Uncategorized | Janie B. Cheaney

September 28, 2021September 29, 2021

Fear vs. Fear

Fear is a verb and a noun, and in both forms it’s usually negative. Fear can be useful when it prevents us from stupid actions, but even then it doesn’t feel good, or build character, or add value. It just keeps us alive to fear another day.

Fear (the noun) is the default response to trying something new (They’re gonna laugh at me), or standing up against injustice (They’re gonna turn on me) or just crossing the yard to meet the neighbors (They’re not gonna like me). In more extreme cases, it can prod us into battle or cliff diving if we fear the scorn of our buddies even more than the risk to our persons.

Fear guards our fragile self-image like a sentry marching back and forth with a shouldered rifle, starting at every sound. The treasure it’s protecting is Me—precious little Me, with the persona I’ve pieced together over the years that can be so casually ripped open by one mean word.

That kind of fear I can do without.

This kind of fear draws us toward, not away.

There’s another kind of fear. It guards nothing. It’s deliberate and cultivated. It breaks down gates and strides through the world arm-in-arm with a self-image no longer fragile, because it fears (verb) the one thing worth fearing.

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom (Pr. 1:7), deliverance (Ps. 34:4), blessing (Ps. 115:19), fulfillment (Ps. 145:19), honor (Pro. 22:4), provision (Ps. 111:5) goodness (Ps. 31:19)—and much, much more. We have the Lord’s own word on that. Then why is it so hard to fear the Lord?

It might have been easier for earlier generations raised on hellfire sermons, but even that was often the wrong kind of fear (if it didn’t progress to the right kind): trembling, shame-filled, run-and-hide fear like Adam who called out form the bush: “We heard you coming, and we were afraid.” The paired image of God used to run to him. Now they run away, as humans have done ever since.

Godly fear causes us to run toward him once again. It’s an emotion literally out of this world, though C. S. Lewis found something like it in a scene from Wind and the Willows, where Mole and Rat encounter the demigod Pan. [Mole] found breath to whisper, shaking, ‘Are you afraid?’ ‘Afraid?’ murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutterable love. ‘Afraid? Of Him? O, never, never. And yet – and yet – O Mole, I am afraid.’”

“Unutterable love,” of something wholly outside ourselves yet wholly intimate, is fear like nothing else. It—that is, He—could kill us with a glance—but he won’t. He could unmake us with a word, but his desire is to remake us. Everything that ever made a human heart sing, be it a literal song or a magnificent landscape or the road-hugging sweep of a perfectly-tuned racecar, leads back to him who made the human heart. Whatever pulls us out of ourselves, even for a moment, is meant to find fulfillment in him.

If you fear God rightly, the saying goes, you need fear nothing else. “Fear not,” or the equivalent, is said to occur in the Bible 365 times—one for every day of the year. If I’ve lost myself in him, I don’t need a sentry. Little Me has found perfect protection.

But if I don’t fear him rightly, or at all, well: It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God (Heb. 10:31). In the end it comes down to two choices: Shelter in his love, or face his wrath.

May 22, 2018May 29, 2018

Bible Challenge Week 36: Messiah – Baptism & Temptation

One day a man walked down to the river to be baptized by John. Multitudes were doing the same: John was a sensation. The man caught no one’s eye but John’s–was the Baptist already familiar with him, or did they just meet? Had the man spent his earlier adult years among the Essenes or some other holy separatist group, or was he quietly working in his father’s carpenter shop? No one can say. Except for one striking incident in Jerusalem, recorded by Luke (who probably got it from his mother), Messiah had lived his life in the shadows, like the vast majority of Galileans. Then he stepped out of the crowd.

What did his baptism mean? And the strange interlude in the wilderness that happened directly after–what was that about?

John was famous; this man was not. But John was continually pointing to someone coming along after him, and now Someone was here. But where would he go next? John had his own ideas, but even though he was the greatest of the prophets, those ideas turned out to be wrong . . .

For the .pdf download of this week’s reading challenge, with scripture passages, thought questions, and activities, click here:

Bible Reading Challenge Week 36:

Messiah – Baptism & Temptation

(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 35: Messiah – Baptism and Temptation

Next: Week 37: Messiah – The Kingdom of Heaven

March 26, 2018March 25, 2018

Oh, Jerusalem

And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes . . .” Luke 19:41-42

“The place that I shall choose,”

City of David, the anointed shepherd-boy, who madly danced before the ark,

Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, city of the great king.

Jerusalem: Every true Israelite’s heart leapt to see it, the crown of the rock set with the gleaming jewel of a gold and marble temple.

A cry comes—from the donkey? His startled disciples look up; it’s from the Master. He’s weeping—actually sobbing, there among the tossing palms and fluttering hands. The throng can’t see it, surrounded as he is by his inner circle, but the twelve are disturbed, to say the least. Simon-called-Peter glances at his brother Andrew with eyebrows raised; John reaches a hand toward the Master’s shoulder. Judas feels uneasiness stirring in his gut: is this how a king behaves? Heaving shoulders, streaming tears—is this mien of a conqueror?

“Oh Jerusalem,” he sobs. “City of peace. If you only knew what real peace is . . . but it’s hidden from you. All that’s left for you is destruction, because you did not recognize your salvation when it came.”

cleansing the temple

They will wonder about that shortly afterwards, when he’s turning over the money changers’ tables in the temple courtyard and driving out the dealers—with a whip, no less! No one dares to ask him if this is what he means by “peace.” But at least he’s taking charge, not sobbing in a corner.

“My house will be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves!”

Amid the mayhem someone sends a message to the high priest, Caiaphas, who comes to check out the situation with his entourage. Caiaphas is no fool—before charging in with an air of outrage he takes a moment to look on silently, assessing the situation.

He has heard of this man, of course—of signs and wonders and claiming to be something great, perhaps even Messiah. Caiaphas intended to have him thrown out—a simple order to the temple guard would do it—but the sheer presumptuousness of the man makes him pause. This Jesus truly acts as if he owns the place, like the master of a household returning from a long trip to find his servants misusing the property.

Caiaphas remembers something . . .

Yes, that boy—that country boy who wandered into the temple school some twenty years ago. He had amazed the elders and the teachers, even the great Shammai himself, with the maturity and insight of his questions. Just a peasant, or a tradesman’s son. With no education beyond the village synagogue school, he had eminent scholars tied in knots trying to agree on their answers.

His parents had found him at last—frazzled they were, wild with worry. The boy met them at the portal and his quiet answer, picked up and repeated for days afterword, echoed now in Caiaphas’s memory: “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”

Everyone expected to hear from that boy again.

Well, here he is. And apparently he’s inherited the family estate: Not “my Father’s house.” My house.

Caiaphas does not give the order, even though his fellow priests are eyeing him expectantly. This man will have to be dealt with, of course; he’s trouble. But not now; not at the height of mass hysteria. As carelessly as he throws words around (My house, indeed!) he’s bound to trip himself up if he hasn’t already.

“Not now,” the High Priest says irritably, in reply to a tentative tap on his shoulder. “Brute force won’t answer; we need a strategy. Before Passover, I daresay we can trap him.”

As they turn to slip away, a crowd is already gathered around the teacher, who has cleared a space in the courtyard.

As though he owns the place . . .

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For the original post in this series, click here.

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August 22, 2017August 24, 2017

The Abolition of Man, Part Three

Part One.

Part Two.

In the second essay of The Abolition of Man, “The Way,” Lewis showed that humanity seemed to have only one stable code of ethics, one set of standards for determining what’s good. Though it goes by many names, western tradition calls it Natural Law, but Lewis tagged it the Tao, as a way of emphasizing that all cultures share it, whether east or west. At the end of the previous essay, “The Way,” he poses a challenge from the opposition: if permanent values can’t exist outside the Tao, why do we need values at all? It is possible to move beyond them? Might this be the next step in evolution?

Fair question, says Lewis: let’s consider what it might look like. And so he does: That Hideous Strength pictures just such a possibility.

In THS, the Inner Ring at Belbury have moved well beyond notions of good and evil; their only concern is utility. Could it possibly be otherwise? Can there be any other concern when the very notion of value is removed? As Frost instructs Mark in Chapter 12.4, “Your view of the war and your reference to the preservation of the species suggest a profound misconception. They are mere generalisations from affectional feelings.” In other words, nothing is good (such as the preservation of the species) or bad (e.g., war) in itself; all that matters is control and power.

Lewis (and George Orwell) imagined control exercised by power: a totalitarian state. The “smashing a

The CRISPR technique allows DNA to be “unzipped” for the removal of harmful genes, which will not be passed on to progeny.

human face, over and over” (Orwell’s definition of totalitarianism) is a bit more subtle in Lewis, but not much. Today, in spite of all our hand-wringing over fascism and demagogues, Americans are more likely to be controlled by promises of comfort and safety–“personal peace and security,” as Francis Schaeffer defined it. Not just in our environment, but in our own bodies. The human genome has unfolded its secrets to science to such an extent that elite specialists can permanently remove certain harmful traits from the blueprint (it’s been done). This would seem like an unambiguous good, except that a) we don’t know the effects of tinkering with our DNA over time, and b) the ability to do so will almost certainly result in designer babies who will be born with a physical, aesthetic, and intellectual edge over those not so favored.

