A Time to Laugh

I’m such a dork. No, really. I am. If you haven’t figured that out already. It’s okay because my parents — as lovely and as lovable as they are — are dorks too. So I come by it honestly. And they love me.

Maybe everybody’s a dork and only a few of us admit it and embrace it. . . . Yeah, that’s the one I’m going with.

I found some more proof of my dorkitude today although, to be honest, it was Junior High and everybody’s a dork in Junior High.

I found the signatures on the inside fly-leaf of my Bible.

Now, in 1980, this was the thing to do if you were a fundamentalist child (a.k.a. dork). A famous preacher/speaker came to your church (probably also a dork) and you race up afterward (very dorkily) to get his signature in your Bible.

I loved this little Bible. It was my 12th birthday present from my parents. It was red and had a snap cover. Cambridge. KJV, of course. I didn’t have a Scofield (new or old), but my parents did. Frankly, my parents had every translation known to the English and French and Polish world, but that’s why I love them too!

So look.

Stop laughing at my dorky stickers. Stickers were soooooooo I.T. in 1980. They had whole sticker stores in the mall. And that pizza one was scratch-n-sniff!

And the second page:

First, isn’t my mother’s handwriting lovely? Dad’s is too. Steve and I must be a throw-back to some primitive inscrutable scrawl.

Notice all the women I got too! Yeah for me. My silent-but-rebel mom probably encouraged that. Or my loud-and-rebel dad. Or both. My parents are gems.

But look at the first signature I got up there at the top — Beneth Peters Jones. I remember when I got that signature. She was promoting her (then) new book Beauty and the Best at a neighboring church, and, of course, I bought a copy! I remember the sweater I was wearing. I loved that sweater. It was pink fair isle that I got at American Eagle which was really cool back then (read: dorky) and not slutty like it is now (read: cool). Also let me say that while that particular sweater is long-gone, I now know exactly how they are knitted (in the round from the top down) and where you can find the math to make your own (Elizabeth Zimmerman) and that kids in British Isles learn to knit such things as they are walking around (because they have this belt that they can shove one needle in). But I’ve never actually knitted one (DORK!).

I was elated that I got her autograph that day! Really elated. She said something very polite — and she is an extremely gracious and hospitable lady — about it being new and how she liked the snap covers and all that. Bless her. Bless her for being so much a gentlewoman to a dorky 12-year-old.

Weird. All that she and I would share in the years to come but could never predict at that precise moment of my fawning dorkitude and her polite conversation. That my husband and I would travel with her husband and her to Mexico for 10 days (we were the singing side-kicks). That she would barely pass my grad project because she was uncomfortable with the topic (feminism!). That I, like her, would have a first born who was born still. And the rest, of course. . . . All the rest.

Look at those names. If those were the celebrities in my Junior High life, is it any wonder I became who I was? Several names are my pastors. Most of the others are evangelists or just guest speakers.

I got out my High School Bible too. We wear out our Bibles quickly in fundamentalism! It was smaller and not as fine but still KJV (my college Bible was so small that I had to hold it up right next to my nose to read it and it was NASV). It does have my Wordless Book bookmarks still in it because I was a CEF missionary for two summers, and I was prepared (kinda dorky). It has no signatures. I s’pose I had figured out it was a dorky thing to do.

Except for one thing is exactly the same and in the exactly same place — across from Genesis 1. From my Junior High Bible:

and in my High School Bible:

I remember why I wrote it the first time. I was told to! And I can probably take you right back there on 11-mile and Schoenherr and show you exactly where I was sitting in the front row (DORK!). Why did I think it was so important that I transferred that alone from one Bible to the next? I really don’t remember.

I’m glad that my High School self caught my Junior High mistake of “conversation” instead of “conservation” in that First Law. Whew!

