This weekend marks a defining event of my childhood. At some point during the night of February 9, 1983, a mentally ill African-American man with a history of arson smashed the window of the southeast classroom of Greenville Christian School. The school had been renting the education wing of the old Washington Street Baptist Church, located, of course, at the intersection of Washington and Wellington Streets in North Greenville. The young man had been arrested on suspected arson of the structure before, but his prior target had been the old sanctuary proper.
The window through which he chose to set the fire was hidden behind a large, untrimmed cedar tree. The campus had been plagued with burglaries and other damage during the school's entire occupancy, dating back to 1977. Many times, human feces could be found in piles of paper - or not - in front of doorways or other nooks along the building's exterior. This included underneath the cedar tree which provided cover for the troubled man's crime. North Greenville was then -- and still is -- an economically depressed section of a smallish southern city. Surrounding the campus were rotting frame houses with notorious occupants. Beer bottles in what was then a dry city were as common on the school grounds as the slap of a plastic jump rope.
To young Christian children, the regular mistreatment of our campus signaled nothing short of the assaults of Satan and his minions. The young man who lit the fire served as the epitome of the evil out to destroy us. He wasn't just a firebug; he was a diabolical mind under demonic torment. The fire itself was the catharsis of our war against the Prince of Darkness.
Using little more than matches, the arsonist lit his fire in some papers against the inside wall beneath the broken window. The flame then spread directly upward and ignited the composite drop ceiling of the classroom. An angel altered the Greenville Fire Department quickly as the flame burned slowly across the dense ceiling. This slow-burn gave the fire "plenty to feed on" which fortuitously prevented a conflagration. However, the burning composite produced thick, choking smoke which filled every single square inch of the education wing. It seemed also to have an adhesive property to it, as the ruthless cloud absolutely covered every surface it enveloped with a foul-smelling brown film.
The next morning, Thursday, February 10, my mother woke up my sister and I late with the news. Even though we knew Satan was out to get us, nothing gets a 5th grader out of bed faster than news that his school burned. I will admit I wanted to rush to campus and take in the awful shock of what I had just heard. Soon we were joined by other board members, including my dad, in inspecting the damage.
I was struck by the gallons upon gallons of water everywhere. At first, I thought the fire had burned the pipes and caused a massive leak, but it was quickly explained that the fire hoses caused this water damage. Again, the perverse side of me was a little disappointed that my classroom, which adjoined the one where the fire started, wasn't a charred cinder. But after seeing all the water damage, it was revealing to me how the cure seemed worse than the disaster.
But the damage to our school wasn't the defining moment I referred to earlier. Over the next seven days, including the weekend, the entire school family, as well as others in the community, got together to reopen. Southern Baptists, Independent Baptists, Catholics, Pentecostals, Charismatics, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists and just good'ol run-of-the-mill evangelicals worked hard to relocate classes to a church, scrub that stinky film off desks, and re-inventory which learning materials were still usable. And all of this without a headmaster (what we called a principal), who had resigned only weeks earlier.
I spent the remainder of 5th Grade crammed next to my classmates in half of a mobile home. The following autumn, however, we moved into a new campus which is the school's current location. Years later I told this story to a pastor friend up in the Chicago suburbs, and he couldn't believe the body of Christ worked together in this way. Today, I'm still struck by the same effort of faith. It is my gold standard for how I measure a Christian community.
Psalm 126:5
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
The Rove Wars
Every so often something happens in the political world for which I have an apt metaphor. Recently, the undulating blogosphere of conservatives and Republicans rioted with the news that Karl Rove, former consultant and Deputy Chief of Staff to President George W. Bush, had formed another PAC with the intent to follow the William F. Buckley goal of "nominating the best conservative who can get elected." This news and the way it's been reported has been viewed as anti-TEA Party. Why am I compelled to relate a story like this allegorically? Because it is an opportunity to really examine why political people feel the way they do - what makes them tick - and to rebuke same with the heart of the matter before we pull the trigger in the circular firing squad we've formed.
Rove has assumed an odd place in our political culture -- even the popular culture at large, to some degree. The victorious political consultant who acheives celebrity in his own right is a new phenomenon in American society and history. Over the past 35 years or so, Americans have begun to assume, enabled by the media, that no candidate arrives in the White House without a savant genius directing his every move. The first person to acheive this notoriety was Hamilton Jordan, one of Jimmy Carter's lead consultants in the 1976 campaign. This is ironic, given how when Carter was inaugurated he did not even have a Chief of Staff for over two years. With the exception of Reagan (more on this in a minute), no recent President -- or serious nominee -- has seemed to ride into the White House without a Tonto. Bush 41 had Atwater. Clinton, Carville. Then Bush, Rove and Obama, Axelrod. But even some of the loser's consultants have parlayed their ineptitude into a decent paycheck: Howard Dean's Joe Trippi has become what might be the first free agent of the punditocracy, taking gigs with both MSNBC and Fox in recent years.