In the third essay of The Abolition of Man, Lewis boils it down: “When all that says ‘It is good’ has been debunked, what says ‘I want’ remains. [I want] cannot be exploited or seen through because it never had any pretensions. The Conditioners [i.e., those in control of the rest], therefore, must come to be motivated by their own pleasure.” If you can even call it “pleasure.” What kind of people are we talking about?

“I am not supposing [the future conditioners of the human race] to be bad men. They are, rather, not men (in the old sense) at all. They are, if you like, men who have sacrificed their own share in traditional humanity in order to devote themselves to deciding what humanity shall henceforth mean.” We see this in That Hideous Strength: Wither’s disappearing act, Frost’s mechanical aspect, are images of men who have sacrificed their own humanity. They are reduced to shells. And, if they have their way, what of their victims? “They are not men at all; they are artifacts. Man’s final conquest has proved to be the abolition of man” [AOM p. 77).

Sitting in our air-conditioned houses, with medicine cabinets stuffed with pain relievers and relatively new automobiles waiting to take us wherever we want to go on well-paved roads, we may not feel like artifacts. We may feel more like masters of our fate. Science and technology have boosted us to a level of comfort and control undreamed-of even fifty years ago. Surely Lewis, who once described himself as a “dinosaur,” is allowing a bit of the Luddite to creep up on him here. Time, space, and disease have not been overcome, but certainly been tamed, and science has given us that power. Why the gloom and doom?

“. . . [W]hat we call man’s power over Nature turns out to be a power exercised by some men over other men with Nature as its instrument.” These words appear early in the third essay, but Lewis also put them, almost word for word, in the mouth of Professor Filostrato in That Hideous Strength, Chapter 8.3. Where power is limited, so too the damage is limited. But as power grows, so does its potential for harm.

In chapter 12 of That Hideous Strength, Mark is told that The Head of the organization is not really Alcasan, even though it’s Alcasan’s physical head they’ve been using. There’s a spirit or spirits (Frost calls them “macrobes,” though they actually demons) that speaks through it. Why do demons even need a “head” to speak through? Because their power is limited also; they seek to be united with another power born not from the sky but from the earth: what used to be called “magic.”

“The serious magical endeavor and the serious scientific endeavor are twins: one was sickly and died, the other was strong and throve. But they are twins. They were born of the same impulse [i.e., to shape nature to our wishes]” (AOM, p. 87). The efforts of the Inner Ring to recruit Merlyn will reunite science with magic and complete their power. “It is the magician’s bargain: give up our souls; get power in return. But once our souls, that is, our selves have been given up, the power thus conferred will not belong to us. We shall in fact be the slaves and puppets of that to which we have given our souls” (AOM, p. 83). Lewis means it spiritually, perhaps, but the Inner Ring will soon realize it physically. And it won’t be pretty.

For our read-along to That Hideous Strength, start with the Introduction and follow the links.

April 28, 2017

The Writer’s Ego

Don’t do it! they say.

I never do it, claim the most successful.

I don’t do it often, but every now and then it can be instructive to search my own name online (I would say, “to Google myself,” except that sounds a bit naughty).

It’s not something anyone should set aside time for, but rather to do as the mood strikes. I can search two names: J. B. Cheaney refers to my fiction. Janie B. Cheaney yields references to Wordsmith, WORLD Magazine, and a series of posts I wrote on Revolution War figures twenty years ago. (Those mini-biographies are not only still online, but they still come up high in Google rankings, which tells me they’ve supplied many a high-school research project over the years.) The WORLD references are the most volatile, even though, if someone is going to the trouble of quoting me, it’s usually because they liked something I said. Unless they really, really disliked it.

Here’s a classic backhand compliment I came across during my last search: “Half the time she writes the most ridiculous stuff I’ve ever read, but the other half she’s spot on. For example . . .” The blogger goes on to quote one of my less ridiculous statements.

I had to laugh. I mean, I had to—mirth in self-defense.

However, the more I think about it, the more genuinely funny it is. Writers are roughly half-ridiculous—though some, it must be said, are all ridiculous, and wouldn’t be writing if it weren’t for the leveling fury of the Internet.

