It’s just a fairy tale…

I had one of the more interesting conversations I’ve had in a long time this evening. I was honored to be invited to Anna Danger Hering’s surprise birthday, and over some tasty fish and chips met a Baylor student apparently disenchanted with political religious system offered by America’s largest evangelical mega-university.

The conversation picked up when he heard me throwing in my two cents about nationalized health care.

“I’ll tell you what the solution is…”

My new friend went on to explain a political philosophy that reflects the thinking of Daniel Quinn, something entirely new for me. Intrigued, I listened asking more questions than he probably cared to answer, not a surprise for those of you who hang out with me a semi regular basis.

As hard as I consciously try to not sound explicitly evangelical in my presuppositions and questioning I’m sure I somewhat failed as I launched question after question clothed in the dress of politically correct and often vague form.

Somehow we got to some of the more explicit questions I often wonder about when thinking about major worldviews and political philosophies.

“You know, Jesus didn’t need health insurance.”

“Yeah, but the people Jesus healed still died,” mark the shark walldrop fires back.

“It’s true!” here is my chance…he’s given me a glimmer of supernatural recognition. The Cosmological argument seems to have a little pull with him…sometimes that’s enough of a doorway for the mystical to fit through…so I question

“What do you make of that whole resurrection business?”

As matter of fact and almost in a tone of sympathy that understands the magnitude of his response’s effect on me, “Just a fairy tale man.”

Initially I think of Lewis. “It’s simply the true myth.” Lewis understood that the story was so bizarre that it properly belonged to the genre of myth, regardless of its truth-value.

And then it hits me. I feel 25 years of the investment of my mind rumble around in my head. Here’s a guy who actually doesn’t believe it happened. Not really novel. I grew up in the north were Jesus is about as popular as he is in Europe. Unbelief is the norm. Yet for some reason tonight, his response hits me hard.

“Fairy tale,” that’s the category the story of Jesus Christ is allotted for those who believe he didn’t rise from the dead.

Were about 48 inches from each other, across the table in restaurant in Waco they call The Elite Bar and Grill and somehow I feel like our souls are 50 million light years apart.

It’s not judgment. I like the guy…I owe him gratitude. But for the first time in a long time I recognize that amidst a journey plagued with doubt…

”I believe!”


I believe because I encounter unbelief, and am able to recognize the deep existential incongruity between us. “I believe,” and I have my Daniel Quinn political philosophizing friend to thank for it.

I found grace today. I hope he did too.

5 things about Jesus

I’ve been tagged by my friend and theological superior, Emily. I’m not exactly sure how to do all the things required, but I’ll try my best.

I share five things I dig about Jesus (the purpose of this particular tag)…

1. He was seemingly idiosyncratic in his interpretation of the law revealing, I think, the complexity and beauty of life.
2. He told some to sell everything and for others it was o.k. to sell half of what they had and restore from those they had stolen four-fold. To me this means Jesus is neither liberal or conservative, but rather the type of guy who would challenge you exactly the way you needed to be challenged to grow.
3. He was resurrected, which as I get older and experience death through loved ones, becomes more and more the one miracle I need to be absolutely true.
4. He gave people like Pete second chances
5. He in the business of restoring the type of people found in Flannery O’Connor’s short stories.

My tags

1. Craig
2. Candace
3. Ashley
4. Harris
5. Erik

Hope this works out

Carney

Allie Hewson

Driving down the highway or is it the autobahn? She can’t remember and she doesn’t seem to care. “45 years of this shit! When’s it going to end,”… “I just want to be normal tonight, I want to go spend time with my grandchildren,” she thinks to herself.

Still she submits to the highway hypnosis and keeps driving. Eventually she approaches Berlin. “Berlin,”…“I remember how many nights it stole from me,” anger rising within herself, “too many.” I just want to see my grandchildren, she reminds herself. "Enough of this benefit crap. Africa will go on,”…”I wish history would find another hero.”

The city lights become brighter and brighter, but anger has the best of her and she fails to notice. She approaches the first stoplight, but she is unaware. Red….Red….Red…Red…it’s the color of the writing on all those damn t-shirts. Suddenly she awakens…”it’s the color of stop!!!”

“Shit” it’s too late. The only thing that seems redeeming in the moment is her honest thought of recognition of her need of grace…even now. But it is too late.

She pulls up not in the car she was just driving, but rather in the honest nakedness of herself. Suddenly she is confronted. Not by anything, but by someone.

Somehow she recognizes the truth. It’s David Copperfield. How could she possibly know David Copperfield? He was just a character. The stranger reality about this new place is that all epistemological bets are off. They, David and her, have a strange sense of parachoresis and somehow both her and David Copperfield recognize each other.

David speaks…”come try on this well deserved crown.” She is apprehensive, yet slowly she approaches. She bows her head while Coppefield places the crown upon her head. It’s awkwardly heavy at first, but then she finds the strength to lift her head high enough to look David in the face. Then she realizes the irony of the situation. The irony of grace. It’s David’s crown.

