You might remember a lower enlisted soldier I recently counseled who lost his cool during another soldier's promotion and was subsequently insubordinate to a number of NCOs, including a Sergeant Major (SGM). The SGM could have busted this soldier down a rank, but instead gave him a new opportunity to turn in his packet for a promotion.
You might remember that I also believe this soldier has a case of "learned helplessness"--negatively interpreting every circumstance to fit a narrative in which he is helpless. Such people will often say "This always happens to me!" or "This is just my life right now!" or "This is just who I am!" Such people are also setting themselves up for failure. It also goes hand-in-hand with the sociological trend of victimization in our culture--a trend which is morally corrosive in that it negates personal responsibility and demonizes others who could help or be helped.
Well, a few days after the SGM handed this soldier both a pardon and a renewed opportunity to advance, I asked this soldier about that gift. He basically told me that it meant nothing--it was more than likely that he would get screwed again by this unit. "That's the right attitude," I sarcastically thought to myself. Naturally, when his packet was pushed back with a handful of minor revisions to make (coincidentally enough, by the soldier whose own promotion triggered this saga), this soldier said, in essence, "F- the unit. I'm not doing that." He then was disrespectful to several NCOs.
This soldier has issued virtually every complaint one might expect to explain away his circumstances. "It's the Reserves!" "It's this jacked up unit!" "It's the NCOs, who don't take care of soldiers." "It's the whole chain of command." "They are all racists" (because he's white, most of the senior NCOs are black, and several of the recently promoted soldiers are black).
One of the many problems of learned helplessness (aside from its inevitable development into anger or depression and negative effect of physical health) is that if the problem is outside of you (see above), then you leave yourself with no opportunity for improvement. By making yourself a victim, you have eliminating any opportunity to exercise responsibility and improve. So this soldier languishes, though he is a good soldier, bright, and diligent, because his primary identity is as victim.
It is important for us not to simply condemn this modern culture of victimization. If it is indeed tied to learned helplessness, then the victims should also be pitied. A number of external factors, combined with individual depravity, turned a generation of children into perpetual children. The young person in the inner city, for example, is often taught that he is helpless against the whims of a prejudiced society and against the pull of the hood, which will inevitably make him a father without a wife and an inmate without hope of professional advancement. He is still morally culpable for the decisions he makes, but he also deserves compassion.
Instead of decrying the culture, let us work within the culture to replace self-victimization and the corresponding sense of entitlement with personal responsibility and hope. We should tell the young boy from the broken family that he could raise up a whole family, filled with hope and love. We should tell the young girl who was abused that she has dignity and worth and does not need to expect a lifetime of abuse, but can be treated with dignity and worth.
Ultimately, the ground of all of this should be the person and work of Jesus Christ, Who proclaims dignity for all mankind and imbues all life with responsibility, significance, and hope for those who know He lived the perfect life and died the atoning death necessary for their salvation.
FYI, here's a couple of brief You Tube videos engaging some of the primary critiques of Christianity. Hope you find them helpful: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8oIOkAqgPGcF4gNM33a_ZG977CPv-2Td.
(11)
31.12.13
29.12.13
Book/DVD Review: Vintage Jesus by Mark Driscoll
Finally, snow!
It makes the landscape seem just a little bit less like a giant dust bowl. It also likely means the cancellation of my chopper flight to go visit some of my soldiers. I wish I had a dog sled...with a turret.
This past week, our "No BS BS (Bible Study)" completed a twelve week course through Vintage Jesus, by Mark Driscoll. This book introduces basic matters of Christology (study of Christ) to the young adults of Seattle and around the country who largely comprise Driscoll's audience.
The fact that Driscoll would engage in a project like this is laudable. Aside from the length of creation days, many Christians shy away from substantial theological subjects. And the Church is still recovering from the "doctrine divides" and "just invite Jesus into your heart" movements and mantras from the last couple of decades in the twentieth century.
Driscoll, in tackling the doctrine of Christ, shows a familiarity with the present cultural trends. Most young adults want unambiguous teaching and intellectually potent and spiritually satisfying doctrinal truths. Just as I was impressed when I heard Driscoll preaching about the propitiation of God's wrath by Christ's righteousness when I was in Seattle, I am similarly impressed that he continues to defy past movements in order to feed the present flock.
In many ways, Vintage Jesus is vintage Driscoll. He immediately starts hitting hefty topics, like the deity of Christ, the humanity of Christ, the necessity of His atoning death for sinners, and the exclusivity of life through Christ alone. He sets these doctrines against the prevalent beliefs conveyed in our culture through music, media, art, etc.--demonstrating his adroit awareness of the culture around him. And he shares these truths with his characteristic wit, bluntness, and sense of humor. He is a very engaging speaker.
All of these things provided the basis for quality discussions in our small group. But there were also several weaknesses to the study that, if remedied, would make it much more helpful.
Driscoll's explanation of various doctrines and usages of certain terms was sometimes sloppy. Maybe I am simply showing the effects of the OPC's emphasis on precision, but it seems to me that you don't want to leave important ideas half-formed in the minds and hearts of your listeners. One shouldn't move on to the next topic unless the first topic is comprehensively presented. In addition, Driscoll would make unconvincing arguments for certain doctrines that didn't even need to be made. While various intellectual/verbal gimmickry can be helpful at points, the final and decisive word should come from Scripture and its declarative formula "Thus saith the Lord."
This sloppiness was also reflected in his use of terms like "religion." He would constantly contrast Christianity with "religion"--the former having to do with God's grace for sinners in Christ and the latter having to do with man's (futile) attempts to earn God's favor. While that stark contrast needs to be made between salvation in Christ and self-salvation, "religion" is not a good term to describe the latter. It might play well in postmodern culture with its suspicion of authority and truth as a means to power, but historically, "religion" has often been synonymous with Christianity. It would be more helpful to speak of true religion and false religiosity.
He also makes a strawman of fundamentalism. The term itself is quite meaningless at this point. Originally, it referred to the defense of several core biblical doctrines. It was later associated with a wooden biblical literalism, dispensational end-times theology (i.e., Left Behind), and the culture wars. By the time the century ended, it had also been tied to legalism, cultural moralism (don't dance, drink, chew or go with those who do), and anti-intellectualism. If you are a current college student and a professors asks you if you're a fundamentalist, it is inevitably a trap--like asking if you like beating your wife.
There is none of the nuance is Driscoll's treatment of fundamentalism. While his contrast between biblical Christianity and some of the flawed points of fundamentalism is somewhat helpful, his lack of nuance simply muddles the term further and tosses out all babies of fundamentalism-variously-defined with the bathwater of its excesses. One of the members of my group considers himself to be a fundamentalist in ways closer to its original sense, and resented what he considered frequent belittling and misrepresentation of a large group of believers.
Finally, while Driscoll would've benefited from more time on some of the key doctrines of Christ and His work (especially the atonement), he subsequently allowed too much time for somewhat superfluous issues (i.e., Christianity's value to Western history). To a man, our group agreed that this was the worst part of the study. First, Christ didn't come to transform culture, but to build, spread, and sustain His Church through the salvation and sanctification of sinners.
Second, while most people (excluding neo-atheists like Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris) can agree that Christianity did indirectly benefit Western culture in a number of ways (i.e., notions of morality, human dignity, human depravity, pursuit of scientific discovery, advance of arts and communication, etc.), that was not its purpose nor are most of the relationships between the two as clear-cut as Driscoll made it seem. While an apologetic in this regard may prove useful in engaging the belligerence of those who see Christianity as the cause of bloodshed, rather than its usual restraint, it is often unimportant, distracting, and certainly not convincing in the format that Driscoll provides. For most people, the more important question is whether it is true, not whether it is useful.
All in all, Driscoll in his usual fashion provides a helpful gateway for the throng of young adults who seek to peer deeper into the truth and beauty of biblical Christianity. And there is no doubt that his persona lends additional credibility and appeal to his message. But all of this is still hamstrung by a general sense of sloppiness. While the pastor's life will in many ways be just as sloppy as the rest of God's people, he is called to be intellectual rigorous, lighting straight paths before the sheep, enabling them to behold the clarity of God's truth and understand with charity the views of others. May God equip His under-shepherds, including me, to do just that.
(12)
It makes the landscape seem just a little bit less like a giant dust bowl. It also likely means the cancellation of my chopper flight to go visit some of my soldiers. I wish I had a dog sled...with a turret.
This past week, our "No BS BS (Bible Study)" completed a twelve week course through Vintage Jesus, by Mark Driscoll. This book introduces basic matters of Christology (study of Christ) to the young adults of Seattle and around the country who largely comprise Driscoll's audience.
The fact that Driscoll would engage in a project like this is laudable. Aside from the length of creation days, many Christians shy away from substantial theological subjects. And the Church is still recovering from the "doctrine divides" and "just invite Jesus into your heart" movements and mantras from the last couple of decades in the twentieth century.
Driscoll, in tackling the doctrine of Christ, shows a familiarity with the present cultural trends. Most young adults want unambiguous teaching and intellectually potent and spiritually satisfying doctrinal truths. Just as I was impressed when I heard Driscoll preaching about the propitiation of God's wrath by Christ's righteousness when I was in Seattle, I am similarly impressed that he continues to defy past movements in order to feed the present flock.
In many ways, Vintage Jesus is vintage Driscoll. He immediately starts hitting hefty topics, like the deity of Christ, the humanity of Christ, the necessity of His atoning death for sinners, and the exclusivity of life through Christ alone. He sets these doctrines against the prevalent beliefs conveyed in our culture through music, media, art, etc.--demonstrating his adroit awareness of the culture around him. And he shares these truths with his characteristic wit, bluntness, and sense of humor. He is a very engaging speaker.
All of these things provided the basis for quality discussions in our small group. But there were also several weaknesses to the study that, if remedied, would make it much more helpful.
Driscoll's explanation of various doctrines and usages of certain terms was sometimes sloppy. Maybe I am simply showing the effects of the OPC's emphasis on precision, but it seems to me that you don't want to leave important ideas half-formed in the minds and hearts of your listeners. One shouldn't move on to the next topic unless the first topic is comprehensively presented. In addition, Driscoll would make unconvincing arguments for certain doctrines that didn't even need to be made. While various intellectual/verbal gimmickry can be helpful at points, the final and decisive word should come from Scripture and its declarative formula "Thus saith the Lord."
This sloppiness was also reflected in his use of terms like "religion." He would constantly contrast Christianity with "religion"--the former having to do with God's grace for sinners in Christ and the latter having to do with man's (futile) attempts to earn God's favor. While that stark contrast needs to be made between salvation in Christ and self-salvation, "religion" is not a good term to describe the latter. It might play well in postmodern culture with its suspicion of authority and truth as a means to power, but historically, "religion" has often been synonymous with Christianity. It would be more helpful to speak of true religion and false religiosity.
He also makes a strawman of fundamentalism. The term itself is quite meaningless at this point. Originally, it referred to the defense of several core biblical doctrines. It was later associated with a wooden biblical literalism, dispensational end-times theology (i.e., Left Behind), and the culture wars. By the time the century ended, it had also been tied to legalism, cultural moralism (don't dance, drink, chew or go with those who do), and anti-intellectualism. If you are a current college student and a professors asks you if you're a fundamentalist, it is inevitably a trap--like asking if you like beating your wife.
There is none of the nuance is Driscoll's treatment of fundamentalism. While his contrast between biblical Christianity and some of the flawed points of fundamentalism is somewhat helpful, his lack of nuance simply muddles the term further and tosses out all babies of fundamentalism-variously-defined with the bathwater of its excesses. One of the members of my group considers himself to be a fundamentalist in ways closer to its original sense, and resented what he considered frequent belittling and misrepresentation of a large group of believers.
Finally, while Driscoll would've benefited from more time on some of the key doctrines of Christ and His work (especially the atonement), he subsequently allowed too much time for somewhat superfluous issues (i.e., Christianity's value to Western history). To a man, our group agreed that this was the worst part of the study. First, Christ didn't come to transform culture, but to build, spread, and sustain His Church through the salvation and sanctification of sinners.
