For the next seven weeks, I'll be posting a series of blog essays entitled "Land That I Love," looking at what makes America great. Check them out by clicking on "Land That I Love" above or visiting www.nathanbirr.com/land-that-i-love!
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Don't Stop Believing
If you’ve seen Furious 7, previews for the movie, or even a certain Dodge commercial, then you’ve seen the most ridiculous action sequence I can recall: As a bus goes over the edge of a cliff, Paul Walker’s character runs up the bus and leaps over the chasm at the same time that Michelle Rodriguez’s character spins her car, hanging the back end over the edge of the cliff so that he can grab onto the spoiler and be saved. It is completely ridiculous, even in the world of Hollywood where ridiculous is regular. And yet we eat up such stunts.
Why? Why are we willing to suspend belief? Why are we willing to believe that the hero really could accomplish absurd physical feats, make impossible shots while running and diving and making out with a beautiful woman, careen through a city on two wheels unharmed, or survive inhuman beatings and still have strength to rescue the damsel in distress? Probably because watching a movie or reading a novel about a network analyst from Des Moines who works 9-5 and comes home to his wife making dinner and his kids doing homework doesn’t make for much of a story. Action, adventure, overcoming adversity, and near superhuman achievements do. So where do we draw the line? As an author, I’m constantly asking myself whether the action in my novels is believable. Not believable in the sense that you don’t bat an eye. Not believable in that you don’t even question it. But believable enough that you don’t put the book down because it’s just too out there. Jack Bauer and Jason Bourne are a bit over the top at times, but I still watch with bated breath. No one could die quite that hard, but Bruce Willis keeps making big bucks as John McClane. Clive Cussler isn’t writing best-sellers about afternoon tea. So how much are you willing to suspend belief for a good story? To the point where the character does something you can’t conceive of yourself doing? If you’re a Navy SEAL, I’m okay. If you’re, well, me, then I’m in trouble. To the point where you can’t conceive of anyone ever doing it? To the point that the crazy stunts draw attention away from the story itself? I’m currently polishing my third novel in The Douglas Files, and my protagonist—Jackson—gets himself into quite a bit of trouble and has to play the action hero. Even as the author, I’ve raised my eyebrow a few times at the plausibility of his actions. I’ve justified them by arguing to myself that I’ve seen a lot wilder exploits in the movies and on TV, and that if Jackson was just a regular guy with a regular life, then his story would never have been written. Ultimately, I guess my readers—or lack thereof—will let me know. But before I publish a book with a lot of action, dodging bullets, and surviving karate flips, I have to ask, are you about to stop believing? Take My Hymn and Let it Be
Somebody needs to reign in Christian songwriters. Particularly when it comes to “worship” music, they’re out of control. I know, complaining about the music sung in church is taboo, terribly worn, the surest proof that the complainer is focused on self and not true worship. But just hear me out. If you want to brand me a malcontent and a pot-stirrer thereafter, go ahead.