Now, I know why these where there in that place — because I was a reared a Creationist through and through. Heck — I still have my Handy Dandy Evolution Refuter upstairs, the text that is most often referenced for its fallacies. I remember Science class in 7th grade. Most of our time was spent being told how wrong Carl Sagan got it on Nova the night before. It was our assignment to watch him and to deconstruct him the next day. None of us in that class will ever forget when Andrea Cloud unwittingly said the exact. wrong. thing. in response to Miss Westray’s question: “Miss Cloud. Do you agree with Mr. Sagan when he said that the Earth is billions and billions of years old?” To which Andrea shrugged, “Well, yeah. He’s on TV. So he must be right.” Oooooooh! We all felt her pain.

But I got this in Sunday School, not in Christian Day School. And uh . . . it’s curious.

The first law of thermodynamics is actually:

Energy can be transformed (changed from one form to another), but it can neither be created nor destroyed.

Seriously, why did my teacher leave out the first part? She got it from her pastor/husband, I’m sure. Why drop that?

And the second law of thermodynamics has to do with entropy and is best summarized as:

It is impossible for there to exist any process whose only effect is to transfer energy from a system at a low temperature to one at a higher temperature. In other words, heat flows downhill.

Creationists reason from that that everything tends toward disorder and randomness, and, thus, evolution defies that law. I’ll let the believing scientists deconstruct the fallacies in that Creationist criticism. I don’t really much care about the Science per se.

I care more about how that idea of the inevitability of disorder affects and infects the conservative Evangelical ideology. Everything and anything — if left alone — will deconstruct into chaos. At least that’s what I was taught. Work hard — very hard — and you can resist the inevitable decay. Effort can trump entropy. And if it doesn’t, if you fail, it’s because you didn’t work hard enough or right enough.

And if we get it wrong in our hoist-them-on-their-own-petard mudball we lob at Science, how could it possibly be correct in our misunderstood application of this 2nd law to the Christian life? We are so infected with this same effort-can-trump-entropy trope. We actually believe past generations’ goofs are a result of their not working hard enough or smart enough or biblical enough.

We think we’re better. But we’re just as big a dorks as we always were. Just with more and more appeals to misunderstood laws, more and more effort, more and more rigidity, more and more illusions that our way is “biblical.” So the Law of Thermodorknamics could be:

The amount of effort is directly proportional to the dorky destructiveness of that effort.

Now observe that when that clever harlot, our natural reason (which the pagans followed in trying to be most clever), takes a look at married life, she turns up her nose and says, “Alas, must I rock the baby, wash its diapers, make its bed, smell its stench, stay up nights with it, take care of it when it cries, heal its rashes and sores, and on top of that care for my wife, provide for her, labour at my trade, take care of this and take care of that, do this and do that, endure this and endure that, and whatever else of bitterness and drudgery married life involves? What, should I make such a prisoner of myself? O you poor, wretched fellow, have you taken a wife? Fie, fie upon such wretchedness and bitterness! It is better to remain free and lead a peaceful. carefree life; I will become a priest or a nun and compel my children to do likewise.”

What then does Christian faith say to this? It opens its eyes, looks upon all these insignificant, distasteful, and despised duties in the Spirit, and is aware that they are all adorned with divine approval as with the costliest gold and jewels. It says, “O God, because I am certain that thou hast created me as a man and hast from my body begotten this child, I also know for a certainty that it meets with thy perfect pleasure. I confess to thee that I am not worthy to rock the little babe or wash its diapers. or to be entrusted with the care of the child and its mother. How is it that I, without any merit, have come to this distinction of being certain that I am serving thy creature and thy most precious will? O how gladly will I do so, though the duties should be even more insignificant and despised. Neither frost nor heat, neither drudgery nor labour, will distress or dissuade me, for I am certain that it is thus pleasing in thy sight.”