Second, while most people (excluding neo-atheists like Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris) can agree that Christianity did indirectly benefit Western culture in a number of ways (i.e., notions of morality, human dignity, human depravity, pursuit of scientific discovery, advance of arts and communication, etc.), that was not its purpose nor are most of the relationships between the two as clear-cut as Driscoll made it seem. While an apologetic in this regard may prove useful in engaging the belligerence of those who see Christianity as the cause of bloodshed, rather than its usual restraint, it is often unimportant, distracting, and certainly not convincing in the format that Driscoll provides. For most people, the more important question is whether it is true, not whether it is useful.
All in all, Driscoll in his usual fashion provides a helpful gateway for the throng of young adults who seek to peer deeper into the truth and beauty of biblical Christianity. And there is no doubt that his persona lends additional credibility and appeal to his message. But all of this is still hamstrung by a general sense of sloppiness. While the pastor's life will in many ways be just as sloppy as the rest of God's people, he is called to be intellectual rigorous, lighting straight paths before the sheep, enabling them to behold the clarity of God's truth and understand with charity the views of others. May God equip His under-shepherds, including me, to do just that.
(12)
Random Tidbits
Always worth the read. Camille Paglia is a first-generation feminist, lesbian, and libertarian who is incredibly intelligent, witty, and eloquent. Some of her ruminations regarding men and society were recently put forth in a Wall Street Journal interview, along with an intriguing insight regarding the military: http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702303997604579240022857012920.
The slow wrap-up. I conducted my last "No BS BS (Bible Study)" last week. Today, I will be participating in Operation Outreach for the final time. Bit by bit, various parts of this deployment are coming to a close. This reality hit me hard a little while ago when I shredded a bunch of my papers, including the print-outs of my little boy that I kept on the wall. My heart stopped for a moment when I put those pictures through the shredder. I hadn't even realized that those print-outs were part of my emotional survival and were, in a sense, what I knew of my little boy. The pain of pushing through the shredder will give way to the joy of holding him. The papers were but types and shadows of the greater reality to come.
Couch critics. One of the participants in most all of my services and studies out here is a retired soldier-turned-contractor who has gone to seminary and done some mission work in the Middle East. He also has a permanent look of skepticism etched on his face for every service and study and is eager to expose the tiniest of inconsistencies or misspoken words that he notices. Some other chaplains say they quickly lose patience with such a man, as I am oft-tempted to do. But with that frequent temptation comes accompanying conviction that there is a member like that in every church, and I am called to feed the sheep, not some sheep, and I am also always in need of sanctification and such couch critics are poignant agents of that gracious work of God. May I be taught greater humility and be encouraged to be more knowledgeable and gracious, by God's grace.
The continuing aftermath. I continue to meet with the soldier who lost his friend in the VBIED attack two day ago, both morning and evening. I am encouraged by this soldier's introspection and honesty in examining and articulating what he is thinking and feeling. I noticed yesterday afternoon that this soldier was much more composed than he was in the morning, but when he mentioned his friend's wife, he began to tear up before moving on. I stopped him at one point and made this observation and asked him "Does it hurt the most when you think of (this friend's) wife, or perhaps what it would be like for your wife if it was you?" He choked out "Both" and started to sob.
I understand. Most soldiers, myself included, don't fear death in and of itself. We fear that we might fail our country by not acting when we should, or failing our families because we do act when we should. And we tell our wives a million statistic meant to comfort them, but statistics do nothing with regard to God's providence. The soldier I am counseling goes out on convoy missions with his team 4-5 times a week along the same route where the attack occurred. The soldier who was killed was only down here for a couple of days to visit his wife. The reality is that the worst couple happen to anyone, and after all the various planning and safety checks, it all comes down to God's providence. He gives life. He takes it. May His name be praised.
My soldier mentioned that on the bright side, this wife is able to accompany the body of her husband home. They are on their way to Dover now. I don't know whether that gives me solace or makes me want to weep.
(13)
The slow wrap-up. I conducted my last "No BS BS (Bible Study)" last week. Today, I will be participating in Operation Outreach for the final time. Bit by bit, various parts of this deployment are coming to a close. This reality hit me hard a little while ago when I shredded a bunch of my papers, including the print-outs of my little boy that I kept on the wall. My heart stopped for a moment when I put those pictures through the shredder. I hadn't even realized that those print-outs were part of my emotional survival and were, in a sense, what I knew of my little boy. The pain of pushing through the shredder will give way to the joy of holding him. The papers were but types and shadows of the greater reality to come.
Couch critics. One of the participants in most all of my services and studies out here is a retired soldier-turned-contractor who has gone to seminary and done some mission work in the Middle East. He also has a permanent look of skepticism etched on his face for every service and study and is eager to expose the tiniest of inconsistencies or misspoken words that he notices. Some other chaplains say they quickly lose patience with such a man, as I am oft-tempted to do. But with that frequent temptation comes accompanying conviction that there is a member like that in every church, and I am called to feed the sheep, not some sheep, and I am also always in need of sanctification and such couch critics are poignant agents of that gracious work of God. May I be taught greater humility and be encouraged to be more knowledgeable and gracious, by God's grace.
The continuing aftermath. I continue to meet with the soldier who lost his friend in the VBIED attack two day ago, both morning and evening. I am encouraged by this soldier's introspection and honesty in examining and articulating what he is thinking and feeling. I noticed yesterday afternoon that this soldier was much more composed than he was in the morning, but when he mentioned his friend's wife, he began to tear up before moving on. I stopped him at one point and made this observation and asked him "Does it hurt the most when you think of (this friend's) wife, or perhaps what it would be like for your wife if it was you?" He choked out "Both" and started to sob.
I understand. Most soldiers, myself included, don't fear death in and of itself. We fear that we might fail our country by not acting when we should, or failing our families because we do act when we should. And we tell our wives a million statistic meant to comfort them, but statistics do nothing with regard to God's providence. The soldier I am counseling goes out on convoy missions with his team 4-5 times a week along the same route where the attack occurred. The soldier who was killed was only down here for a couple of days to visit his wife. The reality is that the worst couple happen to anyone, and after all the various planning and safety checks, it all comes down to God's providence. He gives life. He takes it. May His name be praised.
My soldier mentioned that on the bright side, this wife is able to accompany the body of her husband home. They are on their way to Dover now. I don't know whether that gives me solace or makes me want to weep.
(13)
27.12.13
When Words Fail
"Chaplain," a soldier choked out this morning, "Can we talk?"
I had just arrived at my office and was setting my belongings down. I welcomed this soldier in and we closed the door.
"I knew the US soldier who was killed yesterday."
He had just learned that the soldier was a buddy of his who went through training with him and served alongside of him for several years in the States. I asked him about what was going through his mind--grief, anger?
"Disbelief," he said over and over again, holding his head in his hands.
He told me more about this soldier--where he grew up, the type of work they did together in the States. This soldier did the same type of work that our unit does out here--training and advising. But that's not what killed him.
He was actually stationed in the north, but had come south for Christmas because his young wife served here on our post. For him, like so many of us, there was nothing he wanted more for Christmas than to be with his family. Unlike many of us, he had the opportunity to do so. And while he made plans to be with the one he loves the most, the Taliban made plans to crash a VBIED into one our vehicles, caring nothing for the plans of the people inside.
The attack was only a half-mile away and most news reports refer to our post in describing the location of the attack (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/12/28/world/asia/coalition-soldiers-killed-in-attack-on-convoy-in-kabul.html). Surely, this soldier's wife, like most of the soldiers here, felt the blast shake the ground and walls--the blast that took her husband.
I planned to pray with this grieving soldier, but was waiting to give him time to say anything that came to mind. After a few moments of silence, he asked "Chaplain, can you pray with me?"
We prayed for the deceased soldier's wife and his family, for the families of the other two soldiers killed in the attack, and for the soldier before me. We prayed for the hope that comes in the cross, knowing that nothing else can give hope in a time like this.
After we prayed in Jesus' name, I looked up and saw soft tears streaking down this soldier's face, each one seeming to scream in the silence.
"I just don't know what to say," the soldier told me with halting breath. I told him that there are times when no words will do justice to the tragedy or the pain. Just tears.
The time for words has ceased. Now, we must await the bugle.
http://icasualties.org/OEF/Fatalities.aspx
(14)
I had just arrived at my office and was setting my belongings down. I welcomed this soldier in and we closed the door.
"I knew the US soldier who was killed yesterday."
He had just learned that the soldier was a buddy of his who went through training with him and served alongside of him for several years in the States. I asked him about what was going through his mind--grief, anger?
"Disbelief," he said over and over again, holding his head in his hands.
He told me more about this soldier--where he grew up, the type of work they did together in the States. This soldier did the same type of work that our unit does out here--training and advising. But that's not what killed him.
He was actually stationed in the north, but had come south for Christmas because his young wife served here on our post. For him, like so many of us, there was nothing he wanted more for Christmas than to be with his family. Unlike many of us, he had the opportunity to do so. And while he made plans to be with the one he loves the most, the Taliban made plans to crash a VBIED into one our vehicles, caring nothing for the plans of the people inside.
The attack was only a half-mile away and most news reports refer to our post in describing the location of the attack (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/12/28/world/asia/coalition-soldiers-killed-in-attack-on-convoy-in-kabul.html). Surely, this soldier's wife, like most of the soldiers here, felt the blast shake the ground and walls--the blast that took her husband.
I planned to pray with this grieving soldier, but was waiting to give him time to say anything that came to mind. After a few moments of silence, he asked "Chaplain, can you pray with me?"
We prayed for the deceased soldier's wife and his family, for the families of the other two soldiers killed in the attack, and for the soldier before me. We prayed for the hope that comes in the cross, knowing that nothing else can give hope in a time like this.
After we prayed in Jesus' name, I looked up and saw soft tears streaking down this soldier's face, each one seeming to scream in the silence.
"I just don't know what to say," the soldier told me with halting breath. I told him that there are times when no words will do justice to the tragedy or the pain. Just tears.
The time for words has ceased. Now, we must await the bugle.
http://icasualties.org/OEF/Fatalities.aspx
(14)
Random Tidbits
Follow-up. It's funny that comments on Santa can prove to be the most controversial amidst all the other topics I've weighed in on. While I certainly stand with my wife in believing that Santa should be known as the nice old man who dresses up as a fat man to make kids laugh, my post was meant more as a point of analysis. A lot of young parents are dropping Santa from the holiday menu. Why? It seems that most believe that it is deceptive. What would you do differently? I put forward one possibility--make it about the family--but let the discussion continue!
118. That is the number of counseling sessions I have performed while here in country. That does not count the two dozen or so sessions while in Texas. At the current pace, I will likely hit 150 by the end of the deployment. The dominant issue that soldiers deal with is family/relationships, followed at a distant second by professional dynamics. This reinforces the continued need for proactive and preventative care for marriages, coping strategies for married couples going through a deployment, and measures to ease the reintegration of soldiers into their families post-deployment.
Proverbs. Some Christians treat this book of the Bible as a handbook for managing money or raising a family. I think a soldier of mine understands it better, though in incomplete form. He is reading through the Bible for the second time on this deployment. He dreads the day he arrives again at Proverbs, as it made him break down last time. He said it reminded him of how much of a failure he truly his. What he understands is that none of us can fulfill God's requirement for perfect wisdom, just as we can't fulfill the demands of His perfect law. Proverbs is not meant to be a self-righteous checklist--it drives us to the cross. And that is why this soldier's tears, as poignant as they are in showing the power of the law, are misplaced. We should weep when reading Proverbs, but only because Christ, the God-man and wisdom incarnate, offered His perfect wisdom in place of our foolishness, and endured the foolishness of the cross that we might delight in His wisdom.
My friend, the "married" lesbian. Well, if I've already poked the frozen hornet's nest where Santa lives, I might as well go back to the issue that draws fire from all sides. I have a female soldier friend out here who is married to another woman. I could tell her that such marriage does not make sense, but I do not. She is now having some significant relationship issues. I could tell her that such issues are magnified in relationships with a sexual carbon copy of yourself, but I do not. She knows she can talk to me, and I will pray for both her and "Nadya." I will pray that the brokenness of this relationship will drive her to the cross, just as I must pray that the brokenness of a promiscuous heterosexual relationship will drive people to the cross, and just as I must pray that the brokenness of properly ordered marriages drive people to the cross. The reality is, whether living in a sinful relationship or not, we are all sinners in relationships, desperately in need of the cross.