If you attend an evangelical church in America, you can likely relate to the following scenario: The worship band begins playing a familiar tune, while familiar words appear on the screen, and you start singing an oldie but a goodie. And then, about a third of the way through, the vocalist freestyles a little bit and before you know it you’re singing unfamiliar words to an unfamiliar tune (or not singing, for obvious reasons). It only lasts a little while, and then it’s back to the oldie-goodie. Okay, no biggie, no worries. But then it happens again. And again. And again. And then, before you know it, even the familiar tunes of the oldies-but-goodies aren’t quite so familiar. They’re just a little different. Or the familiar lyrics have been reworded to make them more politically correct and modern. “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” has become “May God Give Peace to You Happy People of Unspecified Gender.” And if you’re like me, maybe not the most musically adept person on the earth, someone who grew up on these classic songs of the faith and who cherishes their doctrinal soundness, you become a little frustrated. Why can’t we sing the song to the tune I know? Why can’t we sing it with the original words? Why must everything change? Now this is the point in time where disgruntled people such as me are reminded that our worship is about God, not us, and as much as we cherish the old hymns, members of the younger generation just can’t “get” with the old fogey music and need to worship God in their own way, and that we should seek unity in the body instead of sowing seeds of discord, and several other such points that generally shame into submission anyone who dares speak up about music. Fair arguments all. The focus should be on God, not on personal preference. But when I get caught between the old tune and the new tune and can no longer discern the tune, we’ve sort of lost the point of corporate singing (as opposed to corporate recitation). And I urge you to look at some of these altered hymns—the new portions don’t exactly contain groundbreaking theology, so how specifically is the young crowd benefitting from these revisions as compared to the hymns as originally written? And at the risk of plowing ground on the discord farm, why can’t we be unified with the old tune instead of the slightly modified new tune? So I come back to all the Christian songwriters and artists out there, the ones who take old hymns and tweak a few notes, change a couple of words, and add a bridge or two. Stop it. Just stop. Have some creativity. You are, after all, artists, aren’t you? I mean, you don’t see authors taking a classic like To Kill a Mockingbird and renaming Atticus and Scout, changing the setting of a few scenes, penning an epilogue, and republishing it as their own, do you? So why is this practice so prevalent with songwriters and singers? I’m not complaining about all new music, although much of it isn’t my style (another post for another day). I’m just saying, have an original thought. Write your own song, with your own words, to your own tune. If it’s good, we’ll sing it in church. But leave the old hymns and choruses alone. And we’ll sing some of them too. Is that too much to ask? To put it another way: Take my hymn and let it be. Stop this mad revising spree. Take my hymn and let it shine. The old version is just fine. The old version is just fine. Leave these words just as they are, Your new bridge is a bridge too far. Leave this tune, don’t change a note. Why rewrite what another wrote? Why rewrite what another wrote? I write this with my tongue, to a degree, planted in my cheek. But I also write it with serious tones (pun intended) of sincerity. I’m not picking on any particular church or worship leader, because I’ve seen this same pattern play out in almost every church I’ve been to. My complaint is more with the people writing these songs (if you can call what they do writing). Again, please, stop. Perhaps I’m out of line to complain. Maybe I need to check my attitude and readjust my focus. It’s possible this is really just a case of potato/po-tah-to and I’m blowing it out of proportion (while blowing off steam). These are all things I’m seeking to be cognizant of, because it could be that I’m just a malcontent after all. But for the love of A.B. Simpson, Fanny Crosby, and the brothers Wesley, can those of you who write music for a living please just leave a few of these sacred hymns alone? A-men. What is Your Savior?
Who is your Savior?
What is your Savior? Let me clarify this. That’s a rip-off of the old Don Knotts comedy The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. But it isn’t all that far off, I don’t think, from the question Jesus once asked His disciples. In the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke we find Jesus asking first, “Who do people say I am?” and then, as a follow up, “Who do you say I am?” To which Peter replied, “You are the Christ.” The Greek word “Christ” is the same as the Hebrew word “Messiah,” meaning “Anointed One.” Essentially what Peter was saying is that he recognized Jesus as the long-awaited Savior—a Savior promised by God shortly after the Fall in Genesis, on whom was based God’s covenant with Abraham, symbolized by the Old Testament sacrificial system, predicted by the prophets, and proclaimed by John the Baptist. Peter got it. And yet, he didn’t. Because when Jesus went on to explain to His disciples that he would suffer and die and be raised again on the third day, Peter replied by taking Jesus aside and rebuking him: “Never, Lord, this shall never happen to you.” Having just acknowledged that Jesus was the promised Messiah, why would Peter challenge His authority, and why would he deny the purpose for which Jesus had come? Because while he knew who his Savior was, he didn’t know what his Savior was. Peter, like so many of his peers (and likely the rest of the disciples) viewed the coming Messiah as a Savior who would overthrow Rome, restore Israel to its place as the premier kingdom in the world, and sit on a throne and dispense justice to the nations. Peter expected the Messiah to come riding in on a white stallion, not a donkey. How could such a Messiah—a conquering king, a great warrior, a hero—suffer and die? It just didn’t jive with Peter’s concept of a Savior. What about you? Who—and what—do you say Jesus is? Do you recognize him as the promised Messiah, as the Christ, the Son of God? That’s good. But I dare say that a lot of people who classify themselves with the label of Christian know who their Savior is but have a false concept of what their Savior is. Preachers in the mold of Joel Osteen portray a “prosperity gospel” that suggests that coming to Jesus is like winning the lottery. Sickness vanishes, rags turn to riches, and evil shrinks into the corner. Name it, claim it. But something is missing from this Jesus. Why did he die? If Jesus was just a conquering king, ready to wipe injustice off the face of the earth, kill all despots, and kick off an eternal party, then why did He allow himself to be subject to the horrors of a Roman cross? Why did He live the life of an itinerant preacher before that? Why didn’t he slug Pilate in the face and start an A-Team-worthy brouhaha to instigate the revolution? Why instead did he kneel and wash His disciples’ feet? Why did He, as a lamb before the shearer is silent, refuse to defend Himself when on trial? Why? Because there was something more. Yes, Jesus is the Conquering King. Yes, He will rule with a scepter of righteousness. Yes, He will wipe away all sorrow and sickness and heal all wounds. But first, He had to deal with the root of all those problems. Because while ultimately Jesus is the Savior from sickness and poverty and war and strife, He is only the Savior from them because He is also the Savior from sin. The Bible teaches that all the problems we face in this world are the result of sin, whether our personal sin or sin in general. And we’re also told in the book of James that sin ultimately leads to death. Sin is the real problem. And sin is why Jesus came and died, to take upon Himself the penalty that was rightly due you and me and Peter. If—like Peter—you are seeking a Savior who will cure cancer, improve your economic status, bridge all social gaps, and stop ISIS from conquering the Middle East, then—just like Peter—you will likely be terribly confused when a loved one suffers an illness, you lose your job or can’t find work, racial riots consume a city, and ISIS chops off heads. If, however, you are looking to Jesus as the Savior from your sin, then you will find Him to be exactly the Savior you sought. And the icing on the cake is that He still does heal, provide, sooth, and intercede even here and now. More than that, one glorious day He will save His children from every problem they face, all because He has saved them from their sins. Bracketed In What is it about brackets that makes us go wild? Yesterday the Selection Committee released the 68 teams in the men’s NCAA tournament, and the tourney is talk of sports radio and work water coolers (are there really still water coolers?). But brackets aren’t just for men’s college hoops. The women’s game has grown in popularity recently, and across the country, boys and girls state tournaments are also underway. All of them involve brackets. Two teams. Theoretically written in chalk. On parallel lines joined together by a vertical line. Often connected to other such “brackets” to form a larger “bracket.” Ideally, in multiples of four, but odd numbers can be incorporated with creative use of byes (see the Big Ten in past years). The more the merrier.
It’s not just basketball either. It’s the new college football playoff, with a bracket of only four. In fact, it’s playoffs in every sport (unless they reseed each round like the NFL does). But it isn’t just sports. In recent years, ESPN Radio hosts have debuted a variety of voter-based brackets, ranging from best coaches to top DJs to favorite cereals or superheroes. And listeners have flocked to their websites to vote. So what is it about brackets? If my co-workers played cards on their lunch break, I couldn’t care less. But if they put their names in bracket-format on a sheet of paper hung in the lunch room, I’d be all over it. Give me Alice over Susan and Betty over Joann! And if brackets aren’t enough, we also have seeds. Iowa beating North Carolina is humdrum, unless Iowa has a small little 9 by their name and North Carolina has a little 1. Then suddenly it’s a huge deal. Valparaiso and the College of Charleston mean little to us until they’re a 12- or 13-seed that advances a few rounds, and then we’re all about the Crusaders and Cougars. Last year, Connecticut won the men’s national title. No biggie, they’ve done it before. But they were a 7-seed. Stop the presses! Now imagine that ladies’ card game, only Alice has a (1) by her name and Susan has an (8). So much for getting anything done at the office. So what is it about brackets and seeds? Why do we go ga-ga over them? Is it just that we love upsets? I mean, Cinderella’s a nice story and all, but if you put ol’ Cindy on the 16-line and her step-sisters as a #1-seed, it’s an all-timer, right? Is it the opportunity for betting? Gambling exists with any sporting event, brackets or not. I’d like to opine about how it relates to the core of who we are as Americans, but I can’t find the connection. Evolutionists would say it’s just survival of the fittest resonating within us, but then why do we pull for 13- and 14-seeds instead of 3s and 4s? Maybe it’s about looking smart, correctly filling out that bracket, besting friends, family, and coworkers. I wouldn’t know—I’ve never done it. Why do we love brackets? Why does March Madness make us, well, mad? I can’t say. And I don’t care. I just know the brackets are here, the seeds are out, and I’ve got picks to make! America on the Brink America is on the brink. Of what, exactly, is uncertain. But I don’t think it’s good.
On Tuesday, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu will be addressing Congress, making his appeal to them to keep Iran from procuring nuclear weapons. Netanyahu sees an Iranian nuke as a direct threat to Israel’s existence and has stated “I will go anywhere I am invited in order to enunciate the State of Israel’s position and in order to defend its future and existence.” Some see this as a political stunt by Netanyahu, who faces a close election in the upcoming weeks, or by Republican Speaker of the House John Boehner, who issued the invitation. But Netanyahu has made it quite clear where he stands: “As prime minister of Israel, I am obligated to make every effort to prevent Iran from achieving nuclear weapons that would be aimed at the State of Israel.” I applaud a leader who does what may be controversial or unpopular in an effort to protect his country and its people. Unfortunately, the Obama Administration and many liberals are opposed to Netanyahu’s visit. And I have to ask the question: Why? Since 1948, when Israel achieved statehood, our two countries have been allies. Now, it appears that we are close to breaking that alliance. President Obama is intent on continuing peace talks with Iran as opposed to instituting sanctions against that nation. In theory, peace talks sound like a good idea, but only if we can trust the other side to keep the peace (Do you trust Iran for anything more than nice rugs?) and if those talks don’t buy them time to acquire nuclear weapons while the sanctions are lifted. The Obama administration has been critical of Israel for quite some time now (see my post last July) while bending over backwards not to offend those who wish to exterminate Israel and are openly hostile to the West. Recently, multiple reports have surfaced that back in 2014, Obama threatened to shoot down Israeli jets if they flew over American-controlled Iraqi airspace on runs to bomb Iranian nuclear facilities. According to reports, Israel canceled their attack. Had they not, and had Obama followed through with his threat, that would have been tantamount to an act of war. If this is how we treat our allies, it begs another question: What good is our allegiance? Israel and Iran clearly stand in hostility toward one another, and it appears that those representing the American people have sided with Iran over Israel. Which brings us to that brink I mentioned. We’re on the verge of throwing one of our dearest allies to the wolves, forever tainting our international reputation as a friend, as a supporter, as an ally. If we turn our backs on Israel now, what will that say to the rest of our allies now and in the future? If they can’t trust us, can we any longer trust them? As Iran gets closer and closer to “having the bomb” it also brings us to the brink of disaster. For decades now, mutually assured destruction has prohibited superpowers from using nuclear weapons. Fear of a worldwide nuclear holocaust has caused cooler and saner heads to prevail. Tell me, do you often use “cool head,” “sane,” and “Iran” in the same sentence? Do you want those fingers on the trigger? Lastly, I think we might be teetering over a more dangerous precipice. Make a list of nations and groups that have opposed Israel or the Israeli people, from the Biblical book of Exodus through the latter pages of the Old Testament, from Hitler’s Nazis before and during World War II to the plethora of Arab nations in the Six-Day War in 1967. How have things turned out for those who opposed Israel? They were plowed under, by everything from the U.S. military to the Red Sea. I’m not claiming that God has directed every single bullet and bomb to Israel’s advantage, but I also can’t deny His promise to her and the facts before me. Israel, against all odds, has survived. The Philistines, the Hittites, and the Nazis . . . not so much. Do we really want to set ourselves up against Israel? I can’t speak for you, but I know I don’t want to stand on the crumbling edge of that cliff. I know the politics are complicated. They always are. But the basic, underlying principles on which those politics are based are quite simple. #IStandWithIsrael, our long-time ally. I hope that our President, and thus ultimately, the United States of America, will too. The Long (and Too Long) of It How long is too long? Depends, you say, on the object being measured. So for the purpose of this discussion, I’m talking about books. Particularly fiction. How long is too long for a novel?
