In Spite Of Myself

My son Whit got married last weekend. He married a lovely woman named Sarah. The ceremony was very meaningful and beautiful. The reception was a blast, but it ended far too quickly. I was Best Man--a titular honor only.

All of the people I love the most were a part of the wedding. In addition to Whit and Sarah, there was the lovely Janice, my wife, as well as my daughter Lesley and her husband Daniel, who were both part of the wedding party. And then there was Sam, too young to be a ring bearer, but a ring bearer nonetheless.

Sam's big moment, as far as I'm concerned, is when he and I got to dance together at the reception. That's one of the pictures I'm showing here--me and Sam dancing. What a good time.

Then on Sunday it was Father's Day, and I have to say it was one of the best Father's Days of my life. I didn't see my son, of course. And I only talked to my daughter a moment. But I had time on that day after the wedding to think about all the blessings God has allowed me to know. He is the provider of all good gifts, and this past weekend, with the great loves of my life all around me, was a most precious gift. I don't deserve it . . . I never will, but the Lord blessed me in spite of myself.

My prayer for my son and for my son in law is that they will get to experience the rich joy I felt this past weekend. It doesn't last long. If you don't pause and clue in you miss it. Thank you, Lord Jesus, that I did not miss it.

Tunnels of Babel

Scripture tells us about a sophisticated culture that decided to show off its accomplishments by building a tower to reach the heavens. God humbled them by tearing down the tower and complicating their efforts to communicate.

I keep wondering when a God-sized dose of humility is going to crash down on our current culture. We are so skilled, so accomplished, so confident in our abilities that we believe we can do anything.

We’re so confident, in fact, that we no longer need to build a tower to God—we’ve considered the divine, and determined that it must be us.

The problem with replacing God with ourselves is, the minute we begin to think we can do anything, it is a short jump to thinking we should—even must—push the envelope of the human experience. We owe it to ourselves, owe it to the human race, to explore every discipline and indulgence, whether they ennoble or debase us.

You can see this in the debate over experimentation with embryonic stem cells. We must allow this scientific inquiry because we can, and it will surely lead to longer and better lives for some of us. This is, we believe, the elevation and advancement of the human race.

At the same time we say we will draw the line at human cloning, genetic engineering, designer children and growing life simply for the harvesting of fresh organs. We say we will stop short of these fantastic, horrendous ideas—and President Obama gave this assurance--but we will not. Eventually, if God does not intervene to stop it, humans will do all these things. Why? Because we can, so we should--in fact we must.

We see this human escalator theory in play all over the place, although there are applications where the moving staircase is undeniably travelling down.

We build more effective, destructive weapons of war, precisely targeted to kill selected humans, so other humans are free to keep on moving onward and upward. We can, so we should . . . we must!

Of course, those being targeted develop their own weapons and targeting strategies. They can, they should, they must.

We see it in our culture’s orgiastic preoccupation with sex. Sex is human, therefore it is god-like. If it is god-like, it can do anything it wants. Any time, Anywhere. With anyone. With anything. There are no limits to the human sexual experience. It’s all good.

Since we think we look at god in the mirror every day, there’s no need to build towers to reach him. There is really no need to build anything at all. We just need to explore. Explore what? Explore ourselves.

We don’t erect towers to explore ourselves--we dig tunnels instead. We need only dig deeper inward. Within--that is where reality, truth, the way, must ultimately be found.

Probably the greatest evidence that we are not really gods is that when we look in the mirror, we are often bored or disappointed with what we see. Eventually we come to the knowledge that no matter how wonderful we were, no matter how creative, how powerful, how happy, how fulfilled, how in control we once believed ourselves to be, we are really falling apart and are powerless to do anything about it.

That’s when the urge comes to dig more tunnels, and dig them deeper. If knowledge once made us feel god-like, then its time to buy some more self-help books. If youth made us feel invincible, then it is time to visit the cosmetic surgeon. If sex made us feel divine, then we need to pursue new sex, new experiences, new partners. If we drew our strength once from money and possessions, then we just need more.

These are tunnels that leave our souls increasingly weaker and emptier, and ultimately they bring us down. We dig deeper and deeper into the darkness, and further and further from the light of real truth and the life.

I’ve been wondering when and how God might humble us. It occurs to us He is doing it now, our own desperate shovels the tools of our destruction.

Unity

Something very moving happened at our church recently. The congregation voted on a new pastor—a secret written ballot—and when the votes were tabulated the result was unanimous. 509 to 0. Not one dissenting vote.

Some might say—to quote one of the more memorable Dick Cheney lines—"So?" But to me it seems something to celebrate.

