I've been on radio blackout for a while. Why? Got married.
And what was the first birthday gift given to me by my wife? Walmart premiere passes for our new, 7-member family to Man of Steel. I also got a T-shirt with a super S emblazoned on it, which I of course wore to the event.
I believe in Superman.
So great is my faith, in fact, and semi-idolatrous, that we pulled the kids out of Baptist church camp 16 hours early so we could all make it to the premiere (WARNING: spoilers ahead). Which is why I must write on the ground as all the self-righteous heretics out there cast stones at this marvelous, spell-binding new version of the comic book character franchise. Let he who is without sin leap over the nearest tall building with a single bound.
The summer night my parents, family and friends sat in the Rolling Hills Twin Cinema in Greenville, Texas to see the first Reeve version in 1978 impacted my soul with a force equivalent to that of Episode IV a year earlier. But Superman: the Movie was different. Although I would absorb more of Lucas' Expanded Universe over time, the visuality of Superman burned itself with heat vision into that kinetic part of my consciousness. Superman represented raw excitement. For years afterward, I ran around the house with long pieces of cloth tied around my neck, until I finally outgrew them for a driver's license. Whereas Star Wars may have conveyed information and meaning into my imagination, Superman supplied the energy.
So when the Man of Steel trailers began to hit, I - and I suspect many millions of others - felt a shudder that a Snyder-Nolan reboot of the character could in fact provide us all with the best of both worlds (to borrow a phrase from the new movie). After all, we were "just about American as you get" - we aren't from a galaxy far, far away. We crave meaning here, now. And the ability to whup our enemies via the Jetstream.
And Snyder, et.al., delivered.
The movie is just as strong as its hero. Acting, effects, writing, themes, etc. There is only one minor plot flaw in that Zod's world engine seemed to straddle Metropolis at random during terraforming. No real reason is given as to why he didn't choose Tokyo, Gotham or London, other than that it's a Superman movie. But this is easily forgivable. I have determined that all the roughest reviews thus far are coming from late middle-age critics at dead media who long for Reeves & Reeve's sap. The Superman of their youth is that brightly-colored, sugary character who first appeared in an actual Technicolor cape in the late 50s. Their "energy" is the pixie stick; mine is the PowerBar. Therefore, it follows that the Snyder-Nolan-Cavill version with gravitas (that is successfully achieved, contrary to MSN) is going to be rejected by these nostalgic wimps. I would also argue that the Snyder-Nolan version is more in keeping with the spirit of the Depression-World War II Superman.
Which brings me back to the religious nature of following our hero. Quite unlike the late 70s and early 80s when Superman was just for kicks, the coverage of Man of Steel has made many overt, direct references to the parallels between his origin story and that of the Lord Jesus Christ. As part of the Walmart premier night event, we were subjected to a cold-water featurette at the beginning. But one salvageable comment from it comes from Kevin Costner who says, "We all are looking for someone who can fix everything." Indeed.
One of the more well-crafted themes of the filmmakers, I think, is their stark portrayal of bureaucratic blockage, be it the Council of Kryptonian Elders, the U.S. Army or The Daily Planet. Laurence Fishburne's Perry White is a lawsuit-at-the-ready old media editor who congratulates himself for protecting the public from what he thinks they can't understand; Harry Lennix' General Swanwick is a jerk of an officer who could be a Zod-in-waiting. As the faces of control, all I could think about in these scenes was our President.
Superman and Lois Lane war against these bureaucracies as much as they do an extraterrestrial threat. In other words, they are trying to save mankind from the big outer space zap as well as from itself! Yet this is the craving we have as spiritual beings. This is why Superman has endured for 75 years as a superstory. Kudos to the storytellers here for highlighting our superneed. I, at least, believe I have a need.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Saturday, March 2, 2013
"The Warrant"
After three years, I have finally published a new story. You can download it from Amazon either here or from the link above. BUY IT! Nowhere else this weekend will you be more entertained for $2.99 than by "The Warrant."
If you read The Princess, you will notice a significant switch in the genre of fiction I've taken up. In trying to create new, interesting characters for another political story, a secondary person became more interesting to me. This character was a more spiritual, allegorical personality, and so from there I junked the basic, narrative fiction formula I was in and went fantasy/sci-fi. Moreover, the political genre is virutally dead - there is more apathy toward it than our actual elections! Just take a look in a Walmart bulk box to see it packed with Richard North Patterson hardbacks.
But after switching, I began to realize that the angel/demon genre I was in was only slightly less beleaguered. For good or ill, Frank Peretti defined the genre back in the late 80s with his Present Darkness series. His "behind the curtain" look at spiritual warfare was novel, sensational, and a landmark in Christian fiction. In fact, until Peretti, most of us thought Christian fiction something of a scientific impossibility, if not sinful dabbling. The genre then fell off for several years, both in the Christian and secular presses, only spawning grocery-rack-style romances with any note. Then recently, different authors, most very new, have tried to revive it a'la Twilight or Harry Potter, hoping angels/demons would provide a vehicle for the next big thing. And it goes without saying that post-Peretti, most of these genre pieces are syncretistic at best, rarely attempting to conform with any type of conservative theology or spiritual truth.
So, I became anxious during prewriting about whether or not I was in the right genre, or if the genre even held any promise to be interesting. But, I kept putting fingertips to keyboard, and one day last autumn the story you can read for $2.99 as an e-book exploded out of my mind and onto the computer screen. I am confident you will find it compelling, and I hope you enjoy it. It comes more out of the 11-year-old creative recess of my brain. Once when asked what qualified him to write children's stories as a bachelor, C.S. Lewis replied, "Not only do I know some children, but believe it or not, I used to be one." (paraphrase)
Tell your friends! "The Warrant" is a unique look at the spirit world all around us. I thought it was about time to write about it, since they are already looking at us.
If you read The Princess, you will notice a significant switch in the genre of fiction I've taken up. In trying to create new, interesting characters for another political story, a secondary person became more interesting to me. This character was a more spiritual, allegorical personality, and so from there I junked the basic, narrative fiction formula I was in and went fantasy/sci-fi. Moreover, the political genre is virutally dead - there is more apathy toward it than our actual elections! Just take a look in a Walmart bulk box to see it packed with Richard North Patterson hardbacks.
But after switching, I began to realize that the angel/demon genre I was in was only slightly less beleaguered. For good or ill, Frank Peretti defined the genre back in the late 80s with his Present Darkness series. His "behind the curtain" look at spiritual warfare was novel, sensational, and a landmark in Christian fiction. In fact, until Peretti, most of us thought Christian fiction something of a scientific impossibility, if not sinful dabbling. The genre then fell off for several years, both in the Christian and secular presses, only spawning grocery-rack-style romances with any note. Then recently, different authors, most very new, have tried to revive it a'la Twilight or Harry Potter, hoping angels/demons would provide a vehicle for the next big thing. And it goes without saying that post-Peretti, most of these genre pieces are syncretistic at best, rarely attempting to conform with any type of conservative theology or spiritual truth.
So, I became anxious during prewriting about whether or not I was in the right genre, or if the genre even held any promise to be interesting. But, I kept putting fingertips to keyboard, and one day last autumn the story you can read for $2.99 as an e-book exploded out of my mind and onto the computer screen. I am confident you will find it compelling, and I hope you enjoy it. It comes more out of the 11-year-old creative recess of my brain. Once when asked what qualified him to write children's stories as a bachelor, C.S. Lewis replied, "Not only do I know some children, but believe it or not, I used to be one." (paraphrase)
Tell your friends! "The Warrant" is a unique look at the spirit world all around us. I thought it was about time to write about it, since they are already looking at us.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
30th Anniversary of GCS Fire
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
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
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.
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