Sometimes, stories in the media take on a life of their own.
And before you know it, a whole new reality has been constructed out of an insubstantial collection of facts and even less authoritative assumptions.
Case in point: the Trayvon Martin shooting tragedy. Forget all of political posturing over this case for a moment. Last week, all you-know-what broke loose amongst Southern Baptists when one of their executives, Richard Land, made some poorly-worded and carelessly potent charges against blacks in general and supportive of racial profiling in particular.
At least one friend of mine, a black pastor from Maryland, has joined with Rev. Dwight McKissic, an evangelical black pastor here in Arlington, Texas, in demanding that the SBC denomination "repudiate" Land and his remarks. Meanwhile, as you might expect, this debate spilled onto the sidewalks outside of the Baptist inner circle and become fodder for liberal websites and news organizations across the United States.
Having Baptists airing their dirty laundry within earshot of the media is like handing candy to a baby.
What is It, and Who Does It?
One of the most contentious flash-points in this Baptist brawl involves the issue of racial profiling. As I understand it, racial profiling refers to the generalizations we make about somebody based on their initial appearance, and our reflexive physical and mental responses to those generalizations. In its most politically-charged scenario, racial profiling can cast the other person in a disadvantageous light, or at least in a way that results in a negative viewpoint of them on the part of the profiler.
In other words, with racial profiling, we look at somebody and deduce basic stereotypes based on assumptions about a group, not the person's individual character. When whites racially profile blacks, this usually means we denigrate blacks because of preconceived notions about them that are mostly negative.
Yet I would propose that not only do many whites engage - however subconsciously - in racial profiling, but so does everybody else. Black, Hispanic, Asian: everybody engages in racial profiling. For better or worse, it's part of how we navigate our cross-cultural world.
When you make a call to a law firm, and a principle at the firm answers his phone, "Ira Silverstein here," what immediately pops into your head? "A Jewish lawyer," right? And you immediately assume that, at least if he's going to work for you, you'll probably win your case.
When you hear that an accomplished musician with an Asian-sounding name is going to perform at your local concert hall, what immediately pops into your head? "That will probably be some exquisite music," since we've come to assume all Asian musicians are impeccable masters at their craft.
When an elderly, black woman is walking down a dark block during the evening, and she sees a tall, young, white man walking towards her, is her first instinct to grip even tighter on her purse, because he might mug her?
When many Hispanics encounter whites here in north Texas, they avert their eyes and step out of the way, hoping to avoid any type of interaction. This is likely because they either don't speak much English, and are intimidated by the language barrier, or they don't want to draw unnecessary attention to themselves because they're in this country illegally. Yes, those are two racial profiles I've just drawn, but aren't these Hispanics racially profiling us whites? Assuming we don't speak Spanish, or that we'll turn them in to immigration authorities?
Indeed, racial profiling is far more complex a scenario than many people like to believe. Our profiling doesn't even have to be racial. Why do you think ex-prisoners have such a hard time finding a job? Why do many car salesmen and mechanics treat their female customers differently than their male customers? Why do retail chains stock different items based on the geographic locations of their stores?
Why have our airport screening measures become so intolerable these days? Because the Transportation Security Administration is bending over backwards to avoid being accused of profiling.
Why do your insurance rates vary from your next-door neighbor's? Because insurance companies and actuaries have developed lifestyle patterns that affect your rates, and they profile you according to those patterns
From Profiling to Perspective
Of course, none of this is intended to excuse racism. Or even profiling. This is an explanation of profiling, not a justification for it. Profiling itself does not justify racism, either. Racism exists whether profiling exists or not. Some people will just hate people who are different from them regardless of whether they have any data to support a negative profile. Indeed, the reason profiling exists is because data has been collected to lend a certain level of support to the profile. Profiles don't just create themselves, like racism does. True, profiles may still be horribly inaccurate, out of date, or simply incorrect, but racism can exist even when a particular profile doesn't.
Admittedly, the more I consider the comments from the SBC's Land, the more I can hear him talking out of both sides of his mouth. He both theorizes that George Zimmerman initially profiled Trayvon Martin as a thug teenager, and then calls for restraint in making judgments until all the facts are known. But we don't really know what Zimmerman thought of Martin when he first saw him, except that the hooded figure looked out of place in their gated community. And the shooting apparently didn't take place until a few moments later, when Zimmerman had lost sight of Martin in the darkness. Anything else is pure speculation at this point.
It may very well be that Zimmerman utilized racial profiling as that evening's scenario with Martin developed, and if Zimmerman deduced from his racial profiling of Martin that the teen posed a mortal threat simply because he was black, then we'll have a case of unmitigated racism of the ugliest order. And we'll need to address that accordingly.
But right now, we simply don't know for sure.
Personally, I think if Zimmerman, upon seeing Martin, considered the hooded figure to be a threat, he wouldn't have abandoned the relative safety of his car, and go against the 911 operator's orders to stay in his vehicle. It makes more sense that it wasn't until Zimmerman continued to insert himself into a confrontational posture with Martin that the fears of mortal danger flooded his mind. At that point, if Martin displayed aggression first, it likely wouldn't have mattered to Zimmerman if he was black or white or purple. And what if Martin racially profiled the light-skinned Zimmerman? Might there have been dueling racial profilers? Here again, at this point, I can only speculate.
As can anyone else. And that's perhaps almost as bad as Martin losing his life that fateful night in Sanford, Florida. Because people are name-calling, ranting, and becoming bitterly divisive on hearsay and speculation. We don't know if Martin lost his life because Zimmerman profiