious over memes, as we are?  Do other peoples expect so much?  From their government, no less—from men and women inside a beltway who pursue their own interests first, as officials (with a few notable exceptions) always have?

I don’t know Colin Kaepernick and can’t judge his motives.  But when he takes a knee during the national anthem, his stated motivation springs from the same root as that of the flag-waving right-wingers (or presidents) who denounce him.

O my America . . . you’re not living up to your promise.

O my America . . . you’re not living up to her, buster.

High ideas make for high expectations.  And crushing disappointment when they’re not met.  The vitriolic chatter among the left is an echo of the vitriolic chatter from the right four years ago, and both sides are dreaming too big to be satisfied.

“Liberty and justice for all” can never measure up to our competing visions of what that looks like.  And yet, even from the beginning, there was a less extravagant vision: out here in the hinterlands we mostly just want to get along with each other and prosper a bit.  Never before, I venture to say, have so many accomplished their commonplace dreams through the efforts of so few.  Our founding fathers, scorning utopian dreams, set the ideals just high enough to strive for.  And then they set careful checks and balances on the powers that could hold people back from reasonable striving.

Humanity being what it is, we’ll never quite get there, and our failure to get there may have the unlovely consequence of pushing the bar ever higher.  The right pushes for liberty; the left for justice.  We in the middle can’t hear much but the shouting, and it leaves us feeling helpless and confused.  But listen: perfect justice will never happen here on earth, nor perfect liberty.  Bring down the bar, and let us reach what we can.

*A. Lincoln, Gettysburg Address

Bible Challenge, Week Four: The Problem – Separation

Something is wrong; everybody knows it.  The world is not as it should be.  Some great religious traditions look forward to a future when all our frustrated desires will be subsumed into a blissful oneness.  Others look back to a long-lost paradise and speculate on a leader (or system) who will return us to that ideal state.

Last week we talked about judgment, admitting (perhaps grudgingly) that God has a right to judge.  But there are times when his judgment doesn’t seem . . . well, right.  We can accept bad things happening to bad people (which doesn’t include us, of course).  That’s only just deserts.  But bad things happening to good people is the main problem doubters have with a supposedly “good” God.

The Bible meets that problem head-on.  It’s part of the problem, and no figure shows it better than the long-suffering, pitiful character of Job.  The man has a lot of complaints, and they seem perfectly reasonable to us.  But underneath all the apparent unfairness of the way he’s been treated, Job is most hurt about this:

I thought we were friends.  I thought You were on my side.  But now it seems I never knew You, and we don’t even speak the same language.  Is there anyone who can come between us? Or will we be eternally a universe apart?

Click below for the download:

Bible Challenge, Week Four: The Problem – Separation 

(This is a continuation of a series of posts about the “whole story” of the Bible.  I plan to run one every week, on Tuesdays, with a printable PDF.  The printable includes a brief 2-3 paragraph introduction, Bible passages to read, a key verse, 5-7 thought/discussion questions, and 2-3 activities for the kids.  Here’s the Overview of the entire Bible series.)

Previous:  Week Three: The Problem – Judgment

Next: Week Five: The Promise – Abraham

 

He’s No Gentleman

Have you ever heard this?  “God is a gentleman.  He would never . . . [insert something a courtly deity would never do, usually related to busting in where he’s not wanted].”  I don’t know where this idea came from, but it’s supremely silly.

It might be seen as gentlemanly to sweep back the waters of the Red Sea for his people to cross (“After you, my dears”).  But then he slammed the sea on the pursuing Egyptian army, drowning every last horse and man.  It was nice of him to gently wake the boy Samuel for a midnight chat—to tell him that his mentor’s priestly family was toast.  He spoke reassuringly to Elijah in a still small voice, after scaring the pants off him by hurling fire, wind and storm in his direction.

And wasn’t it God who sent Jesus to tell us about his Father’s universal love and grace?  But Christ was also known to drop a word about universal judgment and punishment for those who rejected him, making himself the standard for determining who gets in and who stays out.