Martin Luther

A Lite-Brite Cube sits on the counter with a half-way-finished car outline on one of the four sides. Home-made glow-in-the-dark Valentine’s window clings are in view. I’ve become very good at gluing Yoshi shoes and twisting Blendy pens. I cleaned up a big pile of Chic-Fil-A puke yesterday without anyone even noticing since I brought my trusty anti-bacterial wipes with me in my carpetbag of a purse

My purse now looks like my mother’s. Right now, it has:

• My wallet (of course!).
• Spearmint gum (my fav).
• A checkbook.
• 3 sets of keys. Three? How’d I get three? What are they for?
• About-to-expire Wendy’s Frosty coupons from Halloween. I have about 12 of them left.
• A dried-up wipe.
• 11 restaurant crayons.
• Burt’s Bees lip gloss and hand salve
• A Mario, Fire Mario, Fire Luigi, Fire Flower, Kirby, and some turtle.
• A Santa Pez dispenser and 4 packages of Pez.
• 3 Hot wheels.
• A small bottle of Equate-brand Ibuprofen.
• A Real Simple brand magnetic to-do-and-to-buy list.
• 2 Magnetic Storybooks — Disney World and Spiderman.
• A pair of chopsticks.
• A half-eaten orange Pixy Stix.
• Bubble yum wrapper. An Extra gum wrapper.
• 3 Christmas Almond M&Ms.
• 3 pennies.
• A toothpick.
• An expired Mutts coupon.
• A handmade tissue holder from my dear friend with pads in it (perfect size!).
• 2 Bath and Body Works bottles of Anti-Bacterial Hand Gel.
• Zicam.
• Grant’s antihistamine.
• 7 lipsticks.
• A Burger King happy meal toy Wii remote.
• A Bionicle elbow joint.
• A Chic-Fil-A “20 Questions” game.
• A twist tie.
• 4 pens.
• A knitted iPhone.
• A Christian Mommy inspirational/encouragement book that I started yesterday after cleaning up the puke.

Motherhood is like an Extreme Makeover. Oh sure, sure — sometimes it seems like the opposite of an Extreme Makeover — the Extreme Letting-Go that allows you to step to the front of the line for Extreme Makeovers. You know, the antidote for cool. You’ve got more Goldfish crackers on the floor of your van than you ever imagined existed. You can sing all the words to Veggie Tales songs. You’ve cultivated a deep affection for Chowder. You dream in Legos.

But your insides are made-over. You just aren’t your old self anymore. And that’s jarring. Because you thought you liked your old self. She was always on-time everywhere and always read a book all the way through in one sitting and could host smart dinner parties and she dusted every week and she had a place for everything and everything was in that place. Or so you think you remember. You haven’t slept in awhile.

It makes you come face-to-face with that tidier and slimmer (in purse and in person) previous self and ask her, “Who are you? What is wrong with you? Why are you so . . . egocentric? How do you think that you can’t get by without that much sleep? And you only have a wallet and a lipstick in your purse? Who are you?”

And then you wonder if maybe the you you are now is the lame one. Sigh. . . .

I understand that the culture told my mother’s generation a big set of lies. “You have to X-ray your child’s feet to make sure they have the right shoes.” “They must be potty-trained by 12 months!” “Feed ‘em formula. Breastmilk is unsanitary.” “If you work or get too much schooling, your womb will wither.”

Our culture tells us lies too. Big ones. I’m somewhat impervious to the mainstream culture’s lies for whatever reason. Being a separatist for 39 years has its advantages. But instead of giving the truth about mothering, I’m finding that conservative Evangelicalism at large has its own Lie it sells to mothers.

And I’m sick of it. I wanna talk it out. This is ridiculous. It seems that while the Keswidispiecostal soteriology is being dismissed by the cool and heavily marketed charismatic Calvinist sorts, that identical rhetorical form is alive and well in their literature for women. Women are told to empty themselves of themselves in order to truly be saved, in order to show others that they are saved, and in order to get their kids saved. They’ve saved the lousiest theology for the ghetto of the women’s advice books just like the drug companies saved the mercury-laden vaccines for the Third World. This junk’s gotta sell somewhere. . . .

We’ve forgotten what Luther said. We don’t parent to demonstrate the Gospel — to show those around us how beautifully we can do it all. No, we parent because it is the Gospel — because God takes us in as foundlings, lifts us up as His own, loves us even when we stink, puke, and screach, and He dresses us, carries us, and loves us.

It’s not about showing. It’s about loving. It’s not about beauty. It’s about serving the smallest and the littlest in the darkest part of the night when there’s no one is up except us and that wee one and God.