I’ve been going to this Baptist church for almost 30 years, and I remember when 20% of the congregation voted against a previous pastor because he had a beard, wore cowboy boots and like to wear a wooden cross around his neck. That man never overcame his one-fifth of opposition, and the church was in turmoil for years.

Our previous pastor was a great guy—dynamic preacher and strong leader with a spotless track record of ministry. But almost 10 percent of the congregation found some reason to vote against him.

This new pastor, the one we called 509 to zero, grew up in a Catholic home. He only became a Christian six years ago when God called him out of a drug-addicted lifestyle. He had an Apostle Paul like encounter with Jesus Christ, left his old life behind and began preparing himself to preach. He read the Bible, chose to become a Baptist. enrolled in seminary and assumed a pastorate of a church of 70. He is now 32 years old.

Let’s check the scoreboard--this man who generated no dissention in a Baptist church is a former Catholic, drug addict, Christian only six years, new seminary graduate, age 32, with experience leading only a small church (which grew to more than 300 while he was there).

Some might call this unimportant. Some might call it interesting. I call it a miracle—tangible evidence of God working in our lives.

Unity is such a rare thing. We live in a red state-blue state culture. We are divided in so many ways. We clash with our neighbors on abortion, gay marriage, immigration and war.

Even when there appears to be consensus, deep division remains. Should either Barack Obama or John McCain win the presidency in an electoral “landslide” a few weeks from now, at least 40% of the nation will remain bitterly opposed to the winner’s leadership. We’ve lowered the bar on unity, measuring it in approval ratings and confidence levels, which change week by week. E Pluribus Unum—Out of Many, One--is a great slogan that is very rarely true.

With unity so hard to find in our government and our culture, wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were dominant in our churches and in our Christian families? When a weary world, tired of bitterness and division looks for some alternative, wouldn’t be wonderful if they found singularity and peace among the followers of Jesus?

Jesus said, “By this all men will know you are my disciples—that you love one another.” The Apostle Paul encouraged the early Christians to be of “one mind” and to “encourage one another.” These should be the marks of all true followers of Christ.

But often when the world looks at the Church it sees more the same. We Christians can fight over interpretations of scripture, music, worship styles, the roles of women, who should lead, who’s not following and who is a real Christian. Christian unity does not mean that we agree on every thing every time, but it does mean that we agree on the most important things, and we never let the less important divide us.

Whether the spirit of unity surrounding the confirmation of our new pastor remains at our church is uncertain, of course. Continuing in one mind can be difficult. Within the body of the church there are so many individual minds that can be turned by preference, self-interest and pride.

But for the moment, unity prevails. It sure feels right.

Somebody Is Lying

I spent much of my day today in the car, listening to the radio as I traveled. The big news of the day was about the meltdown on Wall Street and the failure of our government to produce a $700 billion dollar rescue.

The President said emergency action is needed because Mom and Pop America needs to have access to credit. The presidential candidates said emergency action is needed, because without it, average Joes won’t be able to get the credit they need to care for their families and grow their businesses. Interviews with financial experts said without emergency action, the little guy will suffer because his access to credit will dry up. John McCain said this money is not for Wall Street, but Main Street.

Then I got home and found six credit card applications in my mailbox. Altogether, I’m pre-approved for about 50 large in new credit. Somebody is lying to me.

The other day I saw a news blurb about cell phone safety. Some researchers in Sweden reported that radiation from cell phones elevates the risk of brain cancer. The same report said numerous American studies, however, show the opposite—that cell phones pose no threat to our brains at all.

But then a few moments later the same report said men should not put cell phones in their pockets because the radiation can reduce sperm count. Sooooo . . . radiation is bad below the waist, but innocuous above it? Somebody is lying.

Two opposing concepts cannot be true at the same time. A room can’t be light and dark. A bowl of soup can’t be simultaneously hot and cold. A bank account can’t be both flush and bankrupt. Yet when it comes to news, media and politics, contradictory realities are everyday’s business.

Sarah Palin stopped the “Bride to Nowhere,” but she supports building a bridge to the airport in Ketchikan. The same bridge. Barack Obama fondly recalls the influence of Jeremiah Wright on this life, but can’t remember a thing his preacher ever said.

Somebody’s lying.

We’ve become very comfortable with lies. We think nothing of buying fat-free foods that have fat in them and sugar-free drinks that contain sugar. We buy cars with big stickers that promise good gas mileage, all the while knowing they will be far less efficient in real world conditions. We buy products that promise to make us younger, healthier, sexier, happier, but when we look in the mirror, we see the same plain person staring back.