Jesus actually doesn’t seem like much of a gentleman either.  But why would we want him to be?

Gentlemen are reserved and polite and exercise self-control.  They condescend to make their inferiors feel at ease.  They hold the door for ladies and step aside for baby carriages.  They don’t point out your faults unless you ask them to.  They listen patiently, consider carefully, and make up their own minds.  They know their place and are comfortable in it.

But God is the place.  He does not offer us heaven; he is heaven.  Life is not a smorgasbord of options, though it may seem that way.  There’s really only one option: Those who fail to find me harm themselves; those who hate me love death (Prov. 8:36).  There’s him, or there’s death.  A gentleman might try to arrange another choice or two in order to accommodate those who just can’t comply.  In the process, he would be courteously opening a door to doom: After you, my dear.

The burly track worker who shoves you out of the path of a speeding train is no gentleman.  The lifeguard who knocks you out while you’re struggling is no gentleman.  The Son of Man who makes himself a bloody sacrifice for you is probably the least gentlemanly of all: volunteering to be a spectacle, hanging between heaven and earth, commanding you to look if you want to live (Num. 21:8, John 3:14).  Gentlemen do not offend or plant themselves as stumbling blocks.  They don’t cause any more trouble than they have to.

Better to stumble in this life than the next.  Better be troubled now than later.  If God is embarrassing or bothering you—which, granted, no gentleman would ever do—embarrass yourself in return.  Fall on your knees and give him thanks.

Bible Challenge, Week Three: The Problem – Judgment

On September 2, a couple of teenagers were spotted throwing smoke bombs on the Eagle Creek trail in Oregon–a part of the country that has experienced unseasonal dryness and too many fires in the last few years.  A hiker confronted the kids: “Do you know how dangerous that is?”

Probably.  But if they knew in theory how dangerous it was to lob fireworks in a tinder-dry forest, they hadn’t yet learned that real acts have real consequences.  Such as an out-of-control wildfire that has consumed at least 30,000 acres of forest land, destroyed dozens of homes, and blackened some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.

They are young.  The earth was young too, when a seemingly small act tipped it into a death spiral.  The perpetrators, I’m sure, didn’t understand the consequences, even though they were warned.  But the consequences played out anyway, in the people themselves (shame, deceit, murder, etc.) and in the scales of cosmic justice.  God’s patience waited (I Peter 3:20) for several generations–and then, the flood.

Conservative Christians acknowledge that God has a right to judge.  We have a little more trouble accepting that God is right to judge.  Without judgment (which also involves putting a temporary halt to evil) we would have killed each other a long time ago.  Without a final judgment, heaven would become hell.  That doesn’t make widespread destruction any easier to think about (the children! the innocent animals! the towns and farms!), but a world without judgment would be even more destructive, and ultimately futile.

Here’s the pdf download:

Bible Challenge, Week Three: The Problem – Judgment

(This is a continuation of a series of posts about the “whole story” of the Bible.  I plan to run one every week, on Tuesdays, with a printable PDF.  The printable includes a brief 2-3 paragraph introduction, Bible passages to read, a key verse, 5-7 thought/discussion questions, and 2-3 activities for the kids.  Here’s the Overview of the entire Bible series.)

Previous: Week Two: The Problem – Rebellion

Next: Week Four: The Problem – Separation

Nine Reasons to Read the Bible (even if you don’t believe it)