Rove, however, has risen beyond the Robin role (or Batman, depending on one's level of cynicism about the process) that our modern media now expect when covering a presidental race -- any race, really, by now. Among Republicans, Rove has taken on (or created) two roles for himself: the GOP punching bag and GOP high priest. He has become a kind of Republican patriarch we secretly feel the need to have in the absence of strong leadership (see previous paragraph, re: Reagan and keep reading).
The far right, TEA-party, same-old-angry-people who vote Republican have taken the Oliver Stone view of American politics: that there's always an unseen godfather pulling the strings with the goal of ruining the country. Because Rove understands the importance of PACs in federal elections and has worked hard to create them (not just his latest one in question, the Conservative Victory Project), many conservatives of the myopic variety have eagerly assigned Rove the role as Old Man Potter out to ruin Bedford Falls and vainly rename it. (NOTE: while Karl Rove works tediously to organize PACs in accordance with the law, the revitalized Obama Democratic Party has mastered the under-$200-donor loophole in the election code so as to obscure their contribution sources).
By contrast, mainstream GOPers (I refuse to use the disgusting misnomer recently created: "establishment") turn to Rove by default when beaten and discouraged because he was the last guy to direct a winning presidental candidate. Mainstream GOPers tend to include big donors who can support Rove's PACs. Hence, Rove is able to create PACs, which are active everywhere. But because Republicans struggled last fall, Rove and his PACs are now to blame. So goes the love-hate persona Rove has been elevated to on the GOP side.
The Party's Rove relationship is a lot like The Clone Wars of the Star Wars Expanded Universe. The Clone Wars were an interregnum period of manipulation and chaos during the rise of Emperor Palpatine. Unlike the universe according to Lucas, however, the Rove Wars are a reflection of the vacuum of leadership that currently plagues the GOP. To be sure, Rove himself has committed serious strategic missteps, especially in the areas of public policy (he alone is responsible for the spike in federal education spending; he also caused the defection of Vermont Senator Jim Jeffords in a 50-50 Senate back in 2001). But is he a Sith Lord? Of course not.
The Rove Wars are a reflection of a bad leadership model we have come to accept -- the one of Lone Ranger/Tonto or Batman/Robin -- which brings me back to President Reagan. I'm not sentamentalist, and I am not sure President Reagan would do as well in today's primary system. What I am sure of, however, is that Presdent Reagan - quite the contrary to how he's been portrayed - kept his consultants at the consultant level. Jim Baker, Michael Deaver, David Gergen -- all were talented men who took orders from a man with an exceptionally clear vision. No, Reagan wasn't a wonk. Yes, he could seem unempathetic -- a quality that is a must-have for today's candidate. But he knew what he knew and he willed it to be carried out. He didn't need someone to consult on agenda items that in some respects saved our country: growth-oriented tax policy, defense against a well-organized Communist empire, and the proper role of government.
When will the GOP find someone to bring balance to the Force? My ability to pick the next Jedi is muddled with my self-interest. But I do know this: hate, fear -- and I would add, envy -- these are the pathways to the Dark Side.
Rove has assumed an odd place in our political culture -- even the popular culture at large, to some degree. The victorious political consultant who acheives celebrity in his own right is a new phenomenon in American society and history. Over the past 35 years or so, Americans have begun to assume, enabled by the media, that no candidate arrives in the White House without a savant genius directing his every move. The first person to acheive this notoriety was Hamilton Jordan, one of Jimmy Carter's lead consultants in the 1976 campaign. This is ironic, given how when Carter was inaugurated he did not even have a Chief of Staff for over two years. With the exception of Reagan (more on this in a minute), no recent President -- or serious nominee -- has seemed to ride into the White House without a Tonto. Bush 41 had Atwater. Clinton, Carville. Then Bush, Rove and Obama, Axelrod. But even some of the loser's consultants have parlayed their ineptitude into a decent paycheck: Howard Dean's Joe Trippi has become what might be the first free agent of the punditocracy, taking gigs with both MSNBC and Fox in recent years.
Rove, however, has risen beyond the Robin role (or Batman, depending on one's level of cynicism about the process) that our modern media now expect when covering a presidental race -- any race, really, by now. Among Republicans, Rove has taken on (or created) two roles for himself: the GOP punching bag and GOP high priest. He has become a kind of Republican patriarch we secretly feel the need to have in the absence of strong leadership (see previous paragraph, re: Reagan and keep reading).
The far right, TEA-party, same-old-angry-people who vote Republican have taken the Oliver Stone view of American politics: that there's always an unseen godfather pulling the strings with the goal of ruining the country. Because Rove understands the importance of PACs in federal elections and has worked hard to create them (not just his latest one in question, the Conservative Victory Project), many conservatives of the myopic variety have eagerly assigned Rove the role as Old Man Potter out to ruin Bedford Falls and vainly rename it. (NOTE: while Karl Rove works tediously to organize PACs in accordance with the law, the revitalized Obama Democratic Party has mastered the under-$200-donor loophole in the election code so as to obscure their contribution sources).