Won't someone think of the children? We had a 5k this morning to raise support for Operation Outreach--our group that makes flammable bricks for the poor during these bitter winters. We raised a couple hundred dollars, with hopefully more to come. Here's a pic (the Aussie in the Spider Man outfit won):
The VBIED. A Toyota Corolla packed with explosives rammed one of our armored coalition vehicles near the post today. Most people here felt it. The sirens went off, the big voice went on, and people started rushing to their positions in case there was a follow up attack. Sadly, there were coalition casualties and fatalities in this attack. More families left with nothing but pictures.
No crying He makes? I sparred a little with another Christian earlier this week over whether Jesus did or did not cry as a baby. He argued that a baby's cries are inherently sinful, and as Christ was without sin, He could not have cried as a baby. I argued that while babies themselves are inherently sinful, there are no grounds to the assertion that their cries are sinful. In fact, crying seems to be a fundamental human response to life in broken world. Later in life, Jesus wept over Jerusalem and his friend, Lazarus. He wept over the fallen condition of this world and of mankind.
He took His tears to the cross, every tear of His people to one day wipe away.
(15)
118. That is the number of counseling sessions I have performed while here in country. That does not count the two dozen or so sessions while in Texas. At the current pace, I will likely hit 150 by the end of the deployment. The dominant issue that soldiers deal with is family/relationships, followed at a distant second by professional dynamics. This reinforces the continued need for proactive and preventative care for marriages, coping strategies for married couples going through a deployment, and measures to ease the reintegration of soldiers into their families post-deployment.
Proverbs. Some Christians treat this book of the Bible as a handbook for managing money or raising a family. I think a soldier of mine understands it better, though in incomplete form. He is reading through the Bible for the second time on this deployment. He dreads the day he arrives again at Proverbs, as it made him break down last time. He said it reminded him of how much of a failure he truly his. What he understands is that none of us can fulfill God's requirement for perfect wisdom, just as we can't fulfill the demands of His perfect law. Proverbs is not meant to be a self-righteous checklist--it drives us to the cross. And that is why this soldier's tears, as poignant as they are in showing the power of the law, are misplaced. We should weep when reading Proverbs, but only because Christ, the God-man and wisdom incarnate, offered His perfect wisdom in place of our foolishness, and endured the foolishness of the cross that we might delight in His wisdom.
My friend, the "married" lesbian. Well, if I've already poked the frozen hornet's nest where Santa lives, I might as well go back to the issue that draws fire from all sides. I have a female soldier friend out here who is married to another woman. I could tell her that such marriage does not make sense, but I do not. She is now having some significant relationship issues. I could tell her that such issues are magnified in relationships with a sexual carbon copy of yourself, but I do not. She knows she can talk to me, and I will pray for both her and "Nadya." I will pray that the brokenness of this relationship will drive her to the cross, just as I must pray that the brokenness of a promiscuous heterosexual relationship will drive people to the cross, and just as I must pray that the brokenness of properly ordered marriages drive people to the cross. The reality is, whether living in a sinful relationship or not, we are all sinners in relationships, desperately in need of the cross.
Won't someone think of the children? We had a 5k this morning to raise support for Operation Outreach--our group that makes flammable bricks for the poor during these bitter winters. We raised a couple hundred dollars, with hopefully more to come. Here's a pic (the Aussie in the Spider Man outfit won):
The VBIED. A Toyota Corolla packed with explosives rammed one of our armored coalition vehicles near the post today. Most people here felt it. The sirens went off, the big voice went on, and people started rushing to their positions in case there was a follow up attack. Sadly, there were coalition casualties and fatalities in this attack. More families left with nothing but pictures.
No crying He makes? I sparred a little with another Christian earlier this week over whether Jesus did or did not cry as a baby. He argued that a baby's cries are inherently sinful, and as Christ was without sin, He could not have cried as a baby. I argued that while babies themselves are inherently sinful, there are no grounds to the assertion that their cries are sinful. In fact, crying seems to be a fundamental human response to life in broken world. Later in life, Jesus wept over Jerusalem and his friend, Lazarus. He wept over the fallen condition of this world and of mankind.
He took His tears to the cross, every tear of His people to one day wipe away.
(15)
26.12.13
Mom and Dad, Driving the Sleigh
For the Christian, Christmas should fundamentally be about Jesus, just as every day should ideally have Jesus Christ as the focus. As God through Paul says in 1 Corinthians, "Whether you eat or drink--whatever you do--do it to the glory of God." And only the person who believes in Jesus Christ can do anything to the glory of God, for it is God (alone) who works in you to will and work for His good pleasure.
But just as the civil holiday we call Christmas has diverse roots, so it serves as a holiday, not merely for Christians, but for all people. And as the vast majority of Americans celebrate Christmas, but not Christ, we should ask what it is that this vast majority is truly celebrating?
People have every right to celebrate Santa, but as witnessed with the growing number of young parents who don't do Santa, selling children a myth has consequences.
First, many children, when grown older, feel lied to. It would be one thing if parents really believed in the Santa of the North Pole and were passing their beliefs down to their children. But there are few adults who believe in Santa. Rather, parents by and large take something they know to be untrue, and present it to the children as truth. For many, the first question asked after learning that Santa is a myth is "Then why did you tell me he was real?" That is hard to answer.
Second, the myth of Santa can prove to be more scary than magical. I remember being told one Christmas Eve that Santa would only come if I fell asleep. I was terrified--and was awake half the night, imagining how I had ruined Christmas. But this instance pales in comparison to the larger belief propagated that Santa will give presents or coal based on whether a child is naughty or nice. In other words, Santa is keeping tabs on your behavior all year round and sword is hanging over your head. There is much more law and judgment in this sentiment than grace and love.
Third, Santa distracts from the true gift-givers on Christmas, from a civil perspective--Mom and Dad. Once a year, Mom and Dad give gifts to their children, not to reward good behavior or punish misbehavior, but because they love their children and want to give them gifts.
Thus, we should tear the beard and hat off of Dad, and expose him for who he is--not a mythical man of omniscient judgment, but a gentle and tender father who gives out of love and grace. And Mrs. Claus--Mom--is not in the background of this picture, but is hand-in-hand with her best friends, seeking to bless her children.
We don't have to lose Santa entirely. My little boy was taken to see "Santa" just recently. But when he is old enough to understand, we'll introduce him to the nice, old man who is dressing up in a costume for Christmas in order to share the love that mommies and daddies around the world have for their children.
And, as kids are given a holiday centered on loving authority figures and gracious gifts, they are more encouraged to look to the Creator of this world and Giver of grace by faith in Jesus Christ.
But just as the civil holiday we call Christmas has diverse roots, so it serves as a holiday, not merely for Christians, but for all people. And as the vast majority of Americans celebrate Christmas, but not Christ, we should ask what it is that this vast majority is truly celebrating?
People have every right to celebrate Santa, but as witnessed with the growing number of young parents who don't do Santa, selling children a myth has consequences.
First, many children, when grown older, feel lied to. It would be one thing if parents really believed in the Santa of the North Pole and were passing their beliefs down to their children. But there are few adults who believe in Santa. Rather, parents by and large take something they know to be untrue, and present it to the children as truth. For many, the first question asked after learning that Santa is a myth is "Then why did you tell me he was real?" That is hard to answer.
Second, the myth of Santa can prove to be more scary than magical. I remember being told one Christmas Eve that Santa would only come if I fell asleep. I was terrified--and was awake half the night, imagining how I had ruined Christmas. But this instance pales in comparison to the larger belief propagated that Santa will give presents or coal based on whether a child is naughty or nice. In other words, Santa is keeping tabs on your behavior all year round and sword is hanging over your head. There is much more law and judgment in this sentiment than grace and love.
Third, Santa distracts from the true gift-givers on Christmas, from a civil perspective--Mom and Dad. Once a year, Mom and Dad give gifts to their children, not to reward good behavior or punish misbehavior, but because they love their children and want to give them gifts.
Thus, we should tear the beard and hat off of Dad, and expose him for who he is--not a mythical man of omniscient judgment, but a gentle and tender father who gives out of love and grace. And Mrs. Claus--Mom--is not in the background of this picture, but is hand-in-hand with her best friends, seeking to bless her children.
We don't have to lose Santa entirely. My little boy was taken to see "Santa" just recently. But when he is old enough to understand, we'll introduce him to the nice, old man who is dressing up in a costume for Christmas in order to share the love that mommies and daddies around the world have for their children.
And, as kids are given a holiday centered on loving authority figures and gracious gifts, they are more encouraged to look to the Creator of this world and Giver of grace by faith in Jesus Christ.
25.12.13
The Gift
First, the gift must be bound up...
Don't forget the bow...
Now, to open up the gift...
Why don't we hang it on the tree?
24.12.13
With Christ Comes Hope
This precious baby was born to a soldier named Andy yesterday.
Andy grew up in a broken and dysfunctional home. His dad died in a car crash when he was little. His mom remarried, and his step-dad shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ with Andy and his brother, who both subsequently believed.
But Andy's mom is a mess. She cheated on his step-dad, foisted a divorce upon him, and has subsequently been sleeping with her boyfriend. Andy's brother even had the misfortune of walking in on them, which will likely result in additional therapy down the line for him.
When Andy and his brother have the gall to question their mother on her behavior, she accuses them of not wanting her to be happy. If only this type of situation was an anomaly.
Andy's wife hasn't had it easy either. While she grew up in a Christian family, she has enmeshment issues with her mother--a problem all too common nowadays. These issues usually stem from an unsatisfying marriage where husband and wife are not best friends, and instead, make their children their primary focus.
Often times, this results in a parent, often the mother, making one of her children her best friend to fulfill the role that is not fulfilled by her husband. Enmeshment between mother and daughter or son becomes especially problematic when it is time for the child to get married. When that grown child leaves his/her mother behind, it carries the weight and pain of divorce or abandonment.
This is what Andy's wife had to deal with as she cleaved to a husband who had to deal with his own dysfunctional upbringing.
But they each have a relationship with Jesus Christ, and while that does not protect them from sin or suffering, it imbues each day with new hope. So they labor diligently to love each other and proactively care for their marriage through mentor couples and counseling. They are best friends, and though they are sinners, they know they are no longer beholden to their families' sins.
They have twin two-year-old boys, and now they have Vivian Grace. Andy wasn't there for Vivian's birth, but he is not discouraged. He and his wife now celebrate the birth of three children. And hope bounds eternal for them with their children, marriage, and life together. Why? Because even in a season apart like this, their young family can celebrate the birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus, as well as their spiritual birth, life in Christ, death to death's sting, future resurrection, and life eternal with their Savior.
I don't think Andy and his wife know this, but Vivian comes from the Latin for "life" (think, "vivify"). Thus, Vivian Grace is a perfect name for this Christmas season, where Christians can celebrate the life they have by grace through faith in Christ.
23.12.13
Doctrine Divides...And I Love It
Update 2: The wife of one of my Air Force officer buddies just went into labor. They already have twin boys. His name is Andrew and her name is Brittany. He is part of our Bible study and we have been praying for them for a couple of months now. Please pray for Brittany in her time of labor apart from her husband, for the health and safety of this precious child, and for Andrew as he anxiously and helplessly awaits this marvelous gift of God.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Update 1: It looks like the Ragnar Relay has decided to sponsor a team of my choosing for the next race in the DC area (this coming September). Family, friends, and fellow soldiers, beware--this show is coming to a theater near you!
_______________________________________________________________________________
As I have filled my off hours with thousands of pages of reading in Game of Thrones, I have also occasionally dipped into the great classic by Machen, Christianity and Liberalism. The book contains a number of powerful lessons for the Church and for Christians today, but the one that I have been chewing on recently is this: For the Christian, doctrine is not grounded in experience; experience is grounded in doctrine.
I think to one of my favorite "life-verses:" Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance. Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But it was for this very that he came, that in me, the foremost of sinners, he might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who might believe and have eternal life. (1 Tim. 1:15-16)
In essence, Paul begins this passage by saying that he is about to repeat a common creed that is passing between the lips of fellow believers in that day. And as this creed or "saying" is "trustworthy," it should be committed to the hearts of believers. Right off the bat, we see that Paul considers doctrine to be of paramount importance. What is this doctrine?
