The Conversation

I never read Ta Nahesi-Coates Between the World and Me. On the other hand, it was widely excerpted in many reviews, and the one excerpt I read that made me think I might want to read the whole thing some day was about "the conversation" that black parents need to have with their children about interactions with the police. I have since had opportunity to talk about this with an African American pastor I know and he confirmed that he has talked with his son, and given him this counsel: "Do what you have to do to survive the encounter. We can figure out how to respond legally later if we need to." Honestly, based on my (very limited) interactions with the police, I can't imagine having that conversation with my children, but I can certainly understand why it happens.

But over the last few days, I have felt the need to have a different sort of conversation with my teenage sons. The Kavanaugh hearings have developed a Through the Looking Glass feel to them, where the total absence of corroborating evidence plus a judicial philosophy antithetical to the so-called "living Constitution" is taken to equal proof of allegations of sexual assault some 35 and 36 years in the past. If there is any justice in the world, Kavanaugh's accusers would be asked to either provide significant corroborating evidence or face criminal perjury charges and civil slander and defamation suits. But I do not think that there is. In the world in which we now live, a long history of exemplary public and private conduct is no guarantee against accusations being made and believed. So I sat my boys down this morning and told them, basically:

Gentlemen, there are two reasons to not go to parties where drinking and sexual immorality are part of the equation. Number one, because fleeing immorality and drunkenness please God. That's the best reason. But the second reason is because we are now living in a world in which an accusation, true or not, can ruin your life. The only way you will survive living in that world is to live your days from now till death with complete moral integrity. If there's no evidence you were ever at such a party of sexually active with anyone but your wife, that truth might save you in the day of trouble. But you should still be prepared for a world in which you might well be Joseph.

Walking in God's ways is always best, always safest for many reasons. Here's another one. Though it saddens me that even doing so is no guarantee your reputation will be unsullied, it is my hope that these events might be one thing that points people back to the ancient paths and then, perhaps, to the Maker of those paths.

On #MeToo and the Sexual Revolution

I'm a child of the '80s. In some ways, it was an idyllic time to grow up, because it was the last decade in which a lot of the old cultural norms still held, but the ground was shifting fast. I found out what divorce was when a 5th grade friend told me that's what his parents were doing. I was shocked. None of the parents of other kids or anybody else I knew up to that point were divorced. He was the first, but definitely not the last, friend from those days to walk through the wreckage of his parents' selfishness. By 8th grade, lots of the kids I knew were drinking and some were into drugs at least casually. Sexual experimentation of various kinds was the expectation of virtually every dating relationship, and after someone had dated a girl for a few weeks guys asked each other, "how far is she letting you go?"

It was an Animal House world, and we all seemed determined to live it up within it, though for my part I felt completely out of step. I can remember trying hard (and mostly failing) to fit in and not seem holier-than-thou even though I was a fairly committed Christian kid. To my lasting regret, I participated in the prevailing culture of innuendo, sex-based humor and hormonally charged interactions with girls. Mustn't seem too weird, after all, even if I made sure that in my own life, I stopped well short of actually engaging in sex with anybody until I was married, didn't drink till I graduated from college, and never tried any illegal drugs. My friends were mostly not so fortunate (if that's the right word). Many went to the wrong kind of parties (those to which I was too nerdy to be invited). Broken hearts abounded and drunken evenings gave way to mornings filled with regrets carefully covered by bravado ("Man, I was soooo wasted last night! Did I do anything?"). Girls that went never seemed to have as much fun as the guys or to celebrate either the parties or their choices at them in quite the same way. Looking back, I suspect all of us were just trying to fit in. Nobody talked about the costs of drinking or sex, and especially not about what happens when the two get mixed together. I'm certain lots of lines were crossed during those darkened, inebriated nights that the sober wouldn't consider in the light of day.

How did we get there? The waves of our parents' Sexual Revolution washed over us and we were its first victims. As a culture, we discarded more than we intended. We wanted freedom to have as much sex as we desired without being bound by the norms of marriage-based sexuality. What we got was sexual freedom that soon turned into complete sexual anarchy. Having abandoned the rules, we got a culture of abuse, treating each other as means rather than persons.

All of which leads us to today. I think the #MeToo movement is a mostly healthy development, pushing back against all this. Women are rising up to tell the world that our culture, which treats so many of them as living sex robots, is doing real damage. Men have behaved abominably, even if not everyone so accused is necessarily guilty. Likewise, many women have been sexually exploitative, even though most men don't see those encounters in quite the same way.

What we need are some new rules, something solid and uncompromising, standards that everyone will agree to and our institutions will universally support. But to whom and to what source shall we turn to find them? Any attempt to create essentially Judeo-Christian norms absent their theological underpinnings will ultimately fail because it has no "Why?" underneath it. "Because God says so" is a pretty compelling reason, it turns out, but "because you might get in trouble later" is a recipe only for staying away from the kind of behavior that might carry legal consequences. Nobody wants to endure that lowest common denominator approach to themselves. The only way forward, at least as I see it, is for an authentic renewal of our historic faith. If that comes, I think we'll see a culture form that values and protects the weaker and more vulnerable among us. If not, then look for the waves of human wreckage to continue washing up on our shores.

Is this thing on?

Hello? Hello? I very much doubt anybody is still reading this page, but as I look back on it, I look with a mixture of pride in what I had to say through it and wistfulness for the days when everybody was blogging and social media hadn't become the swirling mass of angry mobs it has become. For my part, I'm thinking of reopening business here. I need a place for my thoughts when I think I have something worth saying and don't much care if anyone is listening or not. Also, I miss writing and the space it provides for thinking things through, out loud. If you're new, welcome. If not, thanks for having the patience of Job.