It can be argued that we love lies, that we need them to cope with the burdens and complexities of life. In trouble meeting a deadline at work? A little lie will buy some time. Somebody wants you to do something you don’t want to do? A lie will get you out of it. Trying to get customer service to refund your money? Bending the truth will help you get your way.

Lies. Where do they all come from?

Jesus taught that Satan is the father of lies. If that is so, then every time we tell a big one (or a little one), embrace a lie, tolerate lies, rationalize them and pass them on, then we must be—as they used to say about fathers and children—chips off the old block.

Jesus called himself the exact opposite. He described himself as the truth. He also said that the truth will set us free.

In our efforts to plot our way in this world and make decisions that improve our lives, bless our children and honor our God, it is critical to remember that truth brings us liberty, while lies weigh us down. Truth emancipates. Lies turn us into slaves.

Listening to the news and analysis of the proposed $700 billion cure for Wall Street’s hangover, I’ve learned that the tab for each American family will be about $23,000, maybe a lot more. We’re told the total cost burden, including interest on our national debts, will be a lot more.

We’re also told the $700 billion is not really a debt, but an investment. We’re told it won’t be a burden to pay back. We’re told we are really buying assets that will someday have greater value and be resold. We’re told the cost of doing nothing will be much more painful.

Somebody is lying. I’m sick of it.

Jesus Genes

A few weeks ago my wife and I made our first trip to Toys R Us in probably 15 years. With our 11-month old grandson in my arms, we strolled the aisles until we found the object of our quest—a bright red riding toy.

It’s a cool toy, shaped like a car with steering wheel, dashboard and seatbelt. But the real safety feature is a sturdy three-foot handle on the back that an adult uses to push, steer and stop. Sam loved it immediately. He held the steering wheel while I pushed him through the store making motor noises.

We had only had the toy car a few days when something interesting happened. Sam rode the “car” to the pool, and while he was playing in the water he noticed another little boy sitting on his toy. He started fussing and grunting. He can’t talk yet, but if he could he would certainly have cried out, “MINE!”

Where does that come from? What is it about our human nature that, before we even know how to walk and talk, we know selfishness? Evolutionists would call it a survival instinct, but that seems superficial. There is no fear or flight at work here, no feast or famine. It’s just a plastic car, one Sam experienced having in his life for a cumulative period of maybe 45 minutes.

Theologians call it original sin—the idea that the seeds of our destruction are planted in us all, even before we are born. Like brown eyes, frizzy hair and the ability to curl our tongues, we are programmed for pride, greed and anger.

We are also programmed to do good. Sam is a chronically happy child, but in the nursery when he sees a child crying, he cries too. It’s called empathy, and we all have it to varying degrees. We feel better when those around us are doing well. When we see someone struggling, we feel an innate desire to take some helpful action.

It is like we are designed with this bent to do bad and desire to do good. We go through life day by day juggling the two and hoping for the best.

A few days after buying the toy I was listening to an NPR interview of Michael Gazzaniga, a neuroscientist at the University of California-Santa Barbara and a pioneer in split-brain research. He wrote a book called The Ethical Brain, and has just published a new one called Human: The Science Behind What Makes Us Unique.

Dr. Gazzaniga is no theologian. In fact, after listening to him for close to an hour (he is brilliant and engaging man), I would conclude that he does not have a religious synapse at work in either the left or right side of his brain. But he does have some interesting ideas about goodness. He says our innate desire to wish someone a good day, to help someone out, or be kind to a stranger is uniquely human--something that does not exist in the larger animal kingdom.

Dr. Gazzaniga said in the interview that if the human race suddenly started from scratch, just suddenly came into existence with no past history or memories of traditions, religious practices or deities, that we would invent God in less than a month. In other words, our brains are wired to look for God.

For the scientist who rejects the idea of God, there must be an animalistic, natural or scientific explanation for this. Gazzaniga puts his faith in science. I put my faith elsewhere.

Let’s review--we have in us an innate selfishness, and also an innate desire to do good. And we also have an innate desire to find and know God. To me, this is powerful evidence of a grand, purposeful design.

Scripture tells us we are created in the image of God—God the omnipotent, God who can do anything he wants. As chips off that block, we have in us the same desire—to do anything we want—but limited human ability to pull it off.

I’m no theologian either, but I think it works like this: God is the creator, so all of us--made after his image--have in us the desire to create as well. But we have limitations. We can’t create everything. God is the healer, so in us there is the capacity to heal also, but we can’t cure everything. God is all knowing, and so we are capable of great knowledge, but we can’t know it all. God is love, so we love too, but imperfectly.