By contrast, mainstream GOPers (I refuse to use the disgusting misnomer recently created: "establishment") turn to Rove by default when beaten and discouraged because he was the last guy to direct a winning presidental candidate. Mainstream GOPers tend to include big donors who can support Rove's PACs. Hence, Rove is able to create PACs, which are active everywhere. But because Republicans struggled last fall, Rove and his PACs are now to blame. So goes the love-hate persona Rove has been elevated to on the GOP side.
The Party's Rove relationship is a lot like The Clone Wars of the Star Wars Expanded Universe. The Clone Wars were an interregnum period of manipulation and chaos during the rise of Emperor Palpatine. Unlike the universe according to Lucas, however, the Rove Wars are a reflection of the vacuum of leadership that currently plagues the GOP. To be sure, Rove himself has committed serious strategic missteps, especially in the areas of public policy (he alone is responsible for the spike in federal education spending; he also caused the defection of Vermont Senator Jim Jeffords in a 50-50 Senate back in 2001). But is he a Sith Lord? Of course not.
The Rove Wars are a reflection of a bad leadership model we have come to accept -- the one of Lone Ranger/Tonto or Batman/Robin -- which brings me back to President Reagan. I'm not sentamentalist, and I am not sure President Reagan would do as well in today's primary system. What I am sure of, however, is that Presdent Reagan - quite the contrary to how he's been portrayed - kept his consultants at the consultant level. Jim Baker, Michael Deaver, David Gergen -- all were talented men who took orders from a man with an exceptionally clear vision. No, Reagan wasn't a wonk. Yes, he could seem unempathetic -- a quality that is a must-have for today's candidate. But he knew what he knew and he willed it to be carried out. He didn't need someone to consult on agenda items that in some respects saved our country: growth-oriented tax policy, defense against a well-organized Communist empire, and the proper role of government.
When will the GOP find someone to bring balance to the Force? My ability to pick the next Jedi is muddled with my self-interest. But I do know this: hate, fear -- and I would add, envy -- these are the pathways to the Dark Side.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Recent Birthdays
Saturday was Robert E. Lee's birthday, a commemorative date so forgotten that it's no longer worth the paper of the calendar it's printed on. Some states in the Deep South actually merged the date out of quiet protest with the Martin Luther King holiday they adopted during the 1980s and 90s. Texas didn't do this, as the state had already created a "Confederate Heroes Day" on January 19 forty years ago. While staff duties are cut back on this day at Texas agencies, state offices fully observe the federal King holiday every third Monday of January.
President Obama's 2nd Inaguration yesterday signaled more than just the deadness of a holiday like Lee's birthday. I don't know that I've ever heard an inaguration speech more agenda-oriented. He's allowed to do this, of course; I'm not faulting him for that. And there's part of me that would have wanted to work with him, but the President has proven completely unwilling to work with me. But again, I don't mean to single him out for this attitude. Ever since President Bush 41's infamous 1990 Budget Deal, the White House - every White House - has operated on a "we will take only what our power/majority will get" strategy. Clinton was the master at this, especially considering that of the entire past 20 years, he had the toughest opposition in Congress. Actions of honorable compromise and concession, which was the true legacy of General Lee, are as moribund as the commemoration of his birthday.
But there is another Civil War legacy that might be as dead as Lee's, and that is, ironically, the one of conciliation put forward by Abraham Lincoln. True, he took no prisoners in the pursuit of his agenda. But once vanquished, Lincoln held fervently to a spirit of forgiveness and compassion toward his enemies. Lee knew this, and it was one of the reasons Lee trusted Grant and the Commander-in-Chief to recieve a surrender.
President Obama and his supporters have yet to demonstrate this aspect of Lincoln's legacy. So hellbent have they been in executing their plan of social justice, no where yet do I see the slightest hint of openness toward their opponents. There is always time to change, but I am not holding my breath. I would gladly like to be counted among the loyal opposition if I knew the President would have me.
So in the spirit of Lee's conciliation, on this day I would like to lay out where and how I stand in relation to the President's agenda. I am not asking for anything at this point. I simply feel that an honest presentation of what most of last fall's losers really think and feel has not yet been presented. I will lay out just a few issues:
President Obama's 2nd Inaguration yesterday signaled more than just the deadness of a holiday like Lee's birthday. I don't know that I've ever heard an inaguration speech more agenda-oriented. He's allowed to do this, of course; I'm not faulting him for that. And there's part of me that would have wanted to work with him, but the President has proven completely unwilling to work with me. But again, I don't mean to single him out for this attitude. Ever since President Bush 41's infamous 1990 Budget Deal, the White House - every White House - has operated on a "we will take only what our power/majority will get" strategy. Clinton was the master at this, especially considering that of the entire past 20 years, he had the toughest opposition in Congress. Actions of honorable compromise and concession, which was the true legacy of General Lee, are as moribund as the commemoration of his birthday.