But I need to go bring in the groceries. They are out in the car. The old-me used to love to grocery-shop. The new-me hates it now. It’s so boring and overstimulating and tiring. Besides . . .  the giant generic grape jelly tried to escape and splathered its guts on the driveway. And the pickled beets gave into the peer pressure and followed. Shame. . . . they were both so, so purple.

Chickens can be taught that only one specific pitch [of a ringing bell] is a food-signal. . . . If one rings the bell next time, not to feed the chickens, but to assemble them for chopping off their heads, they come faithfully running, on the strength of the character which a ringing bell possesses for them. Chickens not so educated would have acted more wisely. Thus it will be seen that the devices by which we arrived at a correct orientation may be quite the same as those involved in an incorrect one.

Kenneth Burke, Permanence and Change

Did you hear about the guy in NYC who was so closely following his car’s navigation system that he drove straight down a set of railroad tracks . . . right into an oncoming train? No kidding! He and the passenger barely escaped by jumping out of the car.

Piety can be a bad thing.

Burke called it the difference between motion and action. Breathing is motion; sighing is action. The former is involuntary. The latter is intentional and meaningful. Burke explained further that while evolution described the evolving force as simply moving, creation centered on active, intentional God.

You get the picture.

Burke wanted us to act like humans, not move like chickens. Don’t follow the talking box in your car to your certain demise!

And when it all comes down to it, I’m pretty positive that that’s why Republicans, specifically those on Christian Right, are so ticked right now. We had been going along, following what our pastors, Christian radio personalities, family, teachers were telling us: “Vote Republican. Don’t mess this up. Just vote Republican. They get us. They understand. They are fighting for us. Just do it.”

Don’t act. Just move.

And now we’re face-to-face with the realization that we got PWNED.

John Whitehead from the Rutherford Institute is as blunt and accurate as you can be:

Like moths flickering about a hot flame, the leaders of the Christian Right are eager to get close to political power. But as anyone who has played the game knows, politics is corrupt and manipulative. And the Christian Right was manipulated by the Bush Administration.

And we’re processing the grief. Deep down, nearly every reaction I’ve got to my recent and public less-than-loyal-to-the-GOP comments can be described as denial pure and simple. And to this participant in and student of American religious rhetoric, the reactions cluster around certain topoi, all variations on the red herring fallacy. So I give you:

The Top Ten Campaign 2008 Fallacies from the Religious Right

(Dog Latin gratis)

“What about them?” Formal Name: Tu Quoque.

• Let’s get this one out of the way. Because after my friends on the Religious Right read that header, they’re already muttering “You gonna give equal time to them, aren’t you?” under their breath. Let’s face it: I don’t know “them.” I haven’t spent my life with “them.” I don’t get vituperative reactions from “them” when I disagree with the standard GOP line. So this is all in the family right now.
• Potential Retort: “That’s not my project.” It worked in grad school. Might work here.

“They are all liars!” “They both do it!” Formal Name: also Tu Quoque.

• This is usually the first line of defense, and what it really reveals is severe undertow of cynicism. It’s the Republican version of “Yo Mama!” As an attempt to put the opponent on the defensive, it’s usually general and imprecise so an effective defense is impossible.
• Retort: You can’t respond with some Zen-like “Aren’t we all liars deep down?” No, you have to reflect feelings. “It is easier to be mad than sad.”

“What about Jeremiah Wright?” Formal Name: Religio est Freakium. It’s a combination of Ad Hominem and Guilt by Association with an extra dash of freak-out over weird religions.

• This is the response I get the most. And it irks me. Because it’s like asking a doctor on the sidewalk, “Hey, I’ve got a pain right here. What could that be?” Your doc isn’t gonna tell you without research and observation. And neither am I! I’m trained in studying religious discourse, and a clip shown ad nauseum on Fox News doesn’t cut it. I know enough about American-grown religion in the black community a la the Nation of Islam to know that we white people just don’t get it. And this white woman is not going to attempt to get it quickly.
• Secondly, HELLO? I spent 20 years within what was for all intents and purposes a pretty racist place. And I don’t buy their defense of racism. There was good there. A lot of good. And, like all human institutions, there was a lot of foolishness, even dangerous and hurtful foolishness. People in glass houses . . . .[/rant]
• The Left is doing it about Sarah Palin too. Everybody’s up in arms that she’s a Pentecostal. And yeah, she is. That doesn’t make her evil. It may reveal a part of her, but it doesn’t reveal all of her.
• Retort: “Can we get back to the issues?”