That "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." If one was to be technical in describing what doctrine is, it would go something like this: Doctrine=truth+meaning. The Bible is one great work of Christ-centered doctrine, showing the vast body of fundamental, heavenly truths across the landscape of redemptive-history, and providing the meaning of these truths.
Thus, you have a historical fact, "Christ Jesus came into the world," and its meaning, "to save sinners." The truth, in and of itself, means nothing. One can acknowledge that Christ came from heaven, lived a perfect life on earth, was dead, buried, resurrected, and ascended to heaven...and still be hell-bound (even the demons believe, and shudder). Providing the meaning of a truth apart from the truth would likewise be futile. One can tell people all day that Christ can save them and/or change their lives, but unless who Christ is and what Christ did in history on behalf of particular type of God and for the sake of a particular type of people is presented, then such a message means nothing.
But you link the two together, as Scripture does throughout, and you have the beauty and majesty of Christian doctrine. In the Bible, God provides His Truth as the saving anchor for sinful souls, and He gives the meaning of His Truth to chain sinful souls to that saving anchor.
In the case of this particular passage, this doctrine provides not only the substance of Christian belief, but also the basis for Christian living (lives that in weakness display that merciful character of God shown most magnificently on the cross), and the basis of evangelism (presenting doctrine first and presenting our lives only as the sinful vessels into which God pours His grace). But of course, biblical doctrine does not only provide the basis for Christian living or evangelism, but it makes all of these things means by which we might achieve our greater end: the glory of God (v17).
Doctrine does indeed divide--not believers, but bone from marrow as it is sharper than any two-edged sword. May the beauties of the truth of the Gospel and its import for believers radiate through our hearts and redound to the glory of God!
_______________________________________________________________________________
Update 1: It looks like the Ragnar Relay has decided to sponsor a team of my choosing for the next race in the DC area (this coming September). Family, friends, and fellow soldiers, beware--this show is coming to a theater near you!
_______________________________________________________________________________
As I have filled my off hours with thousands of pages of reading in Game of Thrones, I have also occasionally dipped into the great classic by Machen, Christianity and Liberalism. The book contains a number of powerful lessons for the Church and for Christians today, but the one that I have been chewing on recently is this: For the Christian, doctrine is not grounded in experience; experience is grounded in doctrine.
I think to one of my favorite "life-verses:" Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance. Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But it was for this very that he came, that in me, the foremost of sinners, he might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who might believe and have eternal life. (1 Tim. 1:15-16)
In essence, Paul begins this passage by saying that he is about to repeat a common creed that is passing between the lips of fellow believers in that day. And as this creed or "saying" is "trustworthy," it should be committed to the hearts of believers. Right off the bat, we see that Paul considers doctrine to be of paramount importance. What is this doctrine?
That "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." If one was to be technical in describing what doctrine is, it would go something like this: Doctrine=truth+meaning. The Bible is one great work of Christ-centered doctrine, showing the vast body of fundamental, heavenly truths across the landscape of redemptive-history, and providing the meaning of these truths.
Thus, you have a historical fact, "Christ Jesus came into the world," and its meaning, "to save sinners." The truth, in and of itself, means nothing. One can acknowledge that Christ came from heaven, lived a perfect life on earth, was dead, buried, resurrected, and ascended to heaven...and still be hell-bound (even the demons believe, and shudder). Providing the meaning of a truth apart from the truth would likewise be futile. One can tell people all day that Christ can save them and/or change their lives, but unless who Christ is and what Christ did in history on behalf of particular type of God and for the sake of a particular type of people is presented, then such a message means nothing.
But you link the two together, as Scripture does throughout, and you have the beauty and majesty of Christian doctrine. In the Bible, God provides His Truth as the saving anchor for sinful souls, and He gives the meaning of His Truth to chain sinful souls to that saving anchor.
In the case of this particular passage, this doctrine provides not only the substance of Christian belief, but also the basis for Christian living (lives that in weakness display that merciful character of God shown most magnificently on the cross), and the basis of evangelism (presenting doctrine first and presenting our lives only as the sinful vessels into which God pours His grace). But of course, biblical doctrine does not only provide the basis for Christian living or evangelism, but it makes all of these things means by which we might achieve our greater end: the glory of God (v17).
Doctrine does indeed divide--not believers, but bone from marrow as it is sharper than any two-edged sword. May the beauties of the truth of the Gospel and its import for believers radiate through our hearts and redound to the glory of God!
22.12.13
Random (Positive) Tidbits
The advantage of a regular, introspective blog--like a journal--is that it is easy to look over past writings and note both their tone and the heart behind them. I don't know if you've noticed, but much of my writing has cast a much darker hue than it did originally. Knowing this, I would like to highlight several positives from this past week.
Two of my soldiers welcomed new babies into the world. Justice and his wife welcomed their fourth child; Antwone and his girlfriend welcomed their first. In fact, Antwone's baby was born just a little while ago and he has been aglow ever since. In an culture that tends to disparage children, it is wonderful to see these daddy-hearts toward these precious little ones.
I preached twice today--once for the regular traditional service, then soon after as a guest preacher for the Gospel service. Whether it is a result of my diverse upbringing or my animated personality, I tend to feel more comfortable in Gospel-type services. It makes me excited to do pulpit supply at our predominantly black, soon-to-be church plant in Gaithersburg.
It looks as though the engagement will fall through for the soldier with whom I was conducted relationship counseling. This was somewhat expected, as it seemed his fiancee had given up. Nothing spells the end of a relationship like one party decided he/she doesn't need/want help.
On the bright side, I was working with this soldier to get himself right spiritually during this process. When he called me up last night to tell me that the relationship was likely over, he told me that his grief was accompanied by a great sense of peace. He is drawing closer to the Lord, and that is the most important thing. He is reading some materials I gave him and came to chapel this morning.
I will continue to counsel him, not on reconciling a relationship, but on how to care for and be a good friend to the mother of his child, how to be a better father, and most importantly, how to find his identity and purpose in the saving work of Jesus Christ.
I also met a JAG a few weeks ago who has joined the choir I helped set up for our Christmas Eve service. I ran into her at Operation Outreach (our volunteer/service organization) this afternoon, and discovered that she grew up in the RPCNA (a Psalm-singing only, sister denomination). She went to Hillsdale College, and her denomination would have gatherings at Calvin College every couple of years.
She has also disavowed the faith as a result of her struggles with theodicy (the justification of God in the light of evil). I told her that I love talking matters of theodicy. I hope that in these final weeks that I am here, God will grant me opportunities to wrestle with this gal on this difficult subject and draw her back to the throne of grace, where such struggles find their resolution.
Finally, I continue my reputation as the "singing chaplain" at our Operation Outreach events (twice a week). My walking jukebox includes classic Christmas hymns, Usher, Outkast, Andrea Bocelli, Josh Groban, N'Sync, and R. Kelly, amongst others. I can no longer attend these events without people asking "Why aren't you singing, chaplain?" I heard several other people singing while working today as well, and hope that the bug is catching. We shall see!
Two of my soldiers welcomed new babies into the world. Justice and his wife welcomed their fourth child; Antwone and his girlfriend welcomed their first. In fact, Antwone's baby was born just a little while ago and he has been aglow ever since. In an culture that tends to disparage children, it is wonderful to see these daddy-hearts toward these precious little ones.
I preached twice today--once for the regular traditional service, then soon after as a guest preacher for the Gospel service. Whether it is a result of my diverse upbringing or my animated personality, I tend to feel more comfortable in Gospel-type services. It makes me excited to do pulpit supply at our predominantly black, soon-to-be church plant in Gaithersburg.
It looks as though the engagement will fall through for the soldier with whom I was conducted relationship counseling. This was somewhat expected, as it seemed his fiancee had given up. Nothing spells the end of a relationship like one party decided he/she doesn't need/want help.
On the bright side, I was working with this soldier to get himself right spiritually during this process. When he called me up last night to tell me that the relationship was likely over, he told me that his grief was accompanied by a great sense of peace. He is drawing closer to the Lord, and that is the most important thing. He is reading some materials I gave him and came to chapel this morning.
I will continue to counsel him, not on reconciling a relationship, but on how to care for and be a good friend to the mother of his child, how to be a better father, and most importantly, how to find his identity and purpose in the saving work of Jesus Christ.
I also met a JAG a few weeks ago who has joined the choir I helped set up for our Christmas Eve service. I ran into her at Operation Outreach (our volunteer/service organization) this afternoon, and discovered that she grew up in the RPCNA (a Psalm-singing only, sister denomination). She went to Hillsdale College, and her denomination would have gatherings at Calvin College every couple of years.
She has also disavowed the faith as a result of her struggles with theodicy (the justification of God in the light of evil). I told her that I love talking matters of theodicy. I hope that in these final weeks that I am here, God will grant me opportunities to wrestle with this gal on this difficult subject and draw her back to the throne of grace, where such struggles find their resolution.
Finally, I continue my reputation as the "singing chaplain" at our Operation Outreach events (twice a week). My walking jukebox includes classic Christmas hymns, Usher, Outkast, Andrea Bocelli, Josh Groban, N'Sync, and R. Kelly, amongst others. I can no longer attend these events without people asking "Why aren't you singing, chaplain?" I heard several other people singing while working today as well, and hope that the bug is catching. We shall see!
21.12.13
Operation Proper Exit and Ragnar Wishes
There is a program called "Operation Proper Exit" that takes soldiers who were wounded and rushed out of the country and brings them back to leave on their own terms. We had a ceremony for a number of them today (up in front, under the flags). We had a fairly sizable crowd, including members of each branch of our military and a number of coalition soldiers from other countries. In the last picture, you can see our chapel to the left of the big white screen.
The social media director for Ragnar Relay recently asked me which race I would choose to run if I could run any one in the country. There were a lot of wonderful options, but I told her that my top choice would be DC, running with friends, family, and fellow soldiers. Exotic locations don't have near the appeal as simply being with family. If I run Ragnar this coming year, I will be glad to trade the mud for the mountains!
20.12.13
Help Me, I'm Helpless!
As I mentally wrestled with my insubordinate soldier yesterday, desperately trying to keep him from throwing away his career in a pique of anger, I couldn't help but think of the book, Learned Optimism, that I read at the beginning of this deployment.
Sure, the soldier had many legitimate gripes with this unit. This unit has a very poor track record with soldier care over the years. Some of the fault could be found in the DC-area culture, which simultaneously breeds a class of ambitious, cut-throat, political networkers and a class of entitled, self-absorbed, ego monsters. Neither of these classes produce the type of leaders who would look out for and mentor soldiers.
Certain dynamics on this deployment also worked against general soldier-care. Much of our leadership was fairly new and not well-acquainted with the soldiers or their issues. Half of our unit was cross-leveled from other units around the country, meaning that there was not much in the way of unit chemistry or pre-existing bonds. Also, our unit was split into pieces and spread around the country.
All that granted, this soldier was not in a helpless situation. He believed he was, but there are always areas of our lives that we can control and even improve. This soldier had never finished memorizing the NCO Creed, which is required for his promotion. He had not bothered to ask if there were other reasons, related to behavior or work habits, that might have obstructed a potential promotion. He certainly could mouth off less and respect his NCOs more. The fact that other soldiers were getting promoted ahead of him might not have been as much about favoritism, as the fact that his NCO-caliber skill set was not matched by an NCO-caliber demeanor.
But we must take another step back in assessing this soldier. Why did this soldier believe that he had no ability to improve his state? This gets back to the concept of learned helplessness. Somewhere along the way, this soldier learned to interpret unfavorable circumstances, not as an exception to the norm and as something to overcome, but as the norm itself and without remedy. When bad things happen, they are part of a pre-conceived pattern that encompasses either history, the whole of the present, or one's identity (or perhaps all three).
While the last pattern is hardest to detect because it is the most painful and personal, the other two were clearly in evidence with this soldier. He has been stuck in his rank for a long time. He believes that he has been stuck in this rank because of the unit's history of malfeasance and because of the leadership surrounding him at the present.