  1. It’s unique. The Bible Creation story is not like any other creation story. TheBible Reading Bible God is not like any other God.  He’s the only ancient deity to link worship (temples, sacrifices, etc.) to a moral code.  He is absolutely central; a person beyond personality, not a representative of window or fire, not an idea, not a philosophy.  He escapes easy generalities, and so does his book.
  2. It’s eerily familiar. We’re always hearing echoes of it, not only in everyday conversation (broken heart, labor of love, thorn in the flesh, eye for an eye), but in values we take for granted. Whatever our political persuasion, we agree that the hungry should be fed, the injured cared for, the helpless attended to.  None of these principles were widely accepted in the ancient world.  We believe—or at least we say—that love is the greatest power in the world.  Rameses, Nebuchadnezzar, and Julius Caesar would have laughed at that.  We like Jesus, even if we don’t understand him.  All these things originate in the Bible’s thousand-odd pages.
  3. It’s historically relevant. Even if you’re skeptical about archaeology finds that support what it says about ancient times, the Bible’s influence on history is well documented. Those who are certain it inspired oppression, crusades, and pogroms should turn over a few more rocks.  Though it has been misused as a weapon, the Bible is also (and much more logically) the inspiration for revivals, reforms, and rethinking. It directly inspired the greatest surge in literacy, enterprise, and empowerment the world has ever seen (i.e. the Protestant Reformation).  The Enlightenment usually takes credit for those achievements, but without the Reformation there would be no Enlightenment (and after the Enlightenment gleefully kicked away the Scriptural platform it was built on, it collapsed in something called the Reign of Terror).
  4. It’s a treasury of ancient literary forms. Poetry, Historical Narrative, Allegory, Practical Instruction, Romance, Apocalyptic Imagery—every style and genre known to the ancient world is easily accessible between these covers, and in a multitude of translations, too.
  5. It explains the origins of two of the most consequential people groups in the history of the world: Jews and Christians. You may not like them. Often enough, they haven’t liked each other. One was a relatively small group bound by blood and tradition, which had a wildly outsized influence on world history and a proportionate amount of suffering (the honor of being a chosen people cuts both ways).  The second group is, by design, much more numerous and diverse, bound by faith and a conviction that God loves the world enough to die for it.
  6. It tells one Story. A rambling tale, to be sure. But any tale would ramble if it takes about 1500 years and at least 39 authors to tell it.  But the general outline of the story is the model for all stories in all cultures.  There’s a setting, a protagonist, an antagonist, a problem, a development of the problem, a climax, and a resolution.  Why do we tell stories this way?  Whether or not the Bible is the origin for the model, it’s a classic example of the model.  And the type of story it tells, of desolation and redemption, still haunts us.
  7. It provides the only objective reason for treating human beings as anything other than random accidents, disposable trash, or interchangeable parts to be manipulated. The reason is this: the Bible is very clear that human beings are shaped by God to bear his image.  For that very reason, they are not to be willfully murdered (Genesis 9:6) or even carelessly insulted (James 3:9-10).  If the value of humans is set by other humans it can shift at any time.  If that value is set by God, no one can change it.
  8. It’s the most banned book in history. It’s too reactionary, too subversive, too authoritarian, too libertarian.  Tyrants fear its revelation of a rival power; anarchists, modernists, post-modernists, communists, utopians, and well-intentioned progressives hate it for the same reason. The book is a scandal and a trouble—aren’t you curious as to why?
  9. It’s still around. And still a best-seller. What explains its remarkable staying power? Unless you are willing to at least become familiar with it, you’ll never know.

Bible Challenge, Week Two: The Problem – Rebellion

(This is a continuation of a series of posts about the “whole story” of the Bible.  I plan to run one every week, on Tuesdays, with a printable PDF.  The printable includes a brief 2-3 paragraph introduction, Bible passages to read, a key verse, 5-7 thought/discussion questions, and 2-3 activities for the kids.  Here’s the Overview of the entire Bible series.)

If the Bible is a story, it will share many of the elements of story, such as plot and characters.  Last week we looked at another important (and often overlooked) factor of stories: setting.  The setting God created was perfection, which makes it all the more ironic–if that’s the word–that the first characters to appear in our story rejected it.  That introduces the first big story element: a problem.

They probably didn’t realize they were rejecting perfection, but they knew enough to not to do what they did.  You may know the story, but have you ever thought about all the implications?  You’ll have an opportunity to do so in this week’s challenge.

Without further ado, here’s the pdf:

Bible Reading Challenge: The Problem – Rebellion

Two corrections: The scripture reference in Question 4 is missing the chapter.  It’s Genesis 3:21-24, not Gen. 21-24.  Three verses instead of three chapters.  Also, this week’s challenge is missing a Key verse.  How about Psalm 107:43:

Whoever is wise, let him attend to these things;

let them consider the steadfast love of the Lord.