Process, results, and Mark Driscoll

In my last sermon, I opened with a bit about "destination people" versus "journey people." It wasn't meant to be serious, or to provoke much serious thought. It was mostly to help people to relax and engage with the text of Exodus, which is a book about Israel's spiritual journey out of slavery and toward their destination of the Promised Land. So it was fascinating to me that after the service, as people were making their way out and greeting me (as is still tradition in our church), that a friend stopped me with a serious comment about this illustration.

He told me that journey vs. destination is another way of talking about "process orientation" vs "results orientation." Which is true. Some people don't care about how something is done, only that it is done. For others, how you get there is at least equal in importance as that you arrive. This led to a further discussion about politics and also about church ministry. My friend told me that he is usually more process than results oriented. I lean the other way.

The conversation was sharpening for me in light of recent events involving Pastor Mark Driscoll. I have read much of what Mark has written and found much of it beneficial and helpful (esp. Doctrine) and enjoyed a few of his sermons. Moreover, I respect the fact that his church, Mars Hill, has been able to effectively share the Gospel with so many people (esp. young men) in a city as aggressively secular as Seattle. I did have questions, as many did, about various comments he made or actions he took, but somehow, through a combination of my own spiritual immaturity and results orientation, I largely ignored the warning lights.

Now the warning lights have given way to smoke pouring out of the engine. I have no desire to join in what has become a generalized internet pile-on. Yet, I do think that pastors (like me!), who tend toward seeking results above all do well to pay attention to what has occurred. Too many of us were willing to ignore evidence of immature and ungodly behavior in Mark because his ministry was going so well. There really were lots of people coming to faith in Jesus. There were churches being planted. And that's what many of us pastors (again, including me!) hope will one day happen in our churches too. At our best, we want to see those things happen not out of some megalomaniac desire to build a monument to ourselves, but because we really do believe that faith in Jesus Christ is the dividing line between heaven and hell and that life is only found knowing Him. So out of love for others, we greatly desire to see as many as possible know and love and follow Jesus.

Yet it is apparently easy for that good desire to transmogrify into ugly self-exaltation. May I and my fellow pastors never be granted influence that outruns our character, nor allow ministerial results to so overrule the process of obtaining them that we discredit the Gospel message we so earnestly desire to spread.

A sharp sword

Like most men, I have found that maintaining my "covenant with my
eyes" (Job 31:1) is a difficult fight, at least at times. Our culture confronts me (and us) daily with opportunities to see and sinfully enjoy that which I (and we) should not. Our culture's movies, TV, news sites, advertising, and yes, our neighbors provide virtually endless sources of temptation. Yet our temptation need not become sin. It is possible, in spite of temptations, to live in a holy way.

A while back, I read parts of Kevin DeYoung's The Good News We Almost Forgot. I don't remember a lot of the book, but one beautiful little nugget has implanted itself deeply into my brain. He refers to Matthew 5:8 ("Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God") as "a sword for the fight against lust." So it has proved. For the past few years, whenever I have been tempted, I have recited that verse to myself as part of my efforts to "take every thought captive" (2 Cor. 10:5, my emphasis). It reminds me that my desire to find satisfaction through what I can see is not simply wrong; it is also misdirected. It's not that I want too much, but too little. The pure in heart will see God Himself, and the sight of Him will make all else pale in comparison. Nothing and no one in all the world is so desirable or beautiful that they are worth missing out on seeing God in all His glory and greatness.

Abortion, cohabiting and our moral intuition

Two recent incidents in my own life illustrate the reality that we all possess moral intuitions, and whether we want to admit it or not, our own hearts convict us:
 
Incident #1 involved a recent online "conversation" which reminded me why I tend not engage in many of them. It was about abortion and the forms of contraception (like Plan B, for example) that sometimes "work" by preventing implantation of a fertilized egg (aka an embryo or early stage human) and I was, as gently as possible, offering the opinion that abortion, whether surgical or chemical, is morally wrong. In reply, I was told in no uncertain terms that I should shut up because I was a man, and religious besides (apparently that adds up to three strikes!). Wisely or unwisely, I persisted for a while, until my highly agitated conversation partner told me that all I really wanted to do was control women's lives with my religious dogma and besides, she wanted to reduce abortions, which is why she recommended Plan B and its compatriots.I found that last bit revealing. It reminded me of Hilary Clinton's famous line that she wanted to keep abortion "safe, legal, and rare." (To know much about the abortion industry is to conclude that its practitioners have evidently concluded 'one out of three ain't bad', but I digress). The bigger question is "Why 'rare'?" Why should my internet interlocutor feel compelled to tell me she wanted to reduce abortion?

Incident #2 involved a couple from a while back who told me that they are cohabiting, but keeping it quiet from their children until their upcoming wedding. Again, why should they respond that way? If there is nothing of which to be ashamed, why keep the fact that you are sleeping over a lot from your children?

The answer is obvious: because in your deep heart you know that there's something not quite holy about what you have decided to do. Moreover, you are trying to convince yourself that it is good in spite of your moral intuition to the contrary. The Scripture unsurprisingly proves itself true. We are adept at "suppressing the truth," (Rom. 1:18), but it relentlessly pops up again like a beach ball held under the ocean, condemning us with our own lips (Rom. 3:15). This is an example of common grace, meant to drive us toward finding the repentance and forgiveness we innately know that we desperately need. May we all find freedom from all our sin and shame in Christ Jesus.