“How could you?” Formal Name: Argumentum ad Betrayalium. It’s the opposite of Argumentum ad Verecundiam. And it’s related Bandwagon.

• This response is more emotionally weighty than the flabbergasted and understandable “Can you explain this one to me?” It communicates that feeling of (unjustified) betrayal that you’re not voting for the Republican candidate instead of the justified betrayal that the GOP has delivered a real loser candidate. It’s a diversion because it’s easier to be mad at an unemployed goof like me than to get mad at someone powerful or out-of-reach. The real problem here is a lack of personal boundaries.
• Retort: “Thanks for your concern. Would you like some bean dip?”

“Terrorist!” Formal Name: Reductio ad Terroristum.

• There’s nothing you can say after that.
• It’s just like Reductio ad Hitlerum with a 21^st-century twist. Or Reductio ad Arabium: “He’s an Arab!” Or Reductio ad Abortum: “He kills babies with a hammer!”
• Retort: We need to update Godwin’s Law with Camille’s Corollary: “As the Religious Right’s candidate falls in the polls, the number of accusations that the opposing candidate is not a Christian will demonstrate an inversely proportional rise.”

“Polemic!” Formal Name: Reductio ad Spinum

• I believe this response is intended to mean “Quit stalling. Get to my point.” But in the grand scheme of things, it is expressing frustration at argumentative creativity. It means, “Quit dancing and stick to the talking points.” Personally, I don’t stick to the talking points. That’s not what I do. If you don’t like it, talk to someone who’ll respond like you want them to.
• Retort: “Huh?”

“How could you fall for all that celebrity/eloquence/schmaltz/rhetoric?” Formal Name: Reductio ad Gorgias

• Okay. I’ll ignore that slam on my academic discipline for now. . . . There has been a ton of schmaltz. No doubt. On all sides. And it is tiring. But who says I am falling for it? Do I buy Dr. Pepper because I like the jingle – even if it is a great jingle? Nope. I like the taste.
• Retort: “I’m not.”

“At least, vote for third party!” “Whatever you do — don’t vote for third party!” Formal Name: Reductio ad Authoritum est Rubberium et Tu est Glueium

• Talk about an argumentative tennis match. “Third party is the least of all evils;” “The third party is the biggest waste of your civic energy.” “At least be consistent with my values and vote for Bob Barr;” “You think Ralph Nader could actually win?” Whatever it is you’re planning to do is wrong and you must do the opposite. Which is also wrong so you must just vote for the GOP: it’s the only possible choice.
• Retort: “Vote your conscience. I’m voting mine. That’s all you have left after this campaign.”

“If you think you’re offended, well, I’m offended more.” Formal Name: Reductio ad Colbertum

• It is an attempt to pirate the usually left-wing trope of “political correctness.” It falls flat. It’s like when a rich friend complains that his boat needs a new whatever-it-is-that-boats-need while your dishwasher is broken, your credit cards are maxed out, and your goofy, incontinent dog is bald from all the obsessive licking.
• Retort: The only way to respond is to imagine the person is channeling Stephen Colbert. Then, with comic irony fully intact, you may move on. WristStrong!

“Either you’re for us or you’re against us.” Formal Name: Reductio ad Absurdum

• This is the most sacrilegious of the fallacies because it takes a Scriptural phrase and imposes that formal either-or bifurcation on anything and everything. “You’re either for McCain or you’re a communist.” “You either love America or you’re voting for Obama.” “You either are smart and agree with me or you’re an argula-eating, Huffington-reading loser.”
• Retort: “Says who?”