Ask any agent or publisher, and they’ll tell you 120,001 words is too long. Or maybe 100,001 words. For certain genres, it’s even less. But as a self-publisher, I’m less and less interested in ROI- and risk-based word totals. I’m curious what the reader thinks. How long is too long? Pick up one of the classics—Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo or Hugo’s Les Misérables or anything by Dickens—and you’ll quickly realize you’re in for more than 120,000 words. WAY more. Search the library or bookstore for modern best-sellers by Clancy, Cussler, Grisham, or King. Many of their works are much longer than the industry standard. But again, I’m appealing to readers. How long is too long? Think of a fun-filled vacation, a thrilling sporting event, a blockbuster movie. Have you ever thought, “Wow, this is great . . . I just wish it was shorter.” Can’t say I have. I never want to come back from vacation. I wish those back-and-forth bowl games lasted five quarters. I want Ethan Hunt to keep outwitting bad guys all night long. Similarly, when I’m immersed in a good book, I don’t want the story to wrap—I want to keep reading and reading and reading. You too? I’m guessing the issue is not so much one of quantity as quality. If the plot is compelling, if the characters ring true, if it is indeed a “page-turner,” then of course, you’ll keep reading. Whereas if the plot is shallow, the characters are stale, and the chapter ending screams “put me down and exercise,” you’ll be counting the pages as you turn them. Or am I wrong? Have you ever put down a captivating novel halfway through because it was just too long? Do you skip to the end because you’re tired of reading and wish the author had cut to the chase? What about before you read? Are you going to leave a book on the shelf if its spine is as thick as a dictionary? When you see smallish print and a lot of pages, do you pass, even if the story is compelling? How long is too long? I ask because I’m currently rewriting the third novel in my series about a private investigator. Book one was 87,000 words, the perfect length for a debut novel. Book two hit 130,000 words, too long for traditional publishers, but well short of a good Dirk Pitt adventure or Jack Ryan thriller. The first draft of book three was 165,000 words, and as I began rewriting it primarily for the purpose of plot revision, I also had in mind to shorten it. Well, I’ve still got a ways to go and 165K is coming at me like a semi on the highway. Two hundred grand is on the table. Is that too long? Will you leave it on the shelf (physical or virtual) because it’s just too big? Does it represent too much of a time commitment. Too heavy or will take up too much space on your tablet? Or would you read the Encyclopedia if it could hold your interest? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave me a comment below, or better yet, shoot me a message on Twitter @atruebluehusker. That is, if this post wasn’t so long that you quit reading a few paragraphs ago. “I am the greatest! I am the greatest thing that ever lived.”