To turn one’s brain inside-out on paper is as risky as stepping out on a tightrope. It’s lining up words one after the other to bear the weight of one’s wobbling, wavering thought. This is crazy enough to try in private, but if your words appear in print, everybody is looking. Will I overbalance and fall, into the airy net of triviality or the unforgiving sawdust of pomposity? Will I make it to the end of the rope, but in such a clumsy manner any applause will be inspired by pity? Every time I step out on an idea, no matter how many times I’ve done it before, it’s with a certain amount of trepidation—will I make it this time? Will I feel like I walked a straight graceful line from one point to the other, or will the work feel clumsy and inept? Or will I fail and go splat? (It’s happened.)

However impressive it looks, there’s something inherently ridiculous about walking a rope. Writing, too, at least on the face of it: why climb that ladder, stand on that platform, step off on the thin edge of that mysterious medium called language, and hope to get to the other side with some assurance of success? Especially when so many others are doing the same thing, and many of them much better—or at least more successfully—than me? Also especially, when the reader misses my point and thinks I’m ridiculous?

Even more especially, when he got my point and it might actually be ridiculous, like some of the stuff I wrote when I was twenty years old.

All I can say is that circumstances, gifts, and experiences have conspired to make it possible for me to do this. So, “whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” The best attitude for a writer, I’ve found, is a humble self-confidence, or a cocky humility, that says,

I’m not the best at this and not everyone will like me. But certain things only I can say; certain stories only I can tell; and certain readers are listening, whether they know it or not. So I’m going to go for it, and do the best I can at it, and get better at it, and I will not buy into the lie that I’m only successful if the world falls at my feet. Because then it would be all about me.

Every now and then it’s good to let Google remind me of who it’s not about. And that we’re all—not just writers—a bit ridiculous. (It comes with the territory of being human.)

April 21, 2017April 21, 2017

The New Face of Feminism

The suffrage movement in the early 20^th century was about giving women the vote. The feminist movement of the 1970s, beginning with Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique and cresting with the Roe v. Wade decision, was about giving women career opportunities. The latest women’s movement, inspired by the election of Donald Trump, is about . . .

Well, that’s a bit of a head-scratcher. After marching to the polls in 1920, marching to the Planned Parenthood clinic in 1973, marching out to work in hard hats and combat helmets, women are now just marching because. The worldwide demonstration last January that called out literally millions of marchers was gleefully proclaimed to be the start of something BIG. But, as critics remarked at the time, the participants didn’t seem to have a focus and couldn’t articulate precisely what they were mad about. They were just mad. A march with lots of signs, chants, and yelling is a great way to blow off steam, but it’s terrible for a sustained movement.

Recently I read Here We Are: Feminism for the Real World, a handbook for high school teens edited by librarian and book-blogger Kelly Jensen. In it, “44 voices write, draw, and speak” about the challenges still facing women today and what feminism means for our time.

In the Introduction we’re told that feminists come in all colors, shapes, creeds, genders and cross-genders, nationalities, and preferences. “What unites feminists is the belief that every person—regardless of gender, class, education, race, sexuality, or ability—deserves equality.” It’s about “embracing differences and encouraging change that benefits all facets of society.”

In these pages we hear from transwomen and transmen, the happily married and happily divorced, lesbians, singles, artists, and journalists, but the voices are not as diverse as advertised. Author Kody Keplinger writes about choosing not to have kids (she just doesn’t want them, okay?), but no one writes about the uniquely feminine joys of motherhood. “Reproductive rights” are supported uniformly and almost casually, but there are no reasoned arguments for the rights of the unborn. Muslim blogger Kaye Mirza extols her feminist-inspired faith, but no Christian writes about defining feminism in Christ. “Embracing differences” turns out to be about preference, not conviction. As far as conviction goes, these voices are all on the same page.

That’s no surprise, given the state of contemporary public discourse. I don’t blame the editor or writers, who just assume they are nicely diversified and on the side of the angels. How many have ever even sat still for a reasoned argument of the pro-life position or biblical complementarianism? Probably none, because reasoned arguments take a back seat to emotional appeals and crude caricatures.

Here are my main takeaways from Here We Are: 1) “Feminist” now means just about anything as long as it’s progressive. 2) White guys can ride along only if they admit their privilege and move to the back of the bus. 3) Female means oppressed. “Every woman, cis or trans, experiences gender inequality, discrimination or violence, but the ways they experience it differs because of factors like race, class, disability, or gender presentation.” 4) But oppressed females can imaginatively turn the tables on fan fiction sites, where they get to create pornographic scenarios for their favorite fictional crushes. (Do you know what “slash fiction” is? I didn’t, until now.)

