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Fall has always been my favorite time of year. There is something about the change in the air, especially here in NY, that I just love. I’ve always liked wearing flannel and having extra blankets on the bed.
It’s a been quite a while since I posted. The kids are now in the local public school, enjoying daily, half-day preschool. They are getting quite a kick out of waiting for the bus every day. Usually we wait 10 to 15 minutes outside because they can’t stand to wait inside until closer to bus time.
It was Homecoming and the 125 Anniversary of celebration for Houghton College this past weekend. It was really a great event. The biggest highlight, especially for the kids, was the festivities on the Quad — there was a Ferris wheel and a couple of those giant blow-up slides/obstacle courses. Everything else going on paled in comparison to those (well, with the possible exception of the candy gathered from the parade). (Click on the Flickr box to the left for some images of Homecoming & the kids.)
The biggest thing about Homecoming for me was the general atmosphere of excitement and crowds. Because of our location and the woodland setting, even when college is in session, campus can feel empty and the college’s problems can feel overwhelming. (I know the Lord will provided as long as He wants us here, but the feeling persists if you let it.) With the crowds, laughing children, silly college students, smiling professors (well, mostly smiling) and friends from the community all packed onto campus and enjoying the festivities, cares and concerns seem distant and of less importance.
I’m sure this is one reason why the Lord prescribed Feast Days for his people. There were specific times of gathering, eating, joyously talking and the inevitable silliness that ensues. All of this, when done in the proper context and with the right attitudes, amounts to a kind of worship — taking God at His word and enjoying a feast He Himself has prescribed for us.
Yes, the troubles remain, the problems must be solved. But like a tired worker coming in from the fields, the work can be taken up again with renewed strength after a hearty meal and table fellowship with fellow workers.
Perhaps this is another reason I like the Fall season — it is a time when several feast days are close together; a promise of renewal amidst the falling leaves and failing warmth.
Listening to talk radio while on a sans-kids shopping trip, I heard this on an otherwise informative feature about nutrition:
Evolution designed apples to be very nutritious…. it was a very sophisticated Darwinian process.
I’m amazed that anyone can say this, especially someone who is intelligent enough to make some good observations about our eating habits. I don’t read newspapers or watch much cable TV, so maybe I’m behind the times. Could someone email me and let me know when Evolution stopped being a natural , impersonal process and become a transcendental being capable of forethought & design?
(Sorry, I didn’t get the nutritionists’ name… if I find out who is to blame for this quote, I’ll edit this post.)
Read authors who stretch you and introduce you to other writings as well. Great writers stimulate your capacity to think beyond their ideas, spawning fresh insights and extensions of your own. Good reading is indispensable to impartation of truth. An expenditure of words without the income of ideas leads to conceptual bankruptcy.
Ravi Zacharias, “The Dying Art of Thinking”, 1992. http://www.rzim.org/resources/jttran.php?seqid=2
Well, our time in Indiana is at an end. Lord willing, on Monday the movers will come and put the bulk of our stuff into a giant truck and head toward NY. I’m really looking forward to things being concluded here. I’m really looking forward to being in next week, even though it means a house without AC, tons of boxes and disoriented, grumbly cats. I’m really looking forward to digging into the new life God has planned for us.
Tomorrow is our last day at church. It’s going to be a hard morning, especially for the kids. It will be hard because we’re loved. That’s the lesson the Lord had for me here. It’s not some high, profound insight of theology or moving, mystical experience — just a simple and deep lesson in the importance of community and loving each other in the Body of Christ.
I’m sure the names and faces here will fade with time, just as our names and faces will fade for them. What I must try to remember from them is their example of simple openness and ready caring. I need to make an effort to emulate their example when I re-enter a community of academicians who are prone to value profound thinking over loving practice.
I’ve begun reading Christopher Hall’s Learning Theology With the Church Fathers. So far, it’s a good introduction to the Church Fathers by way of looking at the specific doctrines they defended. Hall begins with a discussion of Athanasius’ debate with the heretic Arius regarding Christ’s divinity. It’s a great summary and about as clear an explanation as I have seen. Even so, it’s a tough read.