The Christian Right has been so painfully loyal to the GOP since the 1980s, and now we’re hearing the warning whistles and seeing the light coming closer and closer. And we’re bickering amongst ourselves about who jumped off the tracks first. Just ACT!

Be pious to the Gospel! Don’t be pious to the Party.

Jesus didn’t die for the stupid things we do. He died for our sins. If I just call my sin ’something stupid I did,’ I’m not truly repentant.

Jim Berg, BJU Dean of Students

In my perceiving and (over)reacting to other’s rules (both spoken and unspoken), I remember my own. I’ve got a ton of them. I tell myself that I’m a good mom today if I read to my kids, if we get our Green Hour in, if we eat enough (any!) fruits and veggies, and if I don’t yell. And I’m a good wife if I manage to feed my hubby a nice dinner, if I keep the house picked up — vacuumed, dishes away, laundry folded — and if I have sparkling conversation ready for dinner. I’m a good person if I exercise, if I lose some weight, and if I walk the dog.

Sometimes I do these things fairly faithfully. But I’m no SuperMom — even if Gavin bellows, “MOOOMMMMMYYYY” every time he sees a Wonder Woman toy. I goof. I fail. I can’t even keep up with my own rules.

During the corporate prayers of confession at church, you know what comes to my mind? Stupid things. And I mean, things that are more attributed to my normal human limits, not my sin. The smocking projects that I haven’t finished. The terrible state of the too-often-washed downstairs carpet. The cucumbers I forgot about and let rot in the veggie drawer. Knitting mistakes. The dishes I left in the sink. The emails I haven’t answered. The rust on my tomato plants. The fitness program that I’m avoiding.

Tim Keller cuts to the chase on this one often when he divides us all between moralists and secularists. Either you follow corporate rules religiously or you express yourself shamelessly. Either you’re a neo-nomian or an antinomian. Either you’re the Prodigal that stays or the Prodigal that leaves.

And neither works. Both are as Godless as the other.

Martin Luther talked about it too. He compared the theology of glory with the theology of the cross. Theologians of glory push a “proper righteousness” that appears good and attractive. They are very busy but are puffed up, blinded, and hardened in their activity. On the other hand, theologians of the Cross feature what Luther reasons seems like an “alien righteousness” that appears evil and ugly. Since they feature God’s sovereignty over salvation, they believe much (instead of doing much). Luther sums it all up by saying that “the law says ‘Do this’ and it is never done. Grace says, ‘believe in this’ and everything is already done.”

Now I’ve been eating, sleeping, and breathing fundamentalism for 20+ years. I was an earnest follower, a committed apologist, and a firm ideologue. On top of that, I’ve devoted my professional life to trying to explain the way fundamentalists talk, and I don’t believe I should stop now that I’m just outside its walls.

In order for fundamentalism to work, you have to live it inside and outside and upside and downside. My brother’s prof at Ohio State, when he heard the salary rate at BJU, used to say “You can’t get bad people for that little. That salary guarantees a certain ideological devotion.” So the whole system supports a fervent loyalty. And if their ethic reads everything as a fight and then the fight turns internal and interpersonal, you end up scratching and clawing to prove that you’re loyal and to make sure you’re on the “right” (a.k.a. powerful) side.

Another way to say all that is to say that fundamentalists are expert moralists. Pros. Prodigals that hang around for years working to earn the Father’s love. Articulate theologians of glory. Their earnest sincerity only enhances their commitment. They believe in some sort of cosmic reciprocity for every deed. They see God as a taskmaster waiting to give bonuses to the good workers and charge fines to the lazy ones. I say this as a former fundamentalist myself. The moralistic side of Keller’s equation was my life.

And it still is. Don’t get me wrong. I still feel the Pharisee in me. I’m just fighting it now. There’s really not that big of a difference between me 10 years ago and me now. I know the Apostle Paul understood since he was a recovering Pharisee himself — the chief of sinners.

And so while the secularists overlook sin as merely normal expression, moralists hyper-focus on mistakes and call them sin.