But there is another Civil War legacy that might be as dead as Lee's, and that is, ironically, the one of conciliation put forward by Abraham Lincoln. True, he took no prisoners in the pursuit of his agenda. But once vanquished, Lincoln held fervently to a spirit of forgiveness and compassion toward his enemies. Lee knew this, and it was one of the reasons Lee trusted Grant and the Commander-in-Chief to recieve a surrender.
President Obama and his supporters have yet to demonstrate this aspect of Lincoln's legacy. So hellbent have they been in executing their plan of social justice, no where yet do I see the slightest hint of openness toward their opponents. There is always time to change, but I am not holding my breath. I would gladly like to be counted among the loyal opposition if I knew the President would have me.
So in the spirit of Lee's conciliation, on this day I would like to lay out where and how I stand in relation to the President's agenda. I am not asking for anything at this point. I simply feel that an honest presentation of what most of last fall's losers really think and feel has not yet been presented. I will lay out just a few issues:
- Marriage for Homosexual Men and Women - I am not a homophobe. I am not terrified of gay men, nor do I fear gay people being around my children. If anything bothers me about the lesbians ahead of me in the Walmart check-out line, it's that they are arguing over the per pound price of pork chops and holding everyone up. I do, however, care about how civil institutions recognize the official pairing of gay people. I hold fervently to the idea that a state or local jurisdiction can and should decide this (the U.S. Constitution does not need to proscribe a definition of marriage or the right thereof any more than it should define the population value of a slave). I believe my community should be able to express my values about what I think marriage should be. My faith informs these values. Allowing a civil institution to bless the marriage of homosexual people is one step closer to forcing a religious institution to recognize such a marriage. To link "rights" with loving someone is absurd. Otherwise, I truly don't care how you live and how you love unless you are claiming the name of the Lord Jesus over your life and relationships, concerning which Christians have been given very clear instructions about how we are to reflect him.
- Budget and taxation issues - I believe a human being should be able to chart his or her own course in life. I hold dearly to God's Providence as the means to do this. Public policy can and should support this, but only to a modest degree. The problem is determining the modest degree, and deciding what boundaries to put on entitlements or "ladders of opportunity." 47% of our nation no longer sees public assistance as a safety net; the government is a big box retailer to almost all of these people, be they an immigrant, a single parent, a disability applicant, a veteran, a widower, a member of an ethnic minority intent on revenge, and even many professionals.
- The Second Amendment - It is true we no longer require a militia to defend our lands as was the case as recently as 150 years ago. Accordingly, full-auto firearms, grenades, mortars and SAMs should be restricted from public purchase. This is the extent to which the right to bear arms should be restricted without being infringed.
- Violence in media - a non-issue
- Climate Change - climate change has been proven to be a natural phenomenon as much an anthropogenic one. There is a case to be made that the global industrialization of the past 100 years has had an impact, but only a modest one. Do we cancel out fossil fuels until we better understand the human contribution? Of course not. The country's best scientists state there shouldn't be cause for alarm and there is no need for catastrophic predictions and poltical hysteria. America does not need to "lead" in this area.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Can't Wait for Tomorrow to End, part II OR, It's OK, There's Enough Whipped Cream Left.
Well, we have survived. Minor damage to the premesis, all repairable with a vacuum cleaner.
The End began yesterday. Just like a Hollywood disaster movie, the cataclysm started on the other end of the neighborhood and rolled this direction. Wind was displaced. Clanging sounds were heard. Dogs barked. Fence posts rattled. Trees bent and debris stirred along the streets.
Then they arrived, each one carrying packs of mischief draped from their 11-year-old frames. You've heard of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, these were the Seven Packmules of Judgment. The single most prevalent item in these bags of terror were Airsoft pellets. A Homeland Security warning was put out against such items; still, they found their way through security. Preppers, every last one of 'em. One even conveyed his private stash of Wavy Lays - now that's survivalism.
I thought we had dodged the worst of it for most of the evening. Our stockpile held out. The toilet didn't clog, although it appeared that one or two of the survivors made an unauthorized discharge of their poop chute in the executive washroom. But then, the unexpected. The Birthday Boy came screaming into headquarters that toilet paper was being flung at our walls. Upon inspection, a small gang of 6th grade females were seen fleeing in terror, their efforts completely busted. Some still carried the rolls in their hands; caught brown-handed, I guess you could say. Others stared, frozen. One was so bewildered that her shoes flew off.
Our only female, a 9-year-old, who was part of our group was seized with panic and excitement. She grabbed a broom and held it high against the assault team of other girls. "Let's get this party started!" she declared, shaking her hips.