God created us to know him, and in a sense we all do—even the atheist and evolutionary biologist. He created us with the capacity to know him and love him, reject him, or simply substitute something in his place.

While writing this I am listening to Bob Dylan’s Oh Mercy!, some of which deserves a place in our worship hymnals. As I write this paragraph, I’m listening to You Gotta Serve Somebody. It’s so true. It may the devil, or it may be the Lord. It may be self or science, treasure or pleasure, but you gotta serve somebody. We’re wired to do it.

You might say my grandson Sam is programmed with the Jesus gene. We all are. We are fully human, with all the limitations and self-preserving instincts that go with being the one animal that God chose to make in his image, but an animal nonetheless. But what sets us above all other animals is that we also have in us the divine nature to pursue God, and to do good along the way.

Jesus did it perfectly. We do it in fits and starts, sometimes distracted by little red cars.

Little Fish

While on my way home from a business trip, I decided to take a few hours and explore some new trout water with my fly rod. Near Hayesville, North Carolina the Hiwassee River spills out from Lake Chatuge and starts its run to the Tennessee about 60 miles west.

I’d spied out this section of river on previous trips, and I was looking forward to something new. I often fish a lower section of the Hiwassee below the Appalachia Powerhouse near Reliance, Tennessee. There the river is wide, and when TVA is making money releasing water for power, the wading is perilously swift and deep.

This upper section looked inviting and approachable as I pulled my car onto a wide dirt shoulder riverside. It was hot as I pulled off my tie, shirt and pleated pants and put on shorts, wading shoes and fishing vest. I worked quickly, in part because I did not want to surprise some passing motorist in my underwear, and because I could not wait to get into the cool water.

I saw no hatches—no insects rising off the water—so I pulled a nymph from my fly box. A nymph is a construction of fuzz and thread designed to look like a bug in the birthing stage. I decided on a favorite strategy of mine—to tie the nymph below a larger dry fly. The floating dry fly, which imitates a mature caddis drying its wings in the sun just before first flight, serves as an indicator of what’s happening to the unseen nymph below. An added benefit is that if the caddis really begin to hatch as they usually do on summer afternoons, then I would be rigged and ready.

I stood in the knee-deep water, tied all my little knots, then began to explore the deeper pockets of water, letting my line float along with the current.

The first half-hour brought no action, but after awhile I worked down river about a quarter mile below a little waterfall. I cast my flies into one of the closest runs of darker water and—bang—my floating caddis disappeared below the surface. I set the hook and pulled in a pretty little rainbow, about 8 inches long. I admired his radiant neon skin for a few moments, then removed the barbless hook and set him free.

A few minutes later, there was another take and another fish. It too was small, and although it was every bit as pretty as the first, I did not admire it very long.

Over the next 30-minutes there were four more little fish, all the same. I began to flip them off my hook without so much as a glance. Clones, I thought. Identical fish raised in some hatchery and released into this water when they all reached the same identical size.

It is one of the dirty little secrets of American trout fishing that a great many of the trout we catch are products of hatcheries, scattered government fish factories that exist to make sure there are plenty of fish for people to catch. The hatcheries help us overlook the natural fish habitat we’ve lost through dams, development and declining water quality. Thanks to hatcheries we can still go our trout streams, and buy our permits, graphite rods and Gore-Tex waders with the expectation of catching something. But the romance of it all is tainted by the idea that the fish on the end of your line got there via truck.

The next day at home I was reading in one of my trout guides about the stretch of river I fished the day before, and what I read surprised me. According to the book, the state of North Carolina operates no hatcheries in that area and all the trout in the Hiwassee there are naturals. Where they first came from generations ago no one knows, but they have survived through the decades, doing what God intended fish to do.

If I had taken the time to truly look at my six little fish, I probably could have figured out for myself they did not start life in a hatchery. Hatchery fish have a tell-tale clipped fin, the result of endless days of rubbing the bottom of the concrete troughs were they spend their early weeks of life. Hatchery fish are also less colorful than natural fish.

If I had taken the time to truly appreciate these little creations of God, I would have seen their genuine value. Instead I made some cursory assumptions, got bored with them all, and failed to appreciate their beauty and their rightful place in the world.

It hit me later that I treat some people exactly the same way.

That very evening, I met a small fish named Tim. He was standing on a street corner. He said he and his wife were homeless, and he needed some money to get a room in a cheap motel nearby. While I dug in my pocket for the right denomination, he was telling me his life story—I didn’t want to hear it. When I gave him the money he put out his hand—I didn’t want to shake it.