We must not scoff at this soldier's self-deception--it is emblematic of the mentality of much of my generation. Many of our young adults were taught as children that they had angelic natures and were the center of the universe. They were not treated as sinners who need constant correction, nor were they given sources of meaning beyond themselves (i.e. faith, family, community, etc). Thus, when something goes wrong for young people, they are prone to think that it is beyond their control and that they are victims. They also have no hope of transcendent meaning in the circumstance because they are center of their world and meaning starts and ends with them.
This problem is compounded by the general fracture of the family in our society. When little Jack watches his single mom work tirelessly to barely put food on the table, he begins to think that the world is unfair and that there is not much you can do but try to survive. Because his parent is slaving away to put food on the table and there is no parent at home to help him take responsibility for his life and his choices, he is given no means with which to overcome obstacles. Of course, these are all generalities, but they tend to fit the pattern that has led to this generational disarray.
So what do you do with a person who struggles with learned helplessness, which in turn midwives depression and resentment? First, you recognize that there is a superficial, psychological, and spiritual component to the problem. The superficial assessment recognizes that this person is not taking responsibility for himself and is thus liable to whatever consequences his behavior has earned. Simple justice would make for simple solutions, but it doesn't dig to the heart of the problem.
Second, once past the superficial diagnosis, you must deal with the psychology of learned helplessness. The Sergeant Major stumbled upon one way of doing this yesterday. He didn't bust the soldier down a rank, which would've reinforced his faulty interpretive grid, but gave him two weeks to put himself back into position for a promotion, which encourages a sense of responsibility.
This was a great move by the Sergeant Major, but it only affects potential behavior and not the thoughts that underlie behavior. The soldier now has a promising and responsible path forward, but his pessimistic interpretive grid may kick in and tell him that because of the conspiracy of circumstances around him, it is a hopeless endeavor. As a result, he may quit before he ever starts. Ideally, this soldier will learn to dispute his thoughts (i.e., other soldiers are getting promoted) and begin to change his interpretive grid. Until he does this, others can help dispute his thoughts. That is why I will try to search him out and help him with the NCO Creed. If he tries to feed me the BS that he is feeding himself, I can quickly put it down.
Third, as thoughts lie behind behaviors, so beliefs lie behind thoughts. It is not enough to change thought patterns is the reference point is still me. This is a point I made with my activist friend. For him, society seemed to revolve around "civil rights" (i.e., so-called marriage "equality"), and his conversations would always come back to this issue. I finally asked him what his purpose in life would be in a country where such rights are in no way possible, where survival is perhaps the main goal of day-to-day living?
He couldn't fathom that possibility. We live in a world of realities, not ideals, and the reality is that if someone I love dies, even if I have altered my thought patterns to recognize that there is much more to life than death, that death will pierce me down to the very core of my basic beliefs. There is no making optimistic lemonade from death's lemons. If I am my own reference point for meaning, then the tragedy of a loved one's death will be devastating and total.
But if my life and my happiness is not ultimate, then such tragedies lose their full extent of their potency. If God's glory is ultimate, then I can pray that He be glorified in and through such tragedies. If His saving purposes for His people by grace through faith in Christ is ultimate, then I can grieve with hope. If His providence rule is ultimate over human affairs, I can entrust any circumstance to His holy, wise, and powerful plan as it unfolds in this world.
It is easy to see another's self-destructive lifestyle and read it merely as a behavior problem. But there is a complex psychology behind behavior that centers around our thoughts. It might then be easy to read those thoughts as the core barrier or enabler with regard to well-being. But thoughts always arise from beliefs, and if those beliefs are faulty, the whole psychology enterprise becomes a tower of cards, awaiting their fall. New behaviors need new thinking and new thinking requires a new heart. If anyone is in Christ, He is a new creation--the old has gone, the new has come.
Sure, the soldier had many legitimate gripes with this unit. This unit has a very poor track record with soldier care over the years. Some of the fault could be found in the DC-area culture, which simultaneously breeds a class of ambitious, cut-throat, political networkers and a class of entitled, self-absorbed, ego monsters. Neither of these classes produce the type of leaders who would look out for and mentor soldiers.
Certain dynamics on this deployment also worked against general soldier-care. Much of our leadership was fairly new and not well-acquainted with the soldiers or their issues. Half of our unit was cross-leveled from other units around the country, meaning that there was not much in the way of unit chemistry or pre-existing bonds. Also, our unit was split into pieces and spread around the country.
All that granted, this soldier was not in a helpless situation. He believed he was, but there are always areas of our lives that we can control and even improve. This soldier had never finished memorizing the NCO Creed, which is required for his promotion. He had not bothered to ask if there were other reasons, related to behavior or work habits, that might have obstructed a potential promotion. He certainly could mouth off less and respect his NCOs more. The fact that other soldiers were getting promoted ahead of him might not have been as much about favoritism, as the fact that his NCO-caliber skill set was not matched by an NCO-caliber demeanor.
But we must take another step back in assessing this soldier. Why did this soldier believe that he had no ability to improve his state? This gets back to the concept of learned helplessness. Somewhere along the way, this soldier learned to interpret unfavorable circumstances, not as an exception to the norm and as something to overcome, but as the norm itself and without remedy. When bad things happen, they are part of a pre-conceived pattern that encompasses either history, the whole of the present, or one's identity (or perhaps all three).
While the last pattern is hardest to detect because it is the most painful and personal, the other two were clearly in evidence with this soldier. He has been stuck in his rank for a long time. He believes that he has been stuck in this rank because of the unit's history of malfeasance and because of the leadership surrounding him at the present.
We must not scoff at this soldier's self-deception--it is emblematic of the mentality of much of my generation. Many of our young adults were taught as children that they had angelic natures and were the center of the universe. They were not treated as sinners who need constant correction, nor were they given sources of meaning beyond themselves (i.e. faith, family, community, etc). Thus, when something goes wrong for young people, they are prone to think that it is beyond their control and that they are victims. They also have no hope of transcendent meaning in the circumstance because they are center of their world and meaning starts and ends with them.
This problem is compounded by the general fracture of the family in our society. When little Jack watches his single mom work tirelessly to barely put food on the table, he begins to think that the world is unfair and that there is not much you can do but try to survive. Because his parent is slaving away to put food on the table and there is no parent at home to help him take responsibility for his life and his choices, he is given no means with which to overcome obstacles. Of course, these are all generalities, but they tend to fit the pattern that has led to this generational disarray.
So what do you do with a person who struggles with learned helplessness, which in turn midwives depression and resentment? First, you recognize that there is a superficial, psychological, and spiritual component to the problem. The superficial assessment recognizes that this person is not taking responsibility for himself and is thus liable to whatever consequences his behavior has earned. Simple justice would make for simple solutions, but it doesn't dig to the heart of the problem.
Second, once past the superficial diagnosis, you must deal with the psychology of learned helplessness. The Sergeant Major stumbled upon one way of doing this yesterday. He didn't bust the soldier down a rank, which would've reinforced his faulty interpretive grid, but gave him two weeks to put himself back into position for a promotion, which encourages a sense of responsibility.
This was a great move by the Sergeant Major, but it only affects potential behavior and not the thoughts that underlie behavior. The soldier now has a promising and responsible path forward, but his pessimistic interpretive grid may kick in and tell him that because of the conspiracy of circumstances around him, it is a hopeless endeavor. As a result, he may quit before he ever starts. Ideally, this soldier will learn to dispute his thoughts (i.e., other soldiers are getting promoted) and begin to change his interpretive grid. Until he does this, others can help dispute his thoughts. That is why I will try to search him out and help him with the NCO Creed. If he tries to feed me the BS that he is feeding himself, I can quickly put it down.
Third, as thoughts lie behind behaviors, so beliefs lie behind thoughts. It is not enough to change thought patterns is the reference point is still me. This is a point I made with my activist friend. For him, society seemed to revolve around "civil rights" (i.e., so-called marriage "equality"), and his conversations would always come back to this issue. I finally asked him what his purpose in life would be in a country where such rights are in no way possible, where survival is perhaps the main goal of day-to-day living?
He couldn't fathom that possibility. We live in a world of realities, not ideals, and the reality is that if someone I love dies, even if I have altered my thought patterns to recognize that there is much more to life than death, that death will pierce me down to the very core of my basic beliefs. There is no making optimistic lemonade from death's lemons. If I am my own reference point for meaning, then the tragedy of a loved one's death will be devastating and total.
But if my life and my happiness is not ultimate, then such tragedies lose their full extent of their potency. If God's glory is ultimate, then I can pray that He be glorified in and through such tragedies. If His saving purposes for His people by grace through faith in Christ is ultimate, then I can grieve with hope. If His providence rule is ultimate over human affairs, I can entrust any circumstance to His holy, wise, and powerful plan as it unfolds in this world.
It is easy to see another's self-destructive lifestyle and read it merely as a behavior problem. But there is a complex psychology behind behavior that centers around our thoughts. It might then be easy to read those thoughts as the core barrier or enabler with regard to well-being. But thoughts always arise from beliefs, and if those beliefs are faulty, the whole psychology enterprise becomes a tower of cards, awaiting their fall. New behaviors need new thinking and new thinking requires a new heart. If anyone is in Christ, He is a new creation--the old has gone, the new has come.
ARCOMing Home
I was awarded an ARCOM (Army Commendation Medal) today for all the funerals I have done.
If I was tempted to let something like this go to my head, such a temptation was quickly dashed by rapid-fire counseling appointments. One soldier who I am counseling wanted to give me the latest update on progress made with his fiancee. He decided to drop by the office without prior morning, which means that I didn't have a chance to begin my day's work.
As soon as he left, I was approached by an officer buddy. We needed to go fish an enlisted soldier out of the barracks. He was tired of seeing other soldiers promoted and not being promoted himself and refused to heed lawful orders from several NCOs. It was a messy affair. Such disobedience warranted being busted down a rank. In a strong moment for our unit Sergeant Major, he not only declined to bust the soldier down a rank, but gave him the opportunity to get on the fast track toward promotion, should he show the proper initiative. Hopefully, this soldier has gone from disgruntled to ambitious as result. I'll try to help him memorize the NCO creed, which is one of the requirements for his promotion.
But I am not tempted to let my award go to my head. I don't like awards, especially as we suffer from the same inflation in the Army that we often witness in classrooms across America. Everybody is treated as special, and thus no one is special. Everyone, regardless of performance, will receive an ARCOM for this deployment. There is no incentive for success nor disincentive for failure. I long for a post-PC military.
But military awards, like college diplomas, though fairly worthless in themselves, are essential for professional advancement. So in as much as I get my array of medals and ribbons from this deployment, I will have opportunities to serve more soldiers in more places. I will also have more credibility with such soldiers, who value experience above most anything else.
I begin the trek home in a few short weeks. I will do alongside the commander that found a spot for me on this deployment roster and has given me good professional counsel. I will do so alongside the lower enlisted soldier who almost ruined his military career in a fit of pique, but will hopefully translate his new-found opportunity into unexpected success.
In my pride-saturated self-doubt, I often question my usefulness in the Lord's hands. A part of me will continually question whether I have squandered every God-given opportunity to placard His name before believing and unbelieving hearts alike. God could use dramatic means to confront this sinful tendency of mine, but instead, He so often employs His gentle providence to comfort me.
As the disgruntled soldier was telling the SGM today that no one up the chain of command cares for the lower enlisted soldiers in our unit, he stopped a second, pointed a thumb me and said "...except for the chaplain." A part of me will initially doubt this assertion. Another part will claim credit for it with a worldly explanation, like "my brother was a lower enlisted soldier, so I have a heart for these particular soldiers."
But the truth is, our God delights in using the useless. I wasn't born blind because of my sin or my parents' sin, I was born blind so that Christ might heal me and the works of God might be revealed (John 9). If I could truly grasp the height, depth, width, and breadth or God's love for me in Christ Jesus, I would not doubt His gracious providence in using a sinner such as me.
Imagine if we all could believe that simple truth down to the depths of our hearts. Imagine the boldness and graciousness with which we would go forth with the Gospel. We condemn ourselves in our sin, when God has already condemned our sin on the cross and made us alive in Christ.
Yet, even in these moments of doubt and despair, we must remember that God "works in us to will and work according to His good pleasure." We can allow ourselves to become rusty, but we are still tools utilized in the grace of God and for the glory of His name.