Eventually, the zombies were chased off. Shoes were returned. The 911 call was rescinded. The National Guard stood down. Quiet was rediscovered. The leadership of the band of survivors prepared for rest.
Then the giant 14-year-old arrived, having temporarily joined another camp. He trudged into headquarters and collapsed on to the carpet. "Dad, you're carpet's so comfortable..." and trailed off to sleep. Not wanting to awake the monster, I left him as I was when I retired. Lights out, however, I could not fall asleep in spite of my exhaustion. His zombie force wheezed in and out of his greasy mouth and nose, making a maddening guttural sound. I decided I had to risk it. I gently roused the beast and directed him to the light, down the hall where other creatures of the night had gathered. There were no repercussions, fortunately.
The next thing I remember was looking at the clock and seeing 6 am. The sounds across the premesis were identical to those I heard the last time I saw the clock, when it read 11:42. I gave them an hour, and just as I predicted, Birthday Boy came in and asked when the pancakes would be ready. There was no, "I can't believe we survived the End of the World, Dad, I love you. Thanks for giving me NCAA 2013; we're gonna make it through this 'cause we're men." There was only, "Don't worry we have enough whip cream left for breakfast, so get up and start cooking."
Normalcy had returned. I have lived to tell this.
The End began yesterday. Just like a Hollywood disaster movie, the cataclysm started on the other end of the neighborhood and rolled this direction. Wind was displaced. Clanging sounds were heard. Dogs barked. Fence posts rattled. Trees bent and debris stirred along the streets.
Then they arrived, each one carrying packs of mischief draped from their 11-year-old frames. You've heard of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, these were the Seven Packmules of Judgment. The single most prevalent item in these bags of terror were Airsoft pellets. A Homeland Security warning was put out against such items; still, they found their way through security. Preppers, every last one of 'em. One even conveyed his private stash of Wavy Lays - now that's survivalism.
I thought we had dodged the worst of it for most of the evening. Our stockpile held out. The toilet didn't clog, although it appeared that one or two of the survivors made an unauthorized discharge of their poop chute in the executive washroom. But then, the unexpected. The Birthday Boy came screaming into headquarters that toilet paper was being flung at our walls. Upon inspection, a small gang of 6th grade females were seen fleeing in terror, their efforts completely busted. Some still carried the rolls in their hands; caught brown-handed, I guess you could say. Others stared, frozen. One was so bewildered that her shoes flew off.
Our only female, a 9-year-old, who was part of our group was seized with panic and excitement. She grabbed a broom and held it high against the assault team of other girls. "Let's get this party started!" she declared, shaking her hips.
Eventually, the zombies were chased off. Shoes were returned. The 911 call was rescinded. The National Guard stood down. Quiet was rediscovered. The leadership of the band of survivors prepared for rest.
Then the giant 14-year-old arrived, having temporarily joined another camp. He trudged into headquarters and collapsed on to the carpet. "Dad, you're carpet's so comfortable..." and trailed off to sleep. Not wanting to awake the monster, I left him as I was when I retired. Lights out, however, I could not fall asleep in spite of my exhaustion. His zombie force wheezed in and out of his greasy mouth and nose, making a maddening guttural sound. I decided I had to risk it. I gently roused the beast and directed him to the light, down the hall where other creatures of the night had gathered. There were no repercussions, fortunately.
The next thing I remember was looking at the clock and seeing 6 am. The sounds across the premesis were identical to those I heard the last time I saw the clock, when it read 11:42. I gave them an hour, and just as I predicted, Birthday Boy came in and asked when the pancakes would be ready. There was no, "I can't believe we survived the End of the World, Dad, I love you. Thanks for giving me NCAA 2013; we're gonna make it through this 'cause we're men." There was only, "Don't worry we have enough whip cream left for breakfast, so get up and start cooking."
Normalcy had returned. I have lived to tell this.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Can't Wait for Tomorrow to End, part I
It's finally here! The end of the world! Tomorrow, the foundation of my house will be shaken by 6th graders observing the birthday of one of their number. Added to the doom will be a giant, trudging 14-year-old capable of spewing attitude from his nostrils, and (more to the others) a pestilential little sister. I intend to survive this cataclysm by first hurling my stockpile of Newman's Own marinara at this horde. Then I will retreat to my bunker where everything I need to survive is in abundance: LOTR and Star Wars on Spotify, Sir Walter Raleigh in a pouch, and images of the patron saint of all good Calvinists who find themselves surrounded by struggle and conflict, Stonewall Jackson.
But in all seriousness, the question we should be asking as the world ends is not, Why God? but, Why can't I stop watching it? If the world is ending, why aren't I running my middle-aged buns off in the opposite direction? Why have I chosen to embrace it? Why am I rubbernecking at it as if Elvis just had a car wreck?