Above all, 5) Identity matters more than anything—literally anything, including health, well-being, and common sense. In a chapter on “Body and Mind” Anne Theriault writes about her experiences with depression and anxiety. Amid some good advice, like refraining from isolation and choosing relevant role models, she drops this:

You get to decide how you identify. If you’re dealing with mental health issues but don’t consider yourself to be mentally ill, that’s cool. If, on the other hand, you feel like mental illness makes up part of what you are, that’s cool, too. If you want to self-identify as crazy or mad, that’s totally fine.

And that’s totally crazy. But it’s the logical extension of a “choose your own reality” approach to life.

Meanwhile, reality bites. David French worries that girls are being goaded toward “fierce” attitudes and

roles not all of them are suited for, while boys are made to feel guilty for the very same attributes. You can’t push nature very far before it starts pushing back. Boys will always be boys–are we going to teach them to be responsible boys, or reprehensible ones? Pornography has exploded with internet technology, especially on smart phones. Sex trafficking plagues the American heartland. Girls still obsess over their looks, weight, and sex appeal and their fathers are too often not around to protect and affirm them. Their mothers are distracted, wondering if they are any happier than their mothers. Women-centered feminism, generally, hasn’t made us happier; perhaps that’s why the movement is morphing to identify-centered feminism, where what you feel is what you are.

Reality: men and women are equally worthy of respect as human beings, yet different in ways that are not superficial. Exhorting girls to be aggressive and boys to be passive creates viragos and couch potatoes and a world of confusion and frustration. “Complementarian,” in the biblical sense, doesn’t mean that girls should not be Olympic athletes or scientists or presidents—those are surface distinctions. It does mean that girls are not equipped to do everything, and boys are not allowed to do nothing.

April 14, 2017

Good Friday

Let the scriptures be fulfilled, he said, when they came to take him away. What scriptures? Well, all of it. All of Scripture is a wrestling match between God and man: how can a holy God accommodate sinful people? You sense the struggle between love and justice throughout the Old Testament: “I hate, I despise your feasts” clashes with “How can I give you up, O Israel?” Reading through Isaiah (to take just one example), if I can say it reverently, is almost like confronting a schizophrenic personality, as the Lord’s righteousness wrestles with his mercy.

Here is where they reconcile:

Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other.

Faithfulness springs up from the ground and righteousness looks down from the sky. Psalm 85:10-11

And then, it’s Sunday morning.

Click here for a printable .pdf version of this image.

March 28, 2017March 25, 2017

Traveling Light

I’m packing for a trip (to find out where to, subscribe to my newsletter!). It involves air travel, meaning extra care in packing, because 1) you have to be careful about banned items—I learned that the hard way involving a $500 fine, and 2) most airlines charge you for checked bags. The airline I’m using charges even for carry-on bags to help make up for their rock-bottom fares, so I’ve learned to pack strategically.

But besides that, it’s a joy to travel light—to walk off the plane and stroll right past the crowd of passengers waiting at the baggage carousel; to head straight for the wide vistas of a brand-new city or the open arms of my loved ones. It takes a little time to plan but saves time later because I only have one bag to search for lost items instead of three that are the size of a steamer trunk, full of stuff I won’t use anyway. Here are my tricks and strategies for a two-week trip–mostly for the ladies, but guys feel free to apply:

Toiletries: if it won’t fit in a quart-size Ziploc bag, you don’t need it. Save little plastic jars and
Little bottles, little jars, little bags–but just enough.

motel shampoo bottles to carry skin- and hair-care products. A travel-size tube of toothpaste should last for two weeks, unless you’re a dental-hygiene fanatic. And don’t you love those folding toothbrushes? Small zipper-closed plastic bags—find them at Hobby Lobby or Michaels—are great for holding Q-tips, cotton balls, aspirin, or prescription meds. (Cotton balls lightly dipped in olive oil make great makeup removers.)
Outerwear. If you’re traveling in the summer all you need is a light jacket or shawl (for drama). The other three seasons are more problematic, so think layers. I have an all-weather jacket from Royal Robbins that folds up into a small neck cushion. Unfolded, it’s waterproof, and when worn over a light wool sweater and a silk turtleneck, it’s surprisingly warm.
Clothes. Plan to wear your bulkiest garb, such as sturdy jeans, hoodies, and blazers, on the plane. For the rest, go light and scrunchy—cottons, silks, or polyester blends that roll up tight and don’t winkle. Coordinate colors, with roughly half on the neutral side—black, brown, white, beige. Throw in a couple of silk scarves for dash. For a two-week trip, you can make do with 1-2 pairs of jeans, 1 pair of comfortable pull-on pants, and/or a lightweight, pull-on skirt (and don’t forget the slip, or else you’ll be making do with hotel pillowcases). Throw in one pair of p.j.’s that wash and dry quick.
Roll up everything!