If I was tempted to let something like this go to my head, such a temptation was quickly dashed by rapid-fire counseling appointments. One soldier who I am counseling wanted to give me the latest update on progress made with his fiancee. He decided to drop by the office without prior morning, which means that I didn't have a chance to begin my day's work.
As soon as he left, I was approached by an officer buddy. We needed to go fish an enlisted soldier out of the barracks. He was tired of seeing other soldiers promoted and not being promoted himself and refused to heed lawful orders from several NCOs. It was a messy affair. Such disobedience warranted being busted down a rank. In a strong moment for our unit Sergeant Major, he not only declined to bust the soldier down a rank, but gave him the opportunity to get on the fast track toward promotion, should he show the proper initiative. Hopefully, this soldier has gone from disgruntled to ambitious as result. I'll try to help him memorize the NCO creed, which is one of the requirements for his promotion.
But I am not tempted to let my award go to my head. I don't like awards, especially as we suffer from the same inflation in the Army that we often witness in classrooms across America. Everybody is treated as special, and thus no one is special. Everyone, regardless of performance, will receive an ARCOM for this deployment. There is no incentive for success nor disincentive for failure. I long for a post-PC military.
But military awards, like college diplomas, though fairly worthless in themselves, are essential for professional advancement. So in as much as I get my array of medals and ribbons from this deployment, I will have opportunities to serve more soldiers in more places. I will also have more credibility with such soldiers, who value experience above most anything else.
I begin the trek home in a few short weeks. I will do alongside the commander that found a spot for me on this deployment roster and has given me good professional counsel. I will do so alongside the lower enlisted soldier who almost ruined his military career in a fit of pique, but will hopefully translate his new-found opportunity into unexpected success.
In my pride-saturated self-doubt, I often question my usefulness in the Lord's hands. A part of me will continually question whether I have squandered every God-given opportunity to placard His name before believing and unbelieving hearts alike. God could use dramatic means to confront this sinful tendency of mine, but instead, He so often employs His gentle providence to comfort me.
As the disgruntled soldier was telling the SGM today that no one up the chain of command cares for the lower enlisted soldiers in our unit, he stopped a second, pointed a thumb me and said "...except for the chaplain." A part of me will initially doubt this assertion. Another part will claim credit for it with a worldly explanation, like "my brother was a lower enlisted soldier, so I have a heart for these particular soldiers."
But the truth is, our God delights in using the useless. I wasn't born blind because of my sin or my parents' sin, I was born blind so that Christ might heal me and the works of God might be revealed (John 9). If I could truly grasp the height, depth, width, and breadth or God's love for me in Christ Jesus, I would not doubt His gracious providence in using a sinner such as me.
Imagine if we all could believe that simple truth down to the depths of our hearts. Imagine the boldness and graciousness with which we would go forth with the Gospel. We condemn ourselves in our sin, when God has already condemned our sin on the cross and made us alive in Christ.
Yet, even in these moments of doubt and despair, we must remember that God "works in us to will and work according to His good pleasure." We can allow ourselves to become rusty, but we are still tools utilized in the grace of God and for the glory of His name.
19.12.13
...And To Some a Goodnight
Let us take a moment to use our imaginations. I can imagine what you are likely doing right now: Hanging up wreaths, stringing lights on Christmas trees, cooking a few food items in advance, perhaps waiting for a knock on the door and the arrival of a relative you haven't seen in a while. Now I would like you to imagine something. As you're engaging in these activities, carols playing in the background, you hear a knock on the door and go to answer, but instead of a long-awaited relative, you seen two men in dress blues.
"Mrs. Bohler," they ask.
"Yes, that me. Is there something wrong?"
"Ma'am, may we step inside?" Your breath catches.
"Um...I guess."
As they're walking past you, you squeak out "Is Chris okay?"
"Mrs. Bohler, The Secretary of Defense regrets to inform you that..."
Everything falls apart.
As Deborah Bohler, mother of Chris Bohler, who just died in a chopper crash, wrote that her heart "shattered into a million pieces. Dear God gives us strength through this pain." (http://www.wral.com/soldier-killed-in-afghanistan-helicopter-crash-has-local-ties/13229052/)
Chris Bohler is one of two soldiers identified so far from the crash, alongside Jesse Lee Williams (http://chicago.cbslocal.com/2013/12/18/soldier-from-elkhart-ind-killed-in-helicopter-crash-in-afghanistan/).
I was pretty shocked two nights ago when family members started emailing me to ask if I was okay and if all my soldiers are okay. Apparently, news broke in the States about a helicopter going down, killing six soldiers.
I was shocked because my family knew about it before I did--it wasn't big news out here. I was also shocked because it was such big news in the States. It's not that it shouldn't be big news, but we lose close to ten soldiers a month out here (about half of what we lost last year).
I didn't realize it, but there is some sort of threshold for reporting casualties back home. People never hear about the couple of soldiers who die by, say, an IED out here, but if there's a MASCAL (mass casualty) incident, then it makes the airwaves.
What about the marine who died a week or so ago from an IED? He deserved his two minutes in the sun, with a brief news report on where he grew up, a few comments from his family, and a moment of TAPS playing alongside the listing of his basic information.
And while many people hear about this crash, think it's sad, and change the channel, there will be six families who were hanging up Christmas wreaths and now must hang on for dear life as everything crumbles around them. Six families who just got that knock on the door--the one they feared the most--and who will find nothing but tears under the tree later this week.
This incident sunk deeply into my wife's tender heart. A handful of people unexpectedly asked her about me, which struck her as odd, and then she saw news footage about the crash. For a while, she was paralyzed with fear that it was me. When I realized that people were making a big deal about this, I emailed me family to tell them that me and my soldiers were fine. Her fear turned into heartache for the wives, mothers, and children whose fears were not alleviated, but realized.
My friends, we should feel this for every deceased soldier and his family! They are not just a statistic from the Army's war against terrorists, they are husbands, sons, and fathers with rich stories of life and love who were just tragically lost in America's war against her enemies. It is not just their blood that they shed for you, but the joy of their families that was just sacrificed on the altar of freedom.
We should not avoid these stories. We should cling to them. They should break our hearts. Their families should be in our prayers. And we should remember them amidst the pleasant festivities that we enjoy this time of year. We should thank God for a few of them by name as we pray before our Christmas Day mealtime.
The tragedy is not simply the loss of these soldiers and those we lose every week, it is the fact that come Christmas Day, as some families experience their first Christmas with an empty seat at the table, we will not remember them.
18.12.13
Without Rest Pt.5 (Final)
5
It was once
said that many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it. I
cling to those words and all they embody. The rain has stopped, but the waters
are not receding. My breaths are more shallow and I must constantly fight off
panic. My dad looks unconcerned, but he continually speaks in soft tones to
soothe me.
A decisive
moment has come upon us. I see it fill my dad’s expression with determination.
He pulls the cloth from my forehead, draws himself very close, and places both
of his hands of my cheeks. His face draws so near me that I can feel his long
breaths as they mirror my own gasps.
“Kayla Joy,
many people have asked me whether I regretted marrying your mother, knowing
what I do now. Perhaps I could have had a different life, with a loving wife
and a house full of kids. I would watch each one grow up, and enjoy my waning
days with the wife of my youth.
“Do you
know what I tell them? I wouldn’t change a thing. Because of your mother, I
have been given twenty years with the most precious daughter a father could
ever ask for. Even if my next twenty were filled with loneliness, they would be
more than compensated by my present wealth.
“I thank
God every day for you. I remember picking you up that first time at the
hospital, holding you against my chest, and feeling our hearts beat together.
For all the ups and downs, our hearts have not drawn apart since. My time with
you will bring me joy until I join you.”
With that
he wraps his arms around me and goes silent. I can feel his heart against mine,
providing long steady thumps alongside my sputtering. It feels as if my body is
turning off. Various organs seem to rumble, then stop. My breath steadies to a
faint wheezing, and stars begin to appear before my eyes. The pain is receding
and everything is turning warm and numb. My dad’s face slips from view.
All is silent and hazy. My body
feels whole, but unable to move. I suddenly feel swept up, as if my dad was
carrying me, and I think I’m moving. The same arms that hold me grab hold of
the surrounding haze and rend it apart and the mighty roar of great seas break
upon my ears.
The expanse
around me is dark, except for millions of tiny stars. It sounds as though the
water will soon engulf me, yet it cannot touch me. I notice the stars are
moving. Their lights have bodies and they proceed steadily against bodies of darkness.
I feel safe in these arms as the sounds of water and sights of darkness slowly
recede.
The world
around me starts to flicker, like a television that loses its signal.
Everything becomes like static. The world—a new world—suddenly snaps into view.
The one who holds me now treads upon streets of gold. I watch lush hillsides
roll by.
I look up
and recognize the face. My heart melts into a state of childlike trust and
curiosity. I ask where we are going. “Little lamb, I must take you to see your
father.” He speaks without his lips moving. The grass on the hillsides comes
into sharper focus and I realize that each blade is a man, woman, or child,
lying facedown upon the ground.
Excuse me,
I ask the man, but why are these people bowing? “You will see in a moment,
little lamb, but it is quite a wonderful spectacle, isn’t it?” I nod my head
and am captivated with everything around me.
The path
turns alongside a rushing river that seems to leap even as it flows. I find
myself bedecked in the most beautiful white robe. I look up at the familiar
face—did you do that? “Long ago, little lamb, long ago.”
The river
and road both pass under the largest tree I have ever seen. The fruit hanging
from it allures me, but I dare not touch it. “It is alright, little lamb. You
are safe now.” With that, the man picks a piece and gives it to me. I eat my
fill, and it is very good.
From the
great multitude upon the hillsides, I hear the most beautiful music—like that
of a great wedding. The ground pulsates, as if directing the choir with steady
beats. It is the sound of love.
Emerging at
the end of this canopied path is a throne so large, that the ground beneath
seems but a footstool. It is enshrouded by smoke and flame. I look up at the
man with tears—I do not belong here. “But I brought you here, little lamb. I
carried you from the portals, through the waves, and clothe you in my own
clothes.” You belong, because you are my beloved.”
My heart
swells with joy and confidence that is not my own as the man sets me upon my feet
before the throne. I want to draw near, but instead immediately fall to my face
and press my chest as tightly as I can to the ground. The pulsating fills me.
It is my father’s heart.
Random Tidbits
I sometimes tell people that I am a "menist." I believe that our society both ridicules and punishes men for being men. It seems like most popular sitcoms depict men as dunces who need to be persistent chastised by their wives (i.e., Simpsons, Everybody Loves Raymond, Family Guy, etc.). And I doubt we'll find a commercial where confusion besets the female and a resolution is brought about the male.
Likewise, our public school system punishes boys for displaying male behavior. Energy, aggression, competition, and tactile learning are punished rather than accommodated (see books/articles by Christina Hoff Sommers on this topic). And because we don't permit boys to be boys and propagate the myth that masculinity is chauvinism-in-disguise, we have created a culture of twenty five year old man-boys who take little responsibility for their lives or for the women in their lives (see books/articles by Kay Hymnowitz on this topic).
And there are few things that rile me up as much as the sexist, patronizing propaganda that claims that males "only think with one part of their body." This mentality robs men of their dignity, as expressed in their sense of morality and intellectual acumen. Men are not over-sexualized strawmen that may be beaten and dehumanized at will.
All that is a segue to a great article by a woman I often disagree with. Camille Paglia is a first-generation feminist who butts up against a lot of values I cherish, but is unwilling to make war on men or declare them obsolete (as Maureen Dowd at the NYT has): http://ideas.time.com/2013/12/
I traveled out today with my predominantly-Australian team. They are always a delightful and witty bunch. Here are a few pictures from my excursion with them:
Likewise, our public school system punishes boys for displaying male behavior. Energy, aggression, competition, and tactile learning are punished rather than accommodated (see books/articles by Christina Hoff Sommers on this topic). And because we don't permit boys to be boys and propagate the myth that masculinity is chauvinism-in-disguise, we have created a culture of twenty five year old man-boys who take little responsibility for their lives or for the women in their lives (see books/articles by Kay Hymnowitz on this topic).