Why can't I turn off Fox News as they blather on about the fiscal cliff, which we were never going to avoid? Why do I keep wanting to strain apart the bewildering debate over the awful situation of a week ago, when there is no law that could have stopped it, nor will there ever be one to prevent a worse one from occuring? Why do I keep wanting to pour out my own bowls of judgment on every one who practices Islam and hates America? Why am I anxiously awaiting news that yet another celebrity or acquaintance or friend has crossed that last river this year? Why this gallows humor?
I think the answer has something to do with a secret desire that the world really would end. There, I admitted it! I am honest, while everyone else is just whistling in the Walmart aisle.
Bring it on! Apocalypse, you've messed with the wrong Yankee-educated Redneck.
That's all I've got for now. Tune in tomorrow, and I'll let you know what I saw when the world ended.
But in all seriousness, the question we should be asking as the world ends is not, Why God? but, Why can't I stop watching it? If the world is ending, why aren't I running my middle-aged buns off in the opposite direction? Why have I chosen to embrace it? Why am I rubbernecking at it as if Elvis just had a car wreck?
Why can't I turn off Fox News as they blather on about the fiscal cliff, which we were never going to avoid? Why do I keep wanting to strain apart the bewildering debate over the awful situation of a week ago, when there is no law that could have stopped it, nor will there ever be one to prevent a worse one from occuring? Why do I keep wanting to pour out my own bowls of judgment on every one who practices Islam and hates America? Why am I anxiously awaiting news that yet another celebrity or acquaintance or friend has crossed that last river this year? Why this gallows humor?
I think the answer has something to do with a secret desire that the world really would end. There, I admitted it! I am honest, while everyone else is just whistling in the Walmart aisle.
Bring it on! Apocalypse, you've messed with the wrong Yankee-educated Redneck.
That's all I've got for now. Tune in tomorrow, and I'll let you know what I saw when the world ended.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
All I Want for Christmas is a Creative Republican
Republicans have once again been steamrolled on messaging. The Obama Administration and the Democrats have sold the American public on returning to the Clinton-modified fiscal policies of the 1960s. For a party that ridiculed President Regan for his nostalgic rhetoric about America's past, the Democrats' crowing on about the good ol'days of LBJ-Clinton tax-and-spend policies is nauseatingly hypocritical. But to give the devil and his demons their due, the White House has successfully undermined the concern of the fiscal cliff and is now preparing the country for the good things that will happen once the rich start paying their fair share.
The President's finesse on the debate has been aided by an inability of the taxpaying public to understand what will happen. We will arrive at the fiscal cliff on January 1, we will feel the bump underneath our tires and we will keep going. It won't be until April 15, 2014 when we will all have to file at higher marginal rates along with reduced child tax credits, among other things, that we will wonder why there's no road beneath us. Until then, our vehicles will look like those wide shots of a stunt vehicle flying off a California ledge in slow motion. Obama is betting that to most Americans, paying a little more in marginal rates will be no different than paying a little more at the gas pump.
But what America and even many Republicans are failing to understand is that when federal revenues go full tilt starting next year, the expected contraction of the already anemic U.S. economy will be by design. Liberal economists want there to be a shrink to what they in their Bolshevik mentality see as a bourgeois "market culture run amok" (to borrow a phrase Newsweek once used to describe the 80s). It's the perfect storm - the Hurricane Sandy -- of central planning: prevent retailers from expanding so that consumers will quit being victimized, Chinese manufacturers will quit stealing our jobs, food processors will quit selling high fructose corn syrup, developers will quit getting rich, land will quit getting paved, cars won't have to drive as far to the mall and the environment will be protected. In the minds of liberal economists, they will kill multiple birds with one stone. They will one day congratulate themselves on getting the 47% to pay more (even though health care subsidies will go to them through the back door).
Any idea of growing the economy is irrelevant to these apparatchniks. It was during the election and during O's first term. And, so-called sustainable growth is viewed cyncially. Socialists believe that spending is always a given, that there will always be a baseline for private sector sales and the funds they transfer up the line to CEOs. They believe that corporations should retain most of the capital in an economy in an effort to control and minimize risk and waste -- venture capital they think should be coming to them and their efforts to control the unemployed through the welfare state. The horror of this situation is that innovation is choked. Warren Buffett, George Lucas, Craig Jelinek and everyone else who writes big checks to the DNC would be nowhere without the radical tax and spending changes of the 80s and 90s executed by Republicans. Paul Krugman recently hummed about how we now have better food than the Twinkie to get us through a 50s and 60s-style "fair" economy; where does he think our better food today came from?!?!