These were the words of Cassius Clay (soon to change his name to Muhammad Ali) after defeating then-Heavyweight Champion Sonny Liston in 1964. They would prove prophetic, as Ali is widely considered as “the Greatest” boxer of all time. His words identified him. There are countless examples of people boldly proclaiming their identity, from the braggadocios Clay to President John F. Kennedy declaring, “Ich bin ein Berliner,” in support of West Germany to Darth Vader infamously telling Luke Skywalker, “I am your father.” But today I want to talk about the boldest of the bold, the greatest proclamation of self-identity the world has ever seen or heard. But first, some context. In John 8, we find Jesus debating with the Jews over His identity and authority. The Jews claim to be children (physical descendants) of Abraham. Jesus responds by telling them they are not Abraham’s children (spiritually, that is, possessing Abraham’s faith) but are actually children of the devil. They go back and forth until the Jews think they have Jesus trapped when he states that Abraham anticipated seeing His (Jesus’) day and rejoiced when he saw it. To which the Jews point out that Jesus was not even fifty years old. How have you seen Abraham? they ask. It is at this moment that Jesus pronounces some of the most powerful, jam-packed, consequential words ever spoken as He makes the greatest claim of identity of all time: “I tell you the truth, before Abraham was born, I AM!” (John 8:58) On the surface, it doesn’t seem to be that spectacular. It would also appear grammatically incorrect. But let’s unpack this a little. There are four major elements to this statement: 1) “Before Abraham was born . . .” Jesus is establishing preeminence by outdating Abraham. The Jews had claimed he was less than fifty, so to have been in existence before Abraham, either Jesus had aged remarkably well and found the secret to extraordinary long life, or He possessed some sort of supernatural ability. At the very least, He was capable of time travel. The Jews insisted that he was just a regular man. Just this part of Jesus’ statement, if true, would counter that argument. But we’re only getting started. 2) “I AM” was the name God gave to Moses when speaking to him from the burning bush (Exodus 3:14). It was the most holy name the Jews had for God. It was so holy, in fact, that they wouldn’t even speak it. John Phillips, in his book Exploring the Gospels: John, writes the following: “It is said that when a scribe was copying the Scriptures and came to this name for God he would take a new pen just to write that name. It is said that when a reader in the synagogue came to this name in the sacred text, he would not read it; he would bow his head in worship, and the congregation, knowing he was thinking the ineffable name, would bow in worship too.” Yet Jesus not only uses the name (imagine a pastor or priest taking God’s name in vain . . . that’s what this was to them) but uses it to describe Himself. Talk about a shocking statement. 3) “I AM” Remember, this is the name with which God Almighty identified Himself to Moses. By using this term, Jesus was claiming to be the very God the Jews esteemed, the God of Moses, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. This was not a parable, nor was Jesus speaking in unfamiliar terms to them. There could be absolutely no mistaking what He meant. After a long dialogue, Jesus essentially says, “Let me make this real simple for you: I am the Lord God Almighty.” 4) “I AM” not “I was.” As I mentioned earlier, at first glance, Jesus’ statement seems grammatically incorrect. Had He said, “Before Abraham was born, I was,” His words would have still been powerful. But by speaking in the past tense regarding Abraham (“was born”), and then in the present tense regarding Himself (“I AM”), Jesus is stating His eternal nature. He transcends time and space. He is not limited by human, earthly measurements. He did not come into being. He was not created. Before Abraham was born, even before the world was formed, “I AM.” We speak of all things in the past in past tense, and all things in the future in future tense. So we could say, Jesus was (past), is (present), and will be (future). But to be accurate, we should say, Jesus is, is, and is. As the author of Hebrews put it, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” (13:8) This simple statement has drastic consequences. The Jews saw it. They tried to stone Jesus. And, were His claims not true, they would have been justified in doing so. Either Jesus was committing the most brazen, blatant blasphemy of all time, or He was making the greatest truthful claim of all time. C.S. Lewis is famous for his trilemma regarding Jesus, claiming He must be either “Lunatic, Liar, or Lord.” Calling Jesus a “Liar” doesn’t make much sense. If He was just a guy seeking attention, maybe a little full of Himself, don’t you think He would have pulled the plug somewhere around the first lashing of the flagellum? Maybe sooner. Similarly, “Lunatic” doesn’t hold up either. A close examination of the words and works of Jesus give no indication that He was clinically insane. He didn’t foam at the mouth. He didn’t convulse. He didn’t talk nonsense. Instead, He befuddled people with the logic of His arguments. He taught with authority that their teachers of the law did not possess. He never gave the slightest suggestion that He lacked mental faculties. If “Liar” and “Lunatic” don’t pan out, what does that leave us with? It was a critical question to the Jews of Jesus’ day, and it is equally critical to all of us today. If Jesus was a liar, he deserved the wrath of the Jews and to be scorned by us. If Jesus was a lunatic, a wacko who talked about time travel and made claims of deity, then He should be pitied. If, however, He was accurate in His claim, if He IS the Lord God Almighty (in infinity past, at present, and in infinity future), then the only rational response is to listen to His words and obey His teaching. The choice is yours. As Jesus famously asked Peter, so He asks you: “Who do you say I am?” Phillips, John. Exploring the Gospels: John. Loizeaux Brothers, Inc. 1988 Repeat after me: “Rad-i-cal Is-lam.”