The words themselves are the trouble: “Father” and “Son” are at once so familiar and so technical that one must be extremely careful to understand them correctly when discussing God’s nature. It is not difficult to understand how heretics like Arius and Sabellius misunderstood Scripture and began teaching error. This discussion can be so difficult that one begins to wonder: Why try to articulate the ‘mysterious, ineffable reality that defies description’? Why are we bothering to describe something we cannot truly be describe? Hall imagines Athanasius’ response:
I can hear Athanasius respond, “I would rather have remained silent and simply adored the mystery and wonder of God in worship. Unfortunately, certain teachers began to speak of this mystery in such a way that the gospel itself was desperately threatened. How could I remain silent when Arius began to teach that the Son was an exalted creature? Can a creature save us from sin?… Never. Yes, reverent silence and adoring worship is much the more proper response to the wonder and mystery of God. But there comes a time to speak, if only to build a boundary around the mystery itself….” (50-51)
Hall, Christopher A. Learning Theology With the Church Fathers. InterVarsity Press, 2002. ISBN: 0-8308-2686-6
The point is well made. We must be able to articulate our beliefs carefully and clearly. When we are using our words to speak of The Word, we must be very careful indeed to represent Him as best we are able.
In 1736 came Whitefield’s ordination for the ministry at the hands of the Bishop of Gloucester, and the preaching of his first sermon in the same city. ‘Some few mocked, but most for the present seemed struck, and I have since heard that a complaint has been made to the Bishop that I drove fifteen mad.’ The Bishop expressed the hope that ‘the madness might not be forgotten before next Sunday.’
Houghton, S. M. Sketches From Church History, The Banner of Truth Trust, 1980. p. 195
I found this while studying for our Church History class this morning. I thought I’d post it since it made me smile — but in typing it out, I noticed there is a good bit of insight here about how people react to conviction.
In case you don’t know, George Whitefield was a 18th century Methodist preacher who taught both in the US and England. He was the central figure of the second “Great Awakening” in US during 1740-41.
I’ve had cause to wade through some of the more aggressive atheist blogs lately. The force of atheist arguments, even the ones I can easily see through, has the cumulative effect of making me glum. I don’t buy their conclusions, but the underlying hostility of the writers gets to me. It’s odd that their vitriol carries more weight with me than their arguments. I guess that’s why I’ll never be a great apologist for the faith.
In thinking about these things this morning, I composed this loose poem. Maybe you’ll find it encouraging, more likely you’ll just find it silly. If you don’t know what I’m referring to with all the talk of witches, Marshwiggles, and Aslan go get yourself a copy of The Silver Chair and enjoy it over a good cup of coffee or two.
When all the best arguments seem lost
When belief seems forced
When atheists have cleared the sky of God
When I wonder what the point could possibly be
if He didn’t exist
if He didn’t rise
if it’s all a fable
a contrivance of power-hungry men.
I begin to think it would be easier
to join them
and be content with my pretty rocks.
But then I remember a voice
A cherished teacher of my childhood:
Puddleglum.
Deep in the witch’s lair
powerful spells lace the air
and four friend waver.
The sun is but a lantern, only darkness reigns
Narnia is a distant, shadowy dream….
What is Aslan after all, but a bigger better cat
You’ve dreamt up on your own?
“One word, Ma’am”
and burned Marshwiggle begins to clear the air.
“Suppose we have only dreamed. Then all I can say is that, in that case,
the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones.”
“We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right.
But four babies making up a game can make a play-world
which licks your real world hollow.
“That’s why I’m going to stand by the play world.
I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it.
Not that our lives will be very long,
but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place
as you say.”
Maybe the world really is devoid of God
Maybe Jesus never died for me.
Maybe they are right.
But you know what?
The mythos of Christ licks their world hollow.
When I think of passion, I don’t usually think of maintenance. For me, “passion” brings to mind strong desires, ambition, eager energy to go and do. “Maintenance” has almost the opposite feeling: a required, sometimes plodding task that must be accomplished before other things may be started. I see the difference in my kids all the time, especially on the staircase.