“I can’t wear thi”…,but before she can complete the thought she is strangely surprised by her sudden immediate and supernatural strength. Her neck is miraculously strong enough to hold this crown up.

“How?” is the only question to be asked. “How can she hold this crown up?” she wonders, but this same strange sense of parachoresis delivers the answer in an unprecedented way. No words required, just this deep sense of profound understanding. Not just understanding of this is how it is, but understanding that reveals this is exactly how it should be because He has willed it be so from all eternity.

“this can’t be right,” she thinks toward Copperfield. He looks her back in the eye knowing exactly why she is feeling this way. All she spent her time doing was “Chernobyl” she reminds Copperfield. His thoughts come back to her, “But it was not just Chernobyl,”…”it was gracefully standing beside a superstar for 45 years. There’s the real unprecedented strength found uniquely and sparsely throughout human history!” “Because of your patience and your sacrifice, my kingdom found it’s way into the 21st C.”

Recognizing her feeling of ineptitude Copperfield escorts her into her the realm of her company. Company…a metaphor seems to be the only thing left powerful enough in the world of epistemology to make sense of all this. There she sees them. James son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, Bartholomew, Itzhak Stern, Scottie Pippin, Sam Gamgee, and the boy who shined shoes in all those redemptive novels.

Below her she sees Peter, Paul and Mary. Above her she sees only the glory, but the propensity to judge and compare is gone. It has no place here. All is equal under the shadow of the almighty.

Reflections on Fathers Day

The Bible carefully offers us metaphors from time to time. Two of them are relational. They are Christ’s relationship to the church described in terms of Bride/Bridegroom and God’s relationship to Jesus as Father/Son.

I really hated Song of Solomon when I was growing up. Especially when girls in our youth group talked about being enamored by belonging to the groom. “Gag me” I thought to myself. Not only do I hate romance, but now the Bible is asking me to participate in this metaphorical relationship from the sappy/estrogen side.

Eventually I got married and this metaphor came alive for me. I was able to move beyond the literal level of the metaphor and move into an understanding of a wee bit deeper existential profoundness.

As for the other metaphor, well I guess I’m qualified to throw my noetic lot in the realm of comprehension on the Father/Son metaphor. As I was trying to fall asleep last night I was pondering this one. As my first fathers day came to a close I realized just how different God and I are. He sent His son to bear the sins of the world. I silently confessed to myself that I'd send the whole world to hell before I’d let my son be crucified unjustly.

Grace for now


Roy's present for me.


Roy and I in matching C.S. Lewis outfits. Nerdy professor cardigan, khakis, and a t-shirt. Notice our favorite Lewis works.

We've all done it. "God I really need to hear from you." So we crack open the Bible flipping through, hoping that the place where we end up is magically going to be a "word from the Lord."

My experience tells me that God in His freedom won't be manipulated by such tasks. Rather I think that He prefers that I get to know what is actually in the Bible and drawing from a wealth of knowledge that I've stored away through years of hard study, the Holy Spirit can then take something and bring it to remembrance in difficult times or good times.

I am old fashioned enough to believe that this works. Last night was one of those wrestles nights for me. Thus I woke up early and paged through my Bible and was impressed upon by lengthy Psalm 131.

The second verse seems especially alive to me.

1 O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
too great and too marvellous for me.
2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
like a weaned child with its mother;
my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.*


3 O Israel, hope in the Lord
from this time on and for evermore.

grace for now

on prayer

I think one of the most perplexing things for us to try and figure out is prayer. What really makes a difference? Does our praying change things?

Often I find myself praying for superficial things. Our evening prayer before meals is routine, not because we pray the Lord’s prayer, but because our requests seem to remain constant. Thankfulness, Roy’s health, our health, our family’s health, our friends. Requests, Sam Evans, the two kids from Lindsay’s school. Gratefulness, my dad is cancer free.

Here is my ridiculousness. Since Tom’s bachelor party last Thursday I’ve been informed of a thing on mlb.com called beat the streak. Joe DiMaggio consecutively got a hit in 56 games back in some year that I don’t know off hand. If I, as a participant can correctly select one player from MLB to get a hit for 57 nights in a row, I will have beat the streak and will be awarded $100,000 by mlb.com.

Every night I open the gameday window of the team for whom my player plays for and watch. During the day I tell my wife whom I’ve picked and half jokingly/half seriously tell her who we are praying for to get a hit.

I’m tempted to think prayer works. Especially the prayer that goes something like “God please provide for all of our needs.” And if I’m honest, all the wants that American advertising has convinced me that are needs.

I think it is really noble and theologically right to thank God for all I have, but here is my predicament. I know plenty of Christians in Africa who don’t seem to get all of their needs provided for. Does God forget about them? Did God forget about Dietrich Bonhoeffer while remembering sparrows elsewhere, or did Bonhoeffer’s prayer get answered?

Grace for now