And there are few things that rile me up as much as the sexist, patronizing propaganda that claims that males "only think with one part of their body." This mentality robs men of their dignity, as expressed in their sense of morality and intellectual acumen. Men are not over-sexualized strawmen that may be beaten and dehumanized at will.
All that is a segue to a great article by a woman I often disagree with. Camille Paglia is a first-generation feminist who butts up against a lot of values I cherish, but is unwilling to make war on men or declare them obsolete (as Maureen Dowd at the NYT has): http://ideas.time.com/2013/12/
I traveled out today with my predominantly-Australian team. They are always a delightful and witty bunch. Here are a few pictures from my excursion with them:
One of the mountains surrounding the work site and the city.
Our top-ranking officer on site meeting with several top Afghan officers.
An early-morning "selfie" I took once the convoy got rolling.
The name of this particular team, written on the turret gunner's weapon.
Several of our Turkish coalition partners.
One of our Aussie friends.
This isn't from the site. This is a proud papa enjoying early-Christmas festivities with his boy.
17.12.13
Without Rest Pt.4
4
I miss my
Baby. He died a year before I found out about my cancer. I think he knew—he
always had such a sad expression on his droopy face. Those big black eyes bore
into me. They knew the secrets of my heart. They grieved those secrets. Poor,
loving dog.
Another of
life’s (or death’s) ironies: Baby died of cancer. The same faithful friend who
could spring into my arms without a moment’s hesitation could not even stand up
in his last days. At least Baby could still bark and move his head.
I know Baby
was just a dog, not a person. I understand that there’s a difference. But he
was my Baby. We had chosen each
other, were committed to each other. He would guard me from unknown dangers; I
would cuddle him into the night. I would love him if he could not protect me.
He would love me even if lacking the tender affection.
I felt like
I had betrayed him. I watched him like a hawk as the light of life slowly
escaped his eyes. As, over the course of months, he drank suffering down to its
deathly dregs. His eyes always had the look of pleading. Help me! You picked me
up from the earth. Don’t let me descend back to it.
Perhaps
that’s how my dad feels when he looks at me. He cried very little before my
cancer. Even less now. He never told me so, but I know he decided early on that
he would have to be strong for both of us. I don’t know what to think of that.
I have needed that cool wit and firm grasp, but should not some territory of
the heart be ceded to authentic grief? There is a fine line between
encouragement and empathy. He has tried.
Yet I hear
him in those rare times when he is not near. I hear his muffled cries and
desperate prayers: Why God? Why her and not me? It reminds me a bit of that
famous prayer from the cross, Why have you forsaken me? The old preacher used
to say that Jesus was forsaken so that those he loved would join him in
paradise. But why has God forsaken me?
This is the
question that gnaws at my dad. If he could, he too would bare the thorns and
nails so that he could bend back the bars of death and allow me to pass
through. But instead, he must watch the light of life pass from his baby’s
eyes. He is a willing sacrifice without an altar to lie upon.
I open my
eyes and find the weary, bloodshot eyes of my dad gazing upon me. I watch him
as he pours himself a rum and coke. That’s his favorite for nights like these.
The caffeine vivifies the senses. The rum numbs the heart. He suddenly catches
his breath and shoots a knowing look at me. My heart jumps. My body would also
if it could.
He quickly
strolls from the room and I hear bumping and scraping extending from his
bedroom, through the center hallway, out into the living room. He comes back a
moment later with an armful of paintings. He knows how I fixate on those
color-saturated landscapes.
The first
one he shows me is of a small lake. In the heart of the lake, a grove of trees
rest upon a small island. Neither the leaves nor the water are disturbed by
wind or rain. Between the island and shoreline, a small fishing boat with two
indistinct passengers sits upon the still water. Those blurry figures are me and
my dad.
And I am
transported to the scene. I feel the slight humidity in the air as I lean back
upon the side of the boat. Dad? (I can talk!) Dad, do you ever wonder what life
would have been like without the wind? He looks from the water to me. “I do. I have
lived for these moments of serenity with you. I would have taken the storms
myself.”
The scene
around me goes dark and I am back in my room. My dad is staring intently at me
and whispering (praying?). He sees that I have emerged from that picture and
shows me another. It is a small, lighted home amidst a dark, snowy night.
Through the window, you can faintly see a smiling old man and a decorated tree.
My feet
crunch on the snow and I near the doorway and gently knock. My dad,
rosy-cheeked and gleeful, turns the latch and welcomes me in. The room swims
with warmth and the mingled smells of pine and turkey engulf me. I look over at
the expansive tree and see a single ball hanging from its sturdiest branch. My
throat constricts and I choke out “Daddy.”
Dad, that
tree will look naked and empty without that ball there. What will you do in
coming years without it? “That ball is not coming down, my dear, nor will that
tree ever be moved. You may fade from this picture, but my love for you will
not fade. Love is strong as death.” And with that, the crackling fire in the
hearth is snuffed out.
I once
again lock eyes with my dad, but his cheeks are drawn pale and thin, and there
is not the least hint of laughter. He reads my return in my eyes and proceeds
to show a final, very normal painting: Two people, holding hands upon a
hillside, looking up at a starry sky. And I find myself upon a bed of lush
grass.
I whimper a
little. Daddy, I’m scared. The millions of stars are breathtaking when I can
feel your hand and hear you breathe. But what will happen when it’s just me and
the darkness with no hand to hold onto? “Kayla Joy, I am not giving you up. I
am giving you away. You will have another hand to take. Peace, little lamb.”
I drifted
off briefly. I awake and every point of my body is filled with pain and decay,
but I have peace. I hear the steady din of rain upon the roof and wind upon the
windows. My peace is invaded by a profound sense of loss. I miss the rain,
wind, and natural elements as I miss Baby. I feel them slipping away too.
My dad, on
cue, seems to read my unspoken thoughts, walks over to the window and opens it.
In a dramatic gesture, he also kicks out the screen. I feel small drops of rain
as the breeze carries them upon me. I notice several small branches of a tree
swinging back and forth according to nature’s music. A hundred small globes of
water hang from the fingers of the branches, dropping and breaking in turn.
“I bet you
enjoy that,” Papa chuckled as he sat back down and dabbed a few drops from my eyes.
I do not begrudge the world for its continued vitality as you might think. The
living curse the world for its callousness toward the dead. The dead do no such
thing. They cling to it, embrace it, love it.
The old
preacher once said that this world is not our home. We’re just passing through.
But one day, when all is made right, it will be our home. I sure hope he is
right.
16.12.13
Why I Love the OPC (Even When I Don't Like It)
I knew practically nothing about the OPC (Orthodox Presbyterian Church) when I packed up and went to seminary. By the time seminary was over, I knew enough about the OPC to know that I never wanted to be a part of it.
There were four primary reasons I didn't want to go near the OPC at that point:
1) Size. How in the world can a denomination in a country of over 300 million people have less than 30,000 members? Especially at a time when Reformed theology, broadly-speaking, is sweeping through virtually all denominations and capturing hearts and minds with the biblical view of God's sovereignty and mercy to sinners?
I would often spar with a URC (United Reformed Church) professor who would ask me why I was staying in an deteriorating denomination (EPC--Evangelical Presbyterian Church) and I would ask him why he preferred to cut and run rather than fight for the heart and soul of a denomination (the URC left the CRC--Christian Reformed Church, which is also quickly eroding).
Like my friends who were going back into the CRC after seminary, I planned to go back into the EPC and "reverse-Machenize" the EPC (Machen led the exodus from the P(resbyterian)C(hurch)USA after apostates who denied the core tenants of the Gospel took over most of the denominational bodies and seminaries). Of course, pride was a big part of this for me.
2) Attitude. In general, the most harsh and arrogant people I met in seminary were OPC-bound. These were often the classmates who would raise their hands to offer long discourses rather than ask the professors questions. They were the students who would smirk and offer snide remarks about other believers whose theology was askew. They were the students who would be most likely to cry "heresy" at their fellow students during the preaching practicums.
I have never been frightened of public speaking. In fact, I love it. But there were times in seminary when I dreaded our preaching classes. I was new to Reformed theology, was not raised on it, and did not make Calvin's Institutes my bathroom reading as was the custom of some of my classmates. I opened up about this fear to one of my PCA (Presbyterian Church in America) professors at one point, and he told me that my PCA brothers would always look out for me. And it was true. At seminary and at church (New Life PCA), I was safe to grow.
3) Accessibility. As I grew in my knowledge and love of Christ, I was better able to understand some of the rich terminology and theology of Reformed/biblical teaching. But that didn't mean that others, apart from a seminary education, would catch on as quickly. As I would sit under OPC teaching/preaching on occasion in seminary, struggling to get what was being said, I knew that such teaching would be an immediate barrier to unbelievers and the young at faith. I attended a church, by contrast, where clear, Christ-centered preaching fed the flock and confronted the lost.
4) Personality. According to Sir Meiers-Briggs, I am an ENFP (extroverted, intuitive, feeling, perceptive). Most folks I knew in the OPC were decidedly not. They tended to be the exact opposite--introverted, sensory, thinking, judgmental. In the words of one beloved OPC elder/brother, everybody in his church was "either an engineer, computer scientist, lawyer, or named Dan." I not only felt out of place in such an environment, but I felt looked down upon for being my personalty type.
All that said, when the wife and I found it time to abandon the sinking EPC ship, we spent hours wrestling over various considerations (on a road trip, of course), and surprisingly, decided on the OPC. Why?
1) Purity of the Gospel. For all the drawbacks of the stereotypical OPC personality, these engineers-turned-theologians were hardcore about maintaining fidelity to the Scriptures and the confessions and hardcore about precision in how biblical truth is expressed. This precision scared me, as my personality lends itself to processing thoughts externally until a reach a final product, which gets me in trouble with precise people. That said, I knew I needed the accountability of such people to restrain the sinful excesses of my personality. In addition, my name had become mud amongst some in my previous denomination because I dared to say that I was indifferent to issues like baptism, women's ordination, and biblical authority.
The wifey and I decided that if there were issues to be fought in a denomination, we would rather them be fights of piety (the necessity of growing in grace, loving the body of Christ, sharing the Gospel and showing hospitality, etc.) than fights over essential doctrines of the faith and biblical authority.
2) Unity of the Church. For all that most Christians say about the need for the Church to be unified, most of them truly care little for Church unity. Non-denominational churches tend to be remote tribes that are entirely disconnected from other tribes, tongues, peoples, and languages and from ages past. I came to faith and matured in a wonderful EPC church, but odds are, if I randomly attended another EPC church, I would be lucky to hear the Gospel preached. Even in the PCA (which, like the EPC, will always occupy a precious place in my heart), there were heterodox movements that seemed to grow unabated.
The wifey and I both figured that the Pacific Northwest would be our mostly likely destination eventually, and while the OPC was growing and church-planting in the region, the PCA was wracked by the Federal Vision, with its Romanist view of salvation through baptism and maintenance of salvation by good works. If we attend a random OPC church, odds are that we will hear Christ and Christ crucified preached, even if the church is a bit socially awkward. :)
3) Accountability. This is more personal than substantive, but I needed accountability. My personality type tends toward the Pentecostal and the PCA is a much more natural fit for me. Yet, while my God-given strengths would shine (and be appreciated more) in the PCA, my vast array of weakness and the sin that so easily entangles me would not find the same level of confrontation.
As long as I am in the OPC (hopefully, the rest of my life), I will have people who will not hear a word said from the pulpit except the word that they find objectionable. Yet, even as their criticism hurts, they push me toward greater precision and fidelity with my treatment of God's Word. Folks will likewise always be suspicious of my extroverted tendencies, but like my wife, these more-introverted types will help reign in my oft-reckless speech. I need the OPC for my sanctification.
The first week the wifey and I attended an OPC after our switch over, it was scary. Home school families occupied entire pews (reminding me of Children of the Corn). Some women wore ankle-length dresses and skirts that I had rarely seen before. But within that first week, three families had us over for a meal--one of the pastors, a Reformed Baptist evangelist-type, and an Air Force officer and his spunky wife. We were different from most of our brothers and sisters, but we were loved.