As I walked away he called out “God bless you,” but I realized then that any blessing I might have received had already been spoiled and squandered by my hard heart.

As I think about it all now, I realize Tim was not a small man, but just a man like me. He stands on street corners, tells his story, and asks for money. I stand in conference rooms, tell my story and ask for money. It is only by the grace of God that either one of us has a place to rest our heads.

One of the most interesting passages in all the Gospels can be found in Matthew 15, when a woman called out to Jesus to heal her daughter. The woman was not a Jew, and Jesus’ disciples urged him to send her away. Jesus said to the woman the most alarming of words: “It’s not right to take bread out of the children’s mouths and throw it to the dogs.”

She answered, “Yes, Lord, but even the dogs feed on the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

Of course Jesus healed her daughter, and he commended the woman for having great faith, but I’ve wondered for years why he chose to speak to her initially in such seemingly hurtful words.

I’ve come to believe it was to expose the hardness in the hearts of his followers. The disciples were telling the unwanted Canaanite woman to go away. The text doesn’t confirm this, but perhaps some of the disciples uttered or thought the very words Jesus spoke out loud—dog, not worthy, little fish. Then when Jesus gave voice to their words and thoughts, they were shocked and embarrassed. That Jesus honored the woman’s request and praised her faith tells me he had no desire to hurt her, but he used the situation to make a powerful point.

The woman was right. We are all dogs under the table, just waiting to feed. Some of us get more than others, and we think we are better because of it.

In Philippians 2:3 Paul writes, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.” That is the heart that I want. Lord, forgive me that I am far from it.

Memory

On Memorial Day a curious thing occurred in my head. I was watching a old war movie that featured, among others, the late British actor Anthony Quayle. When I saw the then-young actor I remembered that in 1973 he took a post as artist in residence at the University of Tennessee, and that my wife Janice and I drove to Knoxville to meet up with friends Roger and Chicki Booker to see Quayle perform the title role in Rip Van Winkle at the Clarence Brown Theater. It was a Saturday night. When the show was over we ate pizza.

So much detail! So much memory of trivial stuff! All this going on in the head of a guy who has trouble remembering to enter a check.

Perhaps it is because I am now old enough to qualify for senior movie tickets that I notice lots of info in the media about memory. Aging baby boomers like me are encouraged to buy supplements, engage in mental exercise or develop new skills to stave off those annoying senior moments. There are 10 sure-fire steps to a better memory, but I forgot seven of them.

I do wish I could remember more, especially the important things. I wish I could remember the fresh touch of Janice's first kiss. I wish I could remember the moment my children called me "daddy." I wish I could remember the sound of my daughter's laugh as she took off with no training wheels, or my son's smile the first time he smacked a baseball not on a tee. These are things I want to remember in every nuance, but I can't. I know they all happened, but the details escape my memory.

There is so much junk I can recall--all the words to Octopuses Garden, the starting line-up of the 1968 Detroit Tigers, the exact words of the very first girl to make me cry.

Memory gives us insight into our twisted priorities--the places where we allow our minds to dwell and roll around in the mud. The objects of our repeated attention and revisitation sink in and stick. The things that are sweet and light rush on, leaving only fingerprints on the windows and walls.

So the self-pity in which we bathe, the hurtful words and actions that offended long ago, the overwrought glitz and glamor of heroes real and imagined--these things never leave us. We don't want to remember them necessarily, but we do. And the tender moments, the joy of first times, the blessings of the perfect moments--the intensity of these memories fade.

I'm struck by how often the scripture tells us to remember the important. We are to remember the sacrifice of Jesus and recall his words. We are to remember the poor, and the suffering of others. We are to remember to grace and mercy of God, and every time he shows us the reality of his faithfulness.

The Bible tells us about things we can do to help us remember what is truly valuable . In Deuteronomy we are told to hang God's word from our foreheads and to write it on our walls. We can stack some stones like Joshua did after crossing into the promised land. We can eat the bread of Christ's body and drink the wine of his blood. We're instructed to observe special days and feasts together with other believers, and to number our days--filling our hearts with the wisdom of all we have learned.

Recalling the blessings of God is even more difficult than the flesh and blood variety. I can look at photos of my children or the early years of my marriage, and piece together some enhanced recollection. But the rich reality of the fullness of God and all he has done for me and for those I love rushes past like so much wind and rain. I can't really get my mind around it, but I have to try.

The Bible, as it does in so many areas of living, reveals to us the real secrets to boosting memory. Rather than ginko extract or piano lessons, a better memory requires prayer and meditation, reading and re-reading God's word, special observances, ceremony, the stories and perspectives of others, and the discipline to write things down.