To start at the beginning, here’s Week One: The Setting.

Next: Week Three: The Problem – Judgment

Schrodinger’s Baby

James Franco may be a little weird (for lack of a better word), but I like that he has wide-ranging interests, like philosophy.  In his short-lived YouTube series, Philosophy Time, he and Eliot Michaelson talked deep with various academics.  This video of their interview with Princeton Professor Liz Harmon was making the rounds four years ago, but it’s worth another look:

Did that go by too quickly?  Here’s Prof. Harmon’s argument (if you want to call it that) in her words with paraphrases.  The italicized responses are mine, but James and I seemed to be thinking along the same lines at times.

Harmon: Some of our terminology when talking about abortion suggests it’s, like, always sad to end a life, even if you, like, feel you have to.  But nah, not really.  “. . . what I think is that among early fetuses, there are two different kinds of beings,” and one has moral status (i.e., a right to keep living) while one does not.  “Your future as a person defines your moral status.”

Uh . . . okay.  But what if you, Dr. Harmon, had been aborted as a, whaddayacallit, “early fetus”?

Harmon: Not a relevant question.  Because I’m here.

But, isn’t that kind of 20/20 hindsight?  I mean, like, what makes the difference between this nice garden spot we’re talking in here and the medical waste bin behind a Planned Parenthood clinic (where you might have ended up if you didn’t have a future)?

Harmon: What makes the difference is “that [a woman’s] intentions negates the moral status of that early fetus.”  If she decides to have the abortion, that is.

So . . . what you’re saying is, the abortion is permissible because you had it, but it wouldn’t have been permissible if you hadn’t had it.  [At this point, circular arrows are superimposed on the screen, indicating what kind of argument it is.]

The professor tries to clarify: “If your mother had chosen to abort her pregnancy—”

Whoa, mama!  I mean, literally: are you sure you want to use the word “mother”?

“—then that wouldn’t have been the case, that you had moral status . . .”

(My head is starting to hurt)

Harmon: “. . . You would have had this very short existence in which you wouldn’t have mattered morally.”

Speaking of “morally” . . . .

(By now the guys look politely confused, as if they had finally given in to their wives’ demands to stop and ask for directions, and Prof. Harmon was the first passer-by they stopped to ask.  (Just wait until they roll up the car window again—the wives are going to get an earful.)

__________________________________________________________

You have to be pretty clever to keep with this argument.  It’s not rocket science; it’s quantum physics.  Just as a particle can be there and not there, a developing human being in the womb—what the professor calls an early fetus and a doting grandma calls a baby—is endowed and not endowed with moral status.  Just as the figurative cat in the box was presumed to be alive or not-alive on the whim of a single particle, the early fetus (or possibly even late fetus) is futured or unfutured, depending on the thought processes of someone who is not him or her.

The elephant in the room is the being in the womb—not a thought experiment, like Schrodinger’s live-and-dead Cat, but a real biological phenomena.  The DNA identify it as a human: more than that, a distinct human, with sex and hair color and fingerprints already determined.  Figments of the imagination can disappear without consequence, but 58 million aborted human souls (more or less, since Roe v. Wade) add up in unforeseen consequences of guilt, carelessness, sexual irresponsibility, and general devaluation.  The subterranean effects of legal abortion are impossible to measure, but don’t be fooled: they exist.  And one consequence is irrational rationalization like this.

Bible Challenge Week One: The Setting

(Today we begin a series of posts about the “whole story” of the Bible.  I plan to run one every week, on Tuesdays, with a printable PDF.  The printable includes a brief 2-3 paragraph introduction, Bible passages to read, a key verse, 5-7 thought/discussion questions, and 2-3 activities for the kids.)