Shoes and socks. Plan to wear your heaviest pair of shoes on the plane, even if it means extra time at the security gate to take them off. Go easy on the shoes, ladies—three pairs are enough for anybody! Socks don’t take up much room of course, but remember you can wash them anywhere. And you’ll want to. Throw in a pair or two of lightweight wool socks, even in the summer. They dry fast, and you’ll thank me later.
Swimwear. Take a swimsuit, because you never know. Unless you absolutely do know, and the answer is NO.
Underwear. Yes. Nylon not cotton (there’s the drying factor again), unless you’re allergic.
Books and electronics. Compact Bible, 6X4” (and reading glasses to see the small print). One or two print books, the rest on Kindle. Don’t forget the wall charger! Journal, one mechanical pencil with extra lead, two ballpoint pens. Laptop? Not this time. You can do all the internet reading you need to on a tablet or Kindle Fire.

Clear pocket in front for ID and credit card, zipper pouch for cash and phone, strap for carrying–they’re so handy!!!

Portage: The airline I’m using allows passengers one free “personal item,” such as a purse or briefcase. I usually ditch the purse and take a totebag that falls within the acceptable dimensions, and pack a lightweight bag that folds flat to use as a purse where I’m going. You know those pocket badges you get at conventions and conferences? I never threw those away because they seemed so useful—and sure enough, with the strap extended and worn across the chest, they make a handy travel pouch to keep loose change, ID, smartphone, and necessary credit cards where they are secure and easy to reach. Since I’m wearing it, it doesn’t count as a “personal item.” I carry these on short hikes too, because the zippered top unzips just wide enough to hold a skinny water bottle (the kind “Ice” drinks come in). Speaking of those bottles– they’ll fit in places a standard water bottle won’t. Just remember they’ll have to be empty when you go through security–you can fill them up later.

All this isn’t just for saving money or time; it’s for simplifying. The less you take with you, the less you have to keep track of, and the better to open yourself up to new experiences. That’s what travel is all about—expanding your world, not dragging it along with you. That’s a good rule for life, too: go light, be flexible. You’re just travelin’ through.

March 21, 2017March 18, 2017

Five Easy Steps to Becoming a Writer

Daydream about it a lot.
This is easy, too: a little glue, a little space on your desk, and you’re set. You can also use Scrabble tiles.
Talk about your story idea.
Write three pages every three months—not necessarily of the same story.
Stop talking about your story idea.
Think about it some more.

This is cheating, a little: you won’t actually become a writer but you can think of yourself as one. And you’ll have to admit, those are easy steps.

So here are the five hard steps:

Read. I hear through the grapevine there’s a brave new breed of writing student out there: the kids who never read a whole book in their lives–could we call them little-read writing hoods? Nevertheless, they want to jump into the deep end and start cranking out stories. Fantasy stories, usually–because those all come straight out of your head, right? So you don’t have to spend a lot of time in research or craft; just go for the gold. A tiny handful of such young Turks may succeed, by dint of a wild imagination and a natural gift of gab, but 1) they won’t have much to say, and 2) they won’t say it well. If you want to be a writer, read wide and deep in order to become wider and deeper.

Focus. Nobody cares about your general thoughts about life, because we all have those. But some people (not everybody) might be interested in your particular thoughts about particular things, like marketing tulip bulbs or fly-fishing in Northern Africa or early Celtic illuminated manuscripts or how the Holy Trinity imposes Trinitarian structure on all of reality (I’m very interested in that). Rather than starting wide and ending small, start small and end wider, making connections between the specific, particular things and the broader, universal things.

And related to this: Notice things. Find material all around you to write about. Describe real people, record real conversations, look into your real feelings rather than just extrapolating from the movies or popular fiction. We all borrow, whether or not we’re aware of it. Borrow from reality. I like to say, when it comes to creation, you can’t improve on God.

Practice. If you do lots of reading you will have a pretty good idea in your head what good writing looks like, and when you start to write for yourself, you’ll subconsciously imitate your favorite writers. But over time, you’ll develop your own style and rhythm. This only comes with practice. It doesn’t matter how you practice: keep a journal or scribble on looseleaf paper or carry a set of 3X5 cards around with you to jot down your impressions (I’ve done all of these, and would like to be a little more systematic but at my age, it’s not happening.) Related to this—as you practice, don’t develop bad habits. Even though writing is the most subjective activity you can engage in (except for reading), it has its rules. Some ways of creative communication are more effective than others. Some sentences are stronger, some word choices more vivid. Learn the rules and make them your own—which means you can break them sometimes. See Wordsmith: a Creative Writing Course for Young People for a fun and easy (yes, I’m not kidding about the easy this time!) way to start.