Which brings us back to where we conservatives have failed, why our message is weak and simply not being heard. We can't blame the news media - Fox News has made it their mission to hype up the fiscal cliff, but the number one news broadcaster is not breaking through. The failure came in September 2008 when John McCain waffled on his opposition to the bank bailouts. He had a chance, right after the GOP convention, to make himself look different than the status quo. Republicans in the House were backing him up. He buckled, along with a host of GOP Senators. Yes, there would have been serious economic consequences to allowing those banks to fail, but probably no worse than what has happened anyway. But more importantly, it would have defined the GOP as NOT the puppet of the rich, even if McCain would have lost. This label is what has wiped out our mainstream appeal. Attempting to fill the vacuum is the TEA Party, but their acerbic amateurism has only made Republicans more off-putting.
As a result, no one is listening to us anymore. Even when Senator McConnell put revenue increases on the table, the Obama Administration yawned and polished up their golf balls. The President believes that the rejection of Romney last month signaled a clear rejection of the economics which turned our nation around three decades ago. I think he believes correctly. I want a creative Republican for Christmas.
The President's finesse on the debate has been aided by an inability of the taxpaying public to understand what will happen. We will arrive at the fiscal cliff on January 1, we will feel the bump underneath our tires and we will keep going. It won't be until April 15, 2014 when we will all have to file at higher marginal rates along with reduced child tax credits, among other things, that we will wonder why there's no road beneath us. Until then, our vehicles will look like those wide shots of a stunt vehicle flying off a California ledge in slow motion. Obama is betting that to most Americans, paying a little more in marginal rates will be no different than paying a little more at the gas pump.
But what America and even many Republicans are failing to understand is that when federal revenues go full tilt starting next year, the expected contraction of the already anemic U.S. economy will be by design. Liberal economists want there to be a shrink to what they in their Bolshevik mentality see as a bourgeois "market culture run amok" (to borrow a phrase Newsweek once used to describe the 80s). It's the perfect storm - the Hurricane Sandy -- of central planning: prevent retailers from expanding so that consumers will quit being victimized, Chinese manufacturers will quit stealing our jobs, food processors will quit selling high fructose corn syrup, developers will quit getting rich, land will quit getting paved, cars won't have to drive as far to the mall and the environment will be protected. In the minds of liberal economists, they will kill multiple birds with one stone. They will one day congratulate themselves on getting the 47% to pay more (even though health care subsidies will go to them through the back door).
Any idea of growing the economy is irrelevant to these apparatchniks. It was during the election and during O's first term. And, so-called sustainable growth is viewed cyncially. Socialists believe that spending is always a given, that there will always be a baseline for private sector sales and the funds they transfer up the line to CEOs. They believe that corporations should retain most of the capital in an economy in an effort to control and minimize risk and waste -- venture capital they think should be coming to them and their efforts to control the unemployed through the welfare state. The horror of this situation is that innovation is choked. Warren Buffett, George Lucas, Craig Jelinek and everyone else who writes big checks to the DNC would be nowhere without the radical tax and spending changes of the 80s and 90s executed by Republicans. Paul Krugman recently hummed about how we now have better food than the Twinkie to get us through a 50s and 60s-style "fair" economy; where does he think our better food today came from?!?!
Which brings us back to where we conservatives have failed, why our message is weak and simply not being heard. We can't blame the news media - Fox News has made it their mission to hype up the fiscal cliff, but the number one news broadcaster is not breaking through. The failure came in September 2008 when John McCain waffled on his opposition to the bank bailouts. He had a chance, right after the GOP convention, to make himself look different than the status quo. Republicans in the House were backing him up. He buckled, along with a host of GOP Senators. Yes, there would have been serious economic consequences to allowing those banks to fail, but probably no worse than what has happened anyway. But more importantly, it would have defined the GOP as NOT the puppet of the rich, even if McCain would have lost. This label is what has wiped out our mainstream appeal. Attempting to fill the vacuum is the TEA Party, but their acerbic amateurism has only made Republicans more off-putting.
As a result, no one is listening to us anymore. Even when Senator McConnell put revenue increases on the table, the Obama Administration yawned and polished up their golf balls. The President believes that the rejection of Romney last month signaled a clear rejection of the economics which turned our nation around three decades ago. I think he believes correctly. I want a creative Republican for Christmas.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
The Greatest Presbyterian Who Ever Lived
The following is a tribute to my former pastor, Tom Barnes. Tom was the Teaching Elder of our little P.C.A. congregation in Greenville, Westminster Presbyterian Church, from 1989-2005. He has completed his sojourn here on earth now in Robertsdale, Alabama, surrounded by his family. This blog is being distrubed privately to those of us closest to the Barnes.
Why are we Christians? Why does God choose us, and why do we reciprocate the choice? Every now and then in life you meet someone who fully answers the question. This individual doesn't actually give a verbal answer, but instead reveals it through his life and actions, of which any words to the effect are a subset. This individual is an expression of the Master Artist. He or she is a sculpture fitted for God's garden, even if we are currently banished from the garden.