Every story has certain elements in order to be a story.  We often think of characters first–somebody has to act in the story, and there’s usually a hero, or protagonist.  Usually, though not always, there’s also an adversary, or antagonist.  And then, of course, something has to happen.  Some kind of problem develops, or a conflict arises, that the hero has to solve or resolve.  The plot develops around this conflict and resolution, working its way to a climax.

But there’s another story element that we often overlook, and that’s the setting.  In some contemporary stories, the setting is not especially consequential: it could be any modern city, or Midwestern small town.  But in historical fiction, or science fiction, or regional fiction, the setting leans in, shaping a plot that couldn’t take place anywhere else, or in any other time.  (I wrote about the importance of setting in great westerns on my other website.)

The Bible story also starts with setting: the heavens and the earth.  We often pass over it in order to get to characters and plot, but for this week, let’s linger and think about what the setting means for this particular story.  What meaning is packed into the very first sentence of the world’s greatest story?

Here’s the download for our first week:

Bible Reading Challenge, Week One: The Setting

I neglected to add a Key Verse to the download, so I’ll put it here: Genesis 1:31–

And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.

Next: Week Two: The Problem – Rebellion

Power & Light

Time hurtles on.  We swoop through space on our little teeming rock, already forgetting the news that was everywhere two weeks ago.  Just two weeks ago . . .

Campers and vans were already clogging two-lane roads in Oregon and hysterical headlines were predicting traffic nightmares in Nashville and St. Joe MO.  But when Monday arrived we were on the road by 8:30 a.m. and encountered no complications on the two-hour to the “path of totality.”  After reaching the mid-size Midwestern town of our destination we found a city park, stretched out legs, watched the kids run around the playground, spread our blankets for a picnic and kept an eye on the sky.

I don’t need to describe a total eclipse of the sun: enough has been written already.  To me, it was both greater and less than anticipated.  I expected darkness but it was more like a bright moonlight or even a very heavy cloud cover (like before a tornado—I’ve seen that too).  I expected more stars, but we only saw Venus (I think) glowing wanly as though embarrassed to be waking up so early.  Totality was indeed spectacular: when the round disk of the moon slipped over the sun a gasp went around the park and a cry went up, as though we were cheering some great accomplishment.  Which was true enough.  The sun was suddenly, indescribably, a void—a hole in the sky surrounded by a writhing circle of subtly-colored rays, like nothing ever seen in all creation.

All the more astonishing when compared to only a few moments before.  We’re so accustomed to the sun: glorying in it after a long winter, sweltering under it during a long summer; joyfully welcoming it after days of rain, desperately wishing it would hide its face after weeks of drought.  But I never really appreciated the power of the sun until I watched it whittled down to almost nothing: a sliver, 5% or less of surface exposed.  And still as bright as day, forbidding as death, fully capable of singeing your eyeballs.  All its power present in every part or portion of it: if it could be cut in pieces, every piece would burn just as bright as the whole.

St. Francis addressed it as Brother Sun, bringing the flaming chariot of the gods down to human level.  And he wasn’t wrong.  Our immortal souls will outlast that ball of gas in the new heavens and new earth, where God Himself is our Light.  But it doesn’t do to get too cocky.  If the sun is a brother creature, he’s a big BIG brother, bending us under an elbow one minute and affectionately tousling our little heads the next, for the rest of our earthly lives.

Less than a week later, the sun hid its face from the Texas coast and thousands of people had their lives dramatically changed.  Anyone I know?  Not personally, but friends of relatives and relatives of friends.  The stately dance of the heavens is forgotten when calamity strikes close to home—down here where wind and clouds stomp around like rowdy kids.  Nobody was looking up (certainly not with NASA-approved paper glasses) except to pray desperately for the rain to stop.  Disaster usually comes from the sky, where the storehouses of wind (Ps. 135:7) and precipitation (Job 38:22) occasionally bust open and let us have it.  All for a reason, say the faithful.  No reason at all, just blind lunacy, say the skeptics.  To both sides, it’s proof of whatever they already believe.

As for me, I believe in Power.  And Light.  Specifically, I believe they have a Name, and that Name knows my name, and because of it I can lie down in safety.