Now we are part of a different OPC body, but many of the dynamics are the same. My personality doesn't automatically click with many of my brothers and sisters, but there are deeper bonds than that of affinity--those of family. It is sometimes hard to mobilize folks to get deep with one another and to share the Gospel with friends and family, but what a more worthwhile battle than having to shore up the basics of the Gospel! The church grows, and with it, more people comes who are like me (with similar strengths and weaknesses). And with the greater diversity, our church is made a more comfortable places for folks from all walks of life. The greater offense proves to be the Gospel, with its attending conviction of sin and comfort in Christ. And that is just the way it should be.
There were four primary reasons I didn't want to go near the OPC at that point:
1) Size. How in the world can a denomination in a country of over 300 million people have less than 30,000 members? Especially at a time when Reformed theology, broadly-speaking, is sweeping through virtually all denominations and capturing hearts and minds with the biblical view of God's sovereignty and mercy to sinners?
I would often spar with a URC (United Reformed Church) professor who would ask me why I was staying in an deteriorating denomination (EPC--Evangelical Presbyterian Church) and I would ask him why he preferred to cut and run rather than fight for the heart and soul of a denomination (the URC left the CRC--Christian Reformed Church, which is also quickly eroding).
Like my friends who were going back into the CRC after seminary, I planned to go back into the EPC and "reverse-Machenize" the EPC (Machen led the exodus from the P(resbyterian)C(hurch)USA after apostates who denied the core tenants of the Gospel took over most of the denominational bodies and seminaries). Of course, pride was a big part of this for me.
2) Attitude. In general, the most harsh and arrogant people I met in seminary were OPC-bound. These were often the classmates who would raise their hands to offer long discourses rather than ask the professors questions. They were the students who would smirk and offer snide remarks about other believers whose theology was askew. They were the students who would be most likely to cry "heresy" at their fellow students during the preaching practicums.
I have never been frightened of public speaking. In fact, I love it. But there were times in seminary when I dreaded our preaching classes. I was new to Reformed theology, was not raised on it, and did not make Calvin's Institutes my bathroom reading as was the custom of some of my classmates. I opened up about this fear to one of my PCA (Presbyterian Church in America) professors at one point, and he told me that my PCA brothers would always look out for me. And it was true. At seminary and at church (New Life PCA), I was safe to grow.
3) Accessibility. As I grew in my knowledge and love of Christ, I was better able to understand some of the rich terminology and theology of Reformed/biblical teaching. But that didn't mean that others, apart from a seminary education, would catch on as quickly. As I would sit under OPC teaching/preaching on occasion in seminary, struggling to get what was being said, I knew that such teaching would be an immediate barrier to unbelievers and the young at faith. I attended a church, by contrast, where clear, Christ-centered preaching fed the flock and confronted the lost.
4) Personality. According to Sir Meiers-Briggs, I am an ENFP (extroverted, intuitive, feeling, perceptive). Most folks I knew in the OPC were decidedly not. They tended to be the exact opposite--introverted, sensory, thinking, judgmental. In the words of one beloved OPC elder/brother, everybody in his church was "either an engineer, computer scientist, lawyer, or named Dan." I not only felt out of place in such an environment, but I felt looked down upon for being my personalty type.
All that said, when the wife and I found it time to abandon the sinking EPC ship, we spent hours wrestling over various considerations (on a road trip, of course), and surprisingly, decided on the OPC. Why?
1) Purity of the Gospel. For all the drawbacks of the stereotypical OPC personality, these engineers-turned-theologians were hardcore about maintaining fidelity to the Scriptures and the confessions and hardcore about precision in how biblical truth is expressed. This precision scared me, as my personality lends itself to processing thoughts externally until a reach a final product, which gets me in trouble with precise people. That said, I knew I needed the accountability of such people to restrain the sinful excesses of my personality. In addition, my name had become mud amongst some in my previous denomination because I dared to say that I was indifferent to issues like baptism, women's ordination, and biblical authority.
The wifey and I decided that if there were issues to be fought in a denomination, we would rather them be fights of piety (the necessity of growing in grace, loving the body of Christ, sharing the Gospel and showing hospitality, etc.) than fights over essential doctrines of the faith and biblical authority.
2) Unity of the Church. For all that most Christians say about the need for the Church to be unified, most of them truly care little for Church unity. Non-denominational churches tend to be remote tribes that are entirely disconnected from other tribes, tongues, peoples, and languages and from ages past. I came to faith and matured in a wonderful EPC church, but odds are, if I randomly attended another EPC church, I would be lucky to hear the Gospel preached. Even in the PCA (which, like the EPC, will always occupy a precious place in my heart), there were heterodox movements that seemed to grow unabated.
The wifey and I both figured that the Pacific Northwest would be our mostly likely destination eventually, and while the OPC was growing and church-planting in the region, the PCA was wracked by the Federal Vision, with its Romanist view of salvation through baptism and maintenance of salvation by good works. If we attend a random OPC church, odds are that we will hear Christ and Christ crucified preached, even if the church is a bit socially awkward. :)
3) Accountability. This is more personal than substantive, but I needed accountability. My personality type tends toward the Pentecostal and the PCA is a much more natural fit for me. Yet, while my God-given strengths would shine (and be appreciated more) in the PCA, my vast array of weakness and the sin that so easily entangles me would not find the same level of confrontation.
As long as I am in the OPC (hopefully, the rest of my life), I will have people who will not hear a word said from the pulpit except the word that they find objectionable. Yet, even as their criticism hurts, they push me toward greater precision and fidelity with my treatment of God's Word. Folks will likewise always be suspicious of my extroverted tendencies, but like my wife, these more-introverted types will help reign in my oft-reckless speech. I need the OPC for my sanctification.
The first week the wifey and I attended an OPC after our switch over, it was scary. Home school families occupied entire pews (reminding me of Children of the Corn). Some women wore ankle-length dresses and skirts that I had rarely seen before. But within that first week, three families had us over for a meal--one of the pastors, a Reformed Baptist evangelist-type, and an Air Force officer and his spunky wife. We were different from most of our brothers and sisters, but we were loved.
Now we are part of a different OPC body, but many of the dynamics are the same. My personality doesn't automatically click with many of my brothers and sisters, but there are deeper bonds than that of affinity--those of family. It is sometimes hard to mobilize folks to get deep with one another and to share the Gospel with friends and family, but what a more worthwhile battle than having to shore up the basics of the Gospel! The church grows, and with it, more people comes who are like me (with similar strengths and weaknesses). And with the greater diversity, our church is made a more comfortable places for folks from all walks of life. The greater offense proves to be the Gospel, with its attending conviction of sin and comfort in Christ. And that is just the way it should be.
Without Rest Pt. 3
(If you haven't noticed yet, this little story is not real and a pretty dramatic departure from the normal fare of this blog. Rather, it is a short story I once wrote, that I am tweaking as I put it forth on this blog. I will continue to intersperse this story with my regular posts. This is part three of five.)
3
His thin
lips and button ears look like mine. My dad’s, I mean. The ears look funnier on
his 6’2 frame than my 5’6. They are too small for him. Perhaps that’s why he
wears the glasses when he doesn’t need to. They distract from the ears. His
eyes open for a second—scan the dark room—and flutter to a close.
The eyes
open wide a moment later when he hears the sound of coughing. I hear it too. It
is me. I cannot feel the cause of the coughing—whether it is fluid in my lungs
or a tickle in my throat. But I can see it. I watch my chest jump with each
cough. My head jumps with it. Sparklets of spit fly from my mouth, only to
disappear in the darkness. Two bony limbs roll back and forth helplessly at my
sides.
My dad is cradling
me in his arms. He holds me tightly, rocking my frail torso back and forth.
“Take deep breaths,” he says. But my coughing continues. Every so often, he
dabs at the corners of my mouth and eyes with a moist cloth. I feel no pain,
but am scared. Don’t let go, Daddy.
One of the
most terrifying and incredible nights of my life comes flooding into my mind,
only dulled briefly by each cough. It was a night like this one, where fear
reigned. I was in so much pain. It was like the worst case of cramps, but I
knew it was something else. That’s what scared me.
I had told
my dad earlier that it was just cramps and to leave me alone. But when he
walked into the room at 3am and I was pale and writhing in pain, he swept me up
in his arms, put me in the car, and rushed me to the hospital. Thus began
several weeks of testing that confirmed what we were beginning to suspect:
cancer.
That night,
he stayed by my side as they medicated me for the pain and began the initial
tests. I was terrified, but he kept stroking my hair and squeezing my hand.
“Don’t worry, Kayla Joy, your daddy is here. And he won’t leave.”
A week
after I got the official prognosis, I graduated from high school. Already
drained by weeks of testing and bad news, I feebly put on my gown. I still had
the figure, but not the heart. I lost it at some point during the endless
arrays of tests. The robe fit perfectly. It covered me.
As soon as
I took my seat, I began to cry. I cried during the stupid speeches, the songs,
and the handing out of diplomas. Many people grieve the loss of their youth; I
grieved that my youth had already spent me. I grieved the loss of my adulthood.
Perhaps my life had already peaked.
It seemed
particularly ironic that the final words from the valedictorian’s mouth were
“Now go and embrace the endless possibilities of your future.” With each
passing day and new bit of news, another possibility was eclipsed by the shadow
of death. The shadow crept further and further across the fertile expanse of my
life.
It’s not
that I was giving in to my predicament. Many people give in to death because
they are resigned to death. I was resigned to death because it was taking life
from me. I would fight it for one, ten, or fifty years. But death would
inevitably make the final move. It would win. It always does.
Children
are incredible for a number of reasons. I know because I always list those
reasons off in my mind as I eagerly hope for one of my own. My own Baby. One
reason that stands out to me is how carefree they are. Death is but a toothless
abstraction to them. It barks from the grave of the occasional grandparent, but
it doesn’t bite.
That
illusion reigns in the mind of a child, much like Santa Claus, superheroes, and
fairytales. Parents allow the illusions to persist, knowing that children need
them to grow, dream, and hope. They are too young to earn Santa’s toys—only
grace can bring it to them. They are too young to protect themselves—they need
superheroes who can survive the worst of nightmares. They need fairy tales so that
utopia can drown the imagination, even as dystopia drowns the reality.
Try sitting
down and telling a four-year-old boy that his mommy and daddy will die soon
after he has his own kids. Try it. Tell him that they are waiting for their own
parents to die now, knowing that they will be next. Before long, he will be in
the same position—waiting for them to die. He will be next.
Sorry to be
so depressing. I long for my superhero too. And my Santa. And fairytales. Who
will protect me from this nightmare? And give me what I cannot possibly earn?
Where is the land of peace for this body of sin and decay? I lift my eyes to
the mountains—where does my help come from?
I look and
I see my daddy. He can comfort, but he can’t save me. He has tears in his own
eyes as my coughs continue. He continues to dab at my face. My eyes lock in on
the tissue as he pulls it away, a string of blood and mucus connecting it to my
lips. My heart stirs.
“Don’t cry,
baby, don’t cry,” he whispers to me. Though I don’t know it, my eyes apparently
betray my heart. I don’t want him to see my tears, but I am powerless to stop
them. I am powerless to do anything. But he is powerless too. I want to help
him. I want to let him know that I am alright.
You had
that nightmare, I am sure. You are pursued and eventually cornered. All of your
escape plans, weapons, and recourses have been exhausted. You are thoroughly
helpless. All that is left is to scream. Scream to the heavens and hope that
someone might hear. But nothing comes from your mouth.
I sometimes
wonder if in those nightmares, someone would come were they to hear your
scream. Perhaps that is the true nightmare. Not the knowledge that you can’t
call for help, but the realization that your call might be answered if only you
could issue it forth. The terror is found in knowing that help might come, if
only you could call for it. Your demise rests in your failure.
Eventually,
my coughing subsides. I still hear a faint rattle, but at least my body is
still. My dad gently lays me back upon my pillow and adjusts the IV. He leans
forward and kisses my forehead: “You’re so beautiful and sweet. I’m so blessed
that you’re my daughter.”
To be
known. And loved. I am both. I envisage myself in a field in the dark of night.
Lightning streaks across the sky; thunder claps; rain pours. I am not alone to
face the fury of this storm. My dad clings to my hand, eyes locked onto something
unknown in the distance. He will not leave me.
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