Tom Barnes was one of these individuals. He had been in private business and received the call to ministry late in life. He left behind a successful insurance agency to work as a church janitor so that he could attend seminary during the day. Simultaneously, he and his wife Mary had their third child, Claire. He joked that his fellow seminary students claimed that Tom and Mary's conception of Claire proved the scientific likelihood of Abraham and Sarah's conception of Isaac.
This is but one example of the joy that coursed through his veins. But it is his actions I will never forget. When one smarts off his mouth, God gives one a Tom Barnes to gently correct the attitude. When one abuses the gifts one has been given, God gives one a Tom Barnes. When one makes commitments one can't or won't honor, God gives one a Tom Barnes. When one is so full of himself so as to manipulate others into the same delusion, God gives one a Tom Barnes. When one’s family is in pieces, God gives a Tom Barnes. When one's sinfulness and weakness succeed in alienating one from everyone else who cares about you, God gives one a Tom Barnes. God gave me a Tom Barnes.
Presbyterians are notorious for being inward, or the "frozen chosen." Whether you are involved in a vibrant fellowship or a dying mainline congregation, the tendency of those of us whose worship is intricately woven with Calvinism tend to think we’re special. Tragically, and in disobedience to God, our openness and evangelism suffers. Not so if you ever met Tom Barnes. He understood compassion and didn’t think twice about expressing it. Presbyterians get their name from the Greek presbuteros, which means “elder.” The ancient Hebrews used it to describe the men of faithful devotion in their synagogues and institutions well before Paul used it in explaining how a church was to be organized and governed. 1 Timothy 3:2-4 lists the qualities a “presbyter” is to have. The verses read like the Apostle just met Tom Barnes. He was the greatest Presbyterian who ever lived.
When we wonder why we are Christians, God reveals to us a Tom Barnes so that we can not only see and understand the model, but we can get a glimpse of what that mysterious thing called God's glory looks like. Servants like Tom Barnes are the happy subtext to the Bible's statement that Christians become "the righteouness of Christ." When we doubt the journey we are on, we can look at the twilight faithfulness of a Tom Barnes and remember why we are Christians.
God bless you, Claire and Mary as you hold this great man by his hands as he nears the river. God bless you, Tom. Save me a place in the court of our King next to General Lee and Stonewall.
NOTE: This blog has been revised from its original post date.
Why are we Christians? Why does God choose us, and why do we reciprocate the choice? Every now and then in life you meet someone who fully answers the question. This individual doesn't actually give a verbal answer, but instead reveals it through his life and actions, of which any words to the effect are a subset. This individual is an expression of the Master Artist. He or she is a sculpture fitted for God's garden, even if we are currently banished from the garden.
Tom Barnes was one of these individuals. He had been in private business and received the call to ministry late in life. He left behind a successful insurance agency to work as a church janitor so that he could attend seminary during the day. Simultaneously, he and his wife Mary had their third child, Claire. He joked that his fellow seminary students claimed that Tom and Mary's conception of Claire proved the scientific likelihood of Abraham and Sarah's conception of Isaac.
This is but one example of the joy that coursed through his veins. But it is his actions I will never forget. When one smarts off his mouth, God gives one a Tom Barnes to gently correct the attitude. When one abuses the gifts one has been given, God gives one a Tom Barnes. When one makes commitments one can't or won't honor, God gives one a Tom Barnes. When one is so full of himself so as to manipulate others into the same delusion, God gives one a Tom Barnes. When one’s family is in pieces, God gives a Tom Barnes. When one's sinfulness and weakness succeed in alienating one from everyone else who cares about you, God gives one a Tom Barnes. God gave me a Tom Barnes.
Presbyterians are notorious for being inward, or the "frozen chosen." Whether you are involved in a vibrant fellowship or a dying mainline congregation, the tendency of those of us whose worship is intricately woven with Calvinism tend to think we’re special. Tragically, and in disobedience to God, our openness and evangelism suffers. Not so if you ever met Tom Barnes. He understood compassion and didn’t think twice about expressing it. Presbyterians get their name from the Greek presbuteros, which means “elder.” The ancient Hebrews used it to describe the men of faithful devotion in their synagogues and institutions well before Paul used it in explaining how a church was to be organized and governed. 1 Timothy 3:2-4 lists the qualities a “presbyter” is to have. The verses read like the Apostle just met Tom Barnes. He was the greatest Presbyterian who ever lived.
When we wonder why we are Christians, God reveals to us a Tom Barnes so that we can not only see and understand the model, but we can get a glimpse of what that mysterious thing called God's glory looks like. Servants like Tom Barnes are the happy subtext to the Bible's statement that Christians become "the righteouness of Christ." When we doubt the journey we are on, we can look at the twilight faithfulness of a Tom Barnes and remember why we are Christians.
God bless you, Claire and Mary as you hold this great man by his hands as he nears the river. God bless you, Tom. Save me a place in the court of our King next to General Lee and Stonewall.
NOTE: This blog has been revised from its original post date.
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