Don’t Wait. When I was a kid, I didn’t aspire to author-ship; I wanted to be an actress. But maybe by high school graduation time I was thinking about writing, because I remember this salesman who came by the house to sell me something related to adult life. Isn’t it funny how memory works? I don’t recall exactly what he was selling—some kind of savings or layaway plan–but I’m certain it was right around the time of graduation, and I remember him asking me what I planned to major in/be/do. I must have said I was thinking about being a writer, because then he said (and this is the part that’s clear in memory), “The one piece of advice I’ve heard about that is, you have to write something every day.” That’s not strictly true—I certainly don’t write something every day—but it’s essentially true. And don’t wait. Do it. Some people will be more consistent if they set aside a certain time of day, even if it’s only half an hour. But do it. Do it.

Wait. This comes after steps 1-4, and it may not come for you at all. But here’s the thing: after you’ve been reading and focusing and noticing; after you’ve filled and torn up a few thousand pages of prose and sharpened your craft, there may come a time of waiting. This is for deciding if you really are a writer or not. If you are, you’ll feel just a little bit on edge if you’re not doing it. Like, life without a story to draft or a description to compose or an argument to make is not quite complete. You may be experiencing some necessary interruptions right now, but they are temporary. You’ll get back to the drafting and revising and the pain that cuts and the satisfaction that fills you like nothing else.

But there’s also the possibility that you’re not—or not yet, or not quite—a writer. That’s when you feel mostly relief. A “Hey that was fun and I learned a lot and my mom liked it and I may get another idea sometime.”

Chances are, you won’t—and that’s fine too.

March 7, 2017March 7, 2017

My Visit to The Shack

The Shack is again a topic of conversation with the opening of the movie version last weekend (as well as new publications like The Shack Revisited and The Shack Reflections). I won’t see the movie, but I did read the book. This review is adapted from my original thoughts:

“What’s up with this book?” asked the cashier at the local Borders where I bought my copy. “Everybody’s asking for it.” The Shack was a phenomenon in 2007; a self-published novel marketed by word of mouth with roughly a million copies in print. How did it happen?

In 2005, a manufacturer’s rep named William P. Young (Paul to his friends) began writing a series of “Conversations with God” to share with his six children. In the process he decided to frame the dialogues as a story that reflected something of his experience: a man scarred by tragedy and failure confronting the Almighty.

Before toting the manuscript to Kinko’s to be spiral-bound, Young showed it to Wayne Jacobson, a former pastor with a small publishing business in California. Smitten with the story, Jacobson and his partner Brad Cummings set aside $300 to market the book. Attempts to interest traditional publishers failed; it was “too Jesus-y” for secular outlets and too raw for Christian. But over the next three years, the Evangelical grapevine out-performed most professional marketing campaigns, as The Shack climbed into USA Today’s best-seller list and the top 100 at Amazon.com.

By now everybody knows the story: MacKenzie Phillips (Mack to his friends) was living the good life in Oregon with his wife and five children when tragedy body-slammed him. During a family camping trip, his youngest daughter was abducted, and though her body was never recovered it’s clear she was murdered. After four years of dwelling in “The Great Sadness,” Mack receives a note in the mail: It’s been a while. I’ve missed you. I’ll be at the shack next weekend if you want to get together. The note is signed “Papa” (his wife’s favorite designation for God) and the meeting place is the desolate cabin in the Cascades where his daughter was most likely murdered.

Mack keeps the appointment and meets none other than the Holy Trinity: “Papa” in the form of a rotund black woman who cooks up a storm (and whose speech disconcertingly wobbles between Scarlett’s Mammy and something like Paul Tillich), Jesus as a Jewish carpenter, and the Holy Spirit as an airy Asian female known as Sarayu. During their supernatural weekend retreat, Mack’s soul is healed and he emerges a changed man.

The combination of fiction and theology often produces the worst of both. The Shack is no exception to this rule.

The combination of fiction and theology often produces the worst of both.

As fiction, there’s not much in the way of plot or narrative, and so little character development that during the long conversations it’s easy to lose sight of who’s speaking (unless Papa chimes in with a “Sho’ nuff, honey”). Mack often seems less a character than a counterpoint. His chief function is to raise objections and ask questions. The writing style is often redundant (“The nearby creek seemed to be humming some sort of musical tune”), puzzling (“He grabbed a bite of nominally tasting food”), or awkward (“[She was] waiting for him to speak as if he were about to say something, which he was not at all”).