There, was that so hard? Many in this country (from President Obama to the mainstream media to liberal/left-wing/Democratic pundits) refuse to acknowledge the presence of radical Islam. In fact, in his address to the nation back in September, President Obama made it very clear that ISIS (the Islamic State of Iraq in Syria)—also known as ISIL (Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant) was not Islamic. The question is, why does our president (I pick on him since he is the leader of the free world and the most-widely heard voice in our country, but he is by no means alone in this) refuse to recognize that there is such a thing as radical Islam? There are clearly two (if not more) groups of people who claim to be Muslims. There are “radicals” or “extremists,” also known as jihadists. Or terrorists. Or the scourge of the earth. Then there are “moderates,” or “peaceful” Muslims. We are told over and over again that Islam is a religion of peace, that the majority of Muslims are not terrorists, and that these “radicals” aren’t truly Muslims in that they don’t adhere (mentally assent to or practically follow) the core beliefs of the religion. That may all be true. But those same radicals claim they are the true Muslims and that the “moderates” are weak-kneed cowards who will have no place in Paradise. And both of them quote the Quran in defense of their position. The problem is, I don’t know which of them is right. And frankly, I don’t care. Group A—“radicals”—want to kill me. Group B—“moderates”—don’t. I don’t mind, although I disagree on many points, with group B. I want Group A dead or in Gitmo as fast as possible lest they kill me or the ones I love. I’ve studied Islam a little bit. I am by no means an expert. I cannot say with confidence whether radical Muslims or moderate Muslims more closely adhere to the intent of Muhammad when he penned the Quran. I can pull snippets of text from the Quran that would clearly indicate that Islam is not a religion of peace, just as Muslims can point to passages that would plainly affirm the exact opposite. But it wouldn’t be fair for me, unschooled as I am in their religion, to try to interpret the Quran, any more than it would be fair for an atheist to tell me what the Bible says and why I don’t believe my religion accurately. But I don’t think it matters for the point of this discussion. Let’s look at a similar situation. There is a group in Kansas called the Westboro Baptist Church, most well-known for hating homosexuals and protesting funerals of veterans. The Westboro Baptist Church is part of the “Christian” religion. But they do not believe what I believe. Nor do they believe what the majority of “Christians” believe, and the term Christian is used to describe a broad group of people and beliefs. By all accounts, the members of Westboro Baptist Church are extremists. A hate group. “Radicals,” even. But they are still considered by pretty much everyone (the mainstream media, pundits on both sides of the aisle—and even by myself, if using the term as defined above) to be part of the “Christian” religion. Isn’t it only fair then, that we apply the same standard to Islam? Again, I don’t know the true “heart” of Islam. If the moderates are correct, then the radicals do not truly belong to the religion. But they use the name Islam. They carry out their murderous acts in the name of Islam. They oppose those who aren’t part of Islam. To not call them “radical Muslims” would be intellectually dishonest. (That’s a fancy of saying stupid.) So why won’t President Obama et al. refer to them as such? Why can’t we seem to drag the words “radical Islam” from his mouth? Is he afraid of what radical Muslims might do if he applies the well-fitting shoe? Does he sympathize with the religion and not want to tarnish it by admitting that it has bad apples in the barrel? Has he just not applied standards of logic to his thoughts? I don’t know. Only he could tell us that. Same is true of the mainstream media, pundits, etcetera. But the question begs to be asked. Why does it matter? What difference does it make what name we give this group? “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet” and dung by any other name would . . . well, you get the idea. Why does it matter? It matters because ideology dictates action. It matters because knowing your enemy is essential in war, and make no mistake, this is a war and they are the enemy. It matters because this isn’t a few troublemakers or a “JV team,” but an organized, determined army that wants us dead. It matters because the world (including Muslims, both radical and moderate) is watching us, looking for our leadership and watching for our weakness. And it matters because accuracy and truth matter. That, in and of itself, should be enough for the President of the United States of America. Sadly, it is not. As we prepare to gather this Christmas, I was challenged by my mother-in-law to select a person from the Christmas story and contemplate what first Christmas was like for them. (I know, right, homework for Christmas.) And after debating with my wife whether the magi were technically part of the Christmas story and asking her if I could borrow from Johnny Cash’s song “The Gifts They Gave” and consider Christmas from the perspective of a barnyard animal, I decided to focus on the Person of Christmas. However, I didn’t reflect on Jesus as a baby who, as a newborn infant, likely had little meditation about the events that transpired in Bethlehem. Instead, I focused on Jesus as the Son of God from eternity past.
Have you ever anticipated an event or situation with great distress? With dread? I remember as a child counting down the minutes to a dentist appointment, wishing time could somehow stand still. Whenever I find myself in a similar situation now, I’m reminded of that sort of desperate dread. We’ve all been there. Trips to the dentist, parties we don’t really want to attend, school exams. Many of us have faced far more trouble situations. A trip to the doctor, expecting bad news. Seeing a loved one off to college, away from home for the first time. Seeing a loved one off to war. Think now about Jesus, preparing to leave heaven and all its glory, majesty, decadence, comfort, pleasure, and safety. Think about Him coming to earth, full of sickness, disease, pain, stress, rejection . . . and death. Not just any death, but the most barbaric, gruesome, horrifying death imaginable, enhanced by having the weight of the sin of the world poured upon His back. Distress isn’t a strong enough word. Scripture is quite clear that God’s plan of salvation was not some spur of the moment, reactionary strategy. Rather, it was in the works before the creation of the world. Meaning from eternity past, Jesus knew His future was pointing to the cross. Now, I don’t mean to draw a picture of an anxious Jesus biting his fingernails and looking at the eternal clock, pleading for time to stand still. But I do believe He was fully conscious of what lay ahead. And while we know from the Book of Hebrews that He willingly went to the cross for “the joy set before Him,” (Hebrews 12:2) we also know that, in Gethsemane, His sweat became drops of blood, such was His anguish at the path ahead. Earlier in his gospel, Luke records that “Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem.” (Luke 9:51) The picture once put in my head was that of Jesus gritting his teeth as he started on His journey. That is our Savior. Not a cooing, cuddly baby. Not a gentle, bearded man in a flowing robe. A man so overcome with sorrow at the thought of the pain He was to endure that he sweated blood. A man who gritted his teeth and purposefully approached the cross. A God who willingly left heaven and all its riches behind to die for your sins and mine. The first Christmas wasn’t placid. Jesus didn’t descend from Mary’s womb in a glowing celestial blanket. She screamed in agony at the pain of labor, her hands clawing the dirt of a stable. That manger was a rough wooden feeding trough. Jesus’ first breaths were likely snatched from his lungs by the cold. And so it began, a hard, laborious, peasant’s life that was a piece of cake compared to His death. Of course, we all know the reason Jesus subjected himself to the horrors of the cross. We know—at least in small part—the love that drove Him to die. Many of us are familiar with the passage in Philippians about Jesus “making Himself nothing” and we’ve sung the old hymn, “Thou didst leave Thy throne and Thy kingly crown when Thou camest to earth for me.” But sometimes, I think it’s good to consider things again, with a fresh perspective. From a slightly different angle. So this Christmas, as you enjoy family, food, and fellowship . . . as you bask in the glow of lights and the luster of presents . . . as you read and hear the Christmas story anew, I challenge you to take a few moments and think about Jesus, not as the Savior coming to earth, but as the Savior going to earth. Put yourself, to the degree possible, in His place. Think what it must have been like for the Word as He was made flesh. Maybe, just maybe, it will add a little bit more meaning to our celebration of Christmas. |
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April 2018
CategoriesAuthorI'm a thinker. For better or worse, my mind is always running. As a writer, I also love the method of communication. I think there's an artistry to it. This blog is my way of giving my constant thinking a place to express itself artistically. |