Changing diapers is, unquestionably, a point of maintenance. When it becomes atmospherically obvious the time has come to make a change, Warren sometimes puts on his best approximation of a 102 year old arthritis patient. He seems just barely able to lift his feet over steps and must stop frequently for rest. But if you whisper something like “go get your swim suit” to the same child at the base of the same steps, passion takes hold and he ascends like a hyperactive monkey.
I began thinking about passion the other day after a conversation with a friend who teaches at Houghton. Charles was relating to me some of the research, both personal and with undergrads, he’s able to accomplish because of his current half-time teaching load. He believes he’s a better teacher for his time in research and I certainly believe him. The joy of fresh research renewed the passion he has for his field. His teaching will be better for it because the familiar subjects are no longer in danger of becoming stale. The windows have been opened; fresh air has renewed the old and familiar. It is necessary to occasionally step out of the routine and jump head-first into the reason the routine began.
In a similar way, the Christian who spends all his time in studies and commentaries may forget the simple joy and wonder of the gospel he is studying. Perhaps it is, in part, for our own sake that Jesus commanded us to “make disciples” (Matt 28:19) and not just preach the gospel. Participating in the gospel’s impact on another person renews our own passion, thus giving vibrancy to our efforts to reach more people which in turn renews our passion. The proper maintenance of passion gives us the ability to joyfully act.
“Further up and further in!”
Shall I tell you something that sounds like what they call a paradox? Sometimes it is a joy in the very heart of hell to tell the truth. And above all, to tell it so that everybody misunderstands it.
G. K. Chesterton, “The Worst Crime In The World”, The Secret Of Father Brown
I just dusted off my copy of The Complete Father Brown — a collection of mystery stories by G. K. Chesterton. Reading it was refreshing, like catching up with a long-lost friend and finding conversation still very enjoyable.
The writing has that peculiar rhythm or flavor that only Chesterton could create (which makes it worth reading for its own sake) — but more importantly, Chesterton always hides at least one little gem of a quote in the story. I love coming across those gems almost more than reading story.
This “joy in the very heart of hell” quote is apt for our the better part of our news headlines and what passes for “good advice” today.
What could be more useful to the enemy (e.g. old Uncle Screwtape) than to teach people solid, old truths in such a way that undercuts other equally solid, old truths? After all, what does the enemy care which part of the castle wall falls first? The enemy is perfectly willing to leave a few pillars of the wall standing if it means there are gaping holes in between by which to enter and destroy. In fact, leaving those unconnected pillars standing is an excellent way to mock the conquered — or display their remains.
Would you like an example? Chesterton wrote an entire short story around that quote, probably to help people get the point without making them defensive. I’m not going to sidestep a master like him.
Every Christian has the responsibility of becoming a type or pattern by which others may mold their lives.
Even more, the Spirit seeks to make us living types of Jesus for the ones who are watching us daily. So we are types of Someone else for someone else.
We never have to strive, sweat, or labor to make disciples; we automatically make them or drive them away by whether or not Jesus is being formed in us by the Spirit. In a sense we do not make disciples; they are being made or unmade constantly by simply watching us.
all the above from: W. Glyn Evans, Daily With My Lord, June 1.
It’s easy for me to get caught up in the academics of doctrine. I’ve often mistaken theological knowledge for Christian maturity and the teaching of doctrine as the imparting of maturity. Properly understood doctrine is essential for a mature Christian — but it is only one mark of maturity, not the sum of it.
It is similar to my experience in the world of faceting. There are certain professional gem cutters who frequent discussion groups around the internet. These guys have a deep knowledge on how to cut stones — they know what combination of lap, lap speed, polish, lubricant, and angles will result in a well cut gemstone of any given species.
But what makes me want to learn their faceting doctrine is not the fact that they take the time to post their methods online. I pay special attention because I’ve seen their stones. Their knowledge is born of experience and skill; they are not simply repeating what they’ve read somewhere else. I desire to learn from them because I want to be able to cut like them.
(image above is a 9.81ct blue spinel cut by Jeff R. Graham. Complete details at his website.)