Well, I haven’t written any million-copy best-seller, so maybe my literary criticism is just sour grapes. As theology, though, the problems are a lot more serious. Young has been accused of undermining orthodoxy, and while it may not be deliberate, he is clearly challenging orthodox views of the Trinity, the Bible, the church, sin, guilt, and atonement. His focus is so broad it’s hardly a focus–one reading can’t grasp all the theological issues and one review can’t cover them all. Tim Challies has made several stabs at it, starting here. That’s part of the problem, but it may be part of the appeal, too: there’s something for everybody, both to love and to look askance at.

Some of Young’s assertions are scriptural and well-expressed: he is clear and poignant on the absolute goodness of God in the face of human tragedy, and on the helplessness of man to earn salvation. But while messing with Mack’s head, his three mentors express notions that are either outside scripture or flatly contradict it. In fact, scripture itself fades into a montage of other truth-sources such as art and experience, with no special authority of its own. In fact, the very idea of authority is a power play designed to induce guilt. In fact, guilt has been misconstrued to create a terror of judgment. And the idea of judgment is due for an overhaul, too . . .

Man’s chief transgression, according to Young’s trinity, is that he’s chosen autonomy over relationship. Every tragedy, every sorrow, every misconception is due to our lust for “independence.” This is true as far as it goes, but Young is a bit too free with the application. His approach to Law, for example, is that it’s only a mirror to show our unrighteousness, not a rule for living: “Trying to keep the law is actually a declaration of independence, a way of keeping control” (p. 203). Wait . . . what?

Other problems are hard to pin down, because expressing his ideas in a novel allows Mr. Young to be rather vague about their real implications. Some have accused him of universalism, a charge he denies. But what to make of “Jesus’s” assurance that he has no desire to make anyone Christian? “Does that mean that all roads will lead to you?” queries Mack.

“‘Not at all,’ smiled Jesus . . . ‘Most roads don’t lead anywhere. What it does mean is that I will travel any road to find you.'”

Such a statement is wide open for interpretation–does it mean that Buddhists and Muslims will be saved, or that Jesus will make sure they find him? Don’t expect a definite answer, because Papa has set us free from “religion” with its doctrines (i.e., clarity) and rules. Just be open to grace and fellowship and don’t worry about particulars. In this we have Sarayu’s support and blessing: “I have a great fondness for uncertainty,” she says in another context (page 203).

That’s convenient for the author, who comes across as a likeable, sincere believer with some interesting ideas. Fiction is an effective way to explore ideas, because a story is, by its nature, better at illuminating questions than stating answers. Every aspiring writer learns that fiction is supposed to show, not tell. But Young attempts to have it both ways, showing and telling. By framing most of the book as dialogue, he can make his characters say exactly what he’s thinking. But if challenged he can say, “Hey, it’s just a story.”

Another problem is that by assigning form to God, he skirts close to violating the second commandment. The prohibition against making images of God must extend to literary images as well, for they have the same power to affect our thinking as an idol has on a pagan. How many Shack enthusiasts, when they pray, imagine curling up to Papa’s broad bosom that smells of warm scones and strawberry jam? In the early pages of the book, Mack admits, “I’ve always sort of pictured [God] as a really big grandpa with a long white flowing beard, sort of like Gandalf in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.” “Papa” smashes that stereotype, but only by replacing it with another stereotype.

Our freedom in Christ does not extend to contradicting what He Himself said.

Even worse is putting questionable statements in the mouths of the Holy Trinity. When “Papa” himself (or herself) says, “I am truly human, in Jesus,” the author is making a claim that is contrary to biblical revelation. God is Spirit (John 4:24); Jesus became incarnate, not His Father. Our freedom in Christ does not extend to contradicting what He Himself has said.

While touted as counter-cultural, The Shack feeds our culture’s mistrust of organized religion and craving for therapy. What seeker won’t be comforted by “Papa’s” reassurance that “I don’t do humiliation or guilt or condemnation” (p. 223)? What critic won’t nod emphatically at “Jesus’s” description of religion, politics and economics as a “man-made trinity of terrors that ravages the earth and deceives those I care about” (p. 179)? How nice to know that God’s chief goal is not to be glorified, but to cozy up to his creatures. The Shack invites readers to lay down their crosses, kick off their shoes, cozy up in return, and not grapple with the harder sayings of Scripture. Our healing is all that matters.