What the moralistic theology of glory does is no different than noodling the rules for a card game or emotionally bludgeoning a playmate for not knowing an unspoken rule about which Barbie wears what. UGH! It’s such hypocrisy. I’ve erected this terrific set of rules (which looks an awful lot like a Dumb-Things-I-Gotta-Do-Today list), and I judge my cosmic worth on my accomplishing those things. It’s all part of those lies that we Christians tell ourselves in our scramble to live impeccably moral lives. We think if we can just do X-Y-Z we’re okay, and we judge everyone — or at least ourselves — by that standard.

My rules are not God’s rules. Plain and simple.

Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor.

Matthew 7

We make rules. We bend rules. Humanly speaking, there’s really no difference between ours and theirs except power. I know I sound like Nietzsche and Foucault. But those guys were right really. Without God, it’s all about power.

Recently I found a couple of ugly and public things said about me. Honestly, it hurt. I probably shouldn’t let it, but it did. In both cases, the commenters were imposing their rules of propriety on me. They were judge, jury, and executioner. In passing their judgment, they put me at arms length to improve their own standing with little empathy for me and mine.

And in my saying all that, I’m trying to understand how they came to those conclusions and to remember how often I do the same.

I’ve perceived a lot of rules lately. I’ve seen the irritation from people who were frustrated by my dear four-and-a-half-year-old when he dresses as Link and wears all his weapons at once. I’ve felt the disgust when I’ve taken my preschoolers for a walk where someone has deemed I shouldn’t. I’ve heard people complain about how ill-tempered those other children are. I’ve read Mommy bloggers who grouse about those horrible mothers who cut off the crusts from their PB&J sandwiches.

Even now, I’m sure some of you are constructing reasons I shouldn’t have a clip from Friends on my blog. “Dear me! Can you believe that? Doesn’t she know that that’s an anti-Christian show and that she’s promoting unholy living by posting it on her blog? ‘I will set no wicked thing before my eyes!’ I would never do that!”

Sigh. . . . We can so easily see the fleck of mascara on someone else’s face, but those rivers of black eye liner that are streaked down our cheeks? We’re oblivious to those. And I do the same thing.

Grant often repeats back to me, “S/he’s not evil, just mistaken.” When he does that, he’s reminding me of my own take on a Burkean principle and what I believe is a Christian ethic. He’s right — to nudge me and to bring me outside of myself. To steer me away from the fundamental attribution error. We all need that kind of help. That’s why God gave us each other because when one of us stumbles, we need our friends there to help us up.

Sanctification is a team sport after all.

I was perusing my first blog, and I found this post from a year before my Gavin was born. My blog tone was very different back then — more vent-ish, believe it or not. But I kinda wanted to have this one in the mix again. I still agree with what I said back then:

Proving sola Scriptura using sola Scriptura?

Why? Why this standard? Who says we must prove sola Scriptura using only Scripture? This type of challenge reminds me of radio personalities who dare their opposition to prove X with the promise of earning a million dollars. It’s a challenge never meant to be met.

Do you prove what is true Science using Science? No, not at all. It’s the nature of a principle or an idea. Centuries of modernity have evolved a cultural definition of Science. From Francis Bacon through Albert Einstien, if something has a certain smell of science, it’s Science. Religion is not science. Grocery shopping is not science. Coffee brewing is not science. No big whoop.

You might call that “t/Tradition,” sure, in the fact that it arises out of our culture and customs. I’m not one to get all bent out of shape over the fact that we accept a cultural standard as our ideal. 

But the principle/custom/tradition of sola Scriptura is different than an adherence to Tradition. And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. The fact of the matter is there are as many “Traditions” as colors in the spectrum. Do you do X, Y, Z, Q, R, or S? Who knows which one is best? One group insists on honoring this holiday; another says it’s six days later. How do you know which Tradition is correct? So a group of people centuries ago created the idea that the only Text that would be mandated would be Scripture. It was a Modern move. A principled shift. A well-reasoned change. A.A. Hodge discusses it in a rather antiquated discussion here. I, of course, cite that only for historical reference not as an endorsement. Essentially sola Scriptura argues that Scripture is the cornerstone, the centerpiece, the bottom line. And everything from there is up for grabs. You do what you wish. You have Christian liberty. 

Funny thing — those who insist on Tradition are also pretty singular in their insistence about which Tradition is right. They are pretty insistent that theirs alone is the only way. They are pretty top-down in their church government. They are the least likely to allow Christian liberty.

They are also the least “modern” in their customs. That’s not really a surprise. They are left in the Old World, cloistered in their beautiful cocoon. They also think that Scripture is mysterious and detached — that we need Tradition to interpret it. 

They also argue that sola Scriptura has led to corruption — violent parenting, poor governing, etc. Um. . . . how do I say this nicely? . . . Corruption is human. Laying the blame for corruption at the feet of sola Scriptura is ignorant, blind, and tragic (in the Burkean sense). We don’t need Tradition to be the checks and balances because truly only the Holy Spirit can do that. The Holy Spirit can use t/Tradition, sure. He can use sola Scriptura too. I just doubt that applying an arcane and ancient set of texts is the best solution to contemporary corruption. It doesn’t seem to be a good antidote.

Those who embrace Tradition say that they only embrace the Traditions that resonate with Scripture. Um. . . .  hate to tell you this, m’dears, but that’s called  sola Scriptura! 

Those attracted out of a sola Scriptura tradition into a Tradition tradition relish its exotic quality, its Old World spectacle. And that’s fine. Relish that. I can’t help but point out that those people come out of a shallow, silly Protestantism. Every one has a provincial perspective, a limited exposure to the robust Protestant intellect and Faith. 

And those of us who use sola Scriptura? We’re actually the more diverse, the more accepting of differences. We’re more tolerant, and more adaptable (hence less corrupt). We’ve chosen this one Text as sacred and inspired. In a sense, it’s a democratic, New World move. As critical as I have been in my life of Modernity, I admire its perspicuity. It whittles away the unnecessary to find points of agreement. I like the streamlined, four-square, modern quality to my set of traditions. For me, it focuses me on God. And I don’t think the Bible is like a tax code — impossible to understand without human intervention. After all, even a child, Christ said, can understand it.

I’m unmoved by the rather petulent insistence that we prove the validity of sola Scriptura with the method of sola Scriptura. Hmph. They’ll say I’m proving their point that “t/Tradition” is necessary. Well, I never said it wasn’t necessary. I said that I wasn’t going to elevate it to a Sacred Text. I’ll debate Augustine. I’m not debating St. Mark. It’s a choice I’ve made. And it’s a good one.

Get over it.

From Phil Johnson:

The evangelical movement right now, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, is in a spiritual condition not very much different from the medieval church just before the Protestant Reformation. Think about it. Luther had to deal with Tetzel, the charlatan fund-raiser who went through Europe promising people miracles in return for money so that the Pope could build St. Peter’s church in the Vatican. We’ve got at least a dozen Tetzels appearing daily on TBN, promising people miracles in exchange for money so that Jan Crouch can make the sets of their television studios gaudier than any room in the Vatican while she adds enough pink hair extensions to rival the Dome of St. Peter’s.

The medieval church was overrun with superstition and ignorance. We’ve got people reciting the prayer of Jabez every day who are convinced that it’s a magic formula that will bring them wealth and good luck.

The medieval church had Leo X and Machiavelli. We’ve got Bill Gothard and Gary Ezzo.

The medieval church saw a decline in doctrine and morality in the church and a corresponding increase in corruption, scandal, and man-centered worship. All of that is true today.

Worst of all, in the medieval era, the gospel was in eclipse and people were so woefully ignorant of biblical truth that men in Martin Luther’s time could complete seminary and enter ministry without ever having learned “the first principles of the oracles of God.” We’re well on the road to that same situation today. Many seminaries are deliberately eliminating biblical and theological courses and replacing them with courses in business and marketing. And Christian leaders who call themselves evangelical are actually encouraging these trends.

And the solution isn’t to be more conservative, more hard-core, more punishing. Frankly, that’s as pagan as anything.

Grant rocks!

Unless I am convicted by Scripture and plain reason–I do not accept the authority of popes and councils, for they have contradicted each other–my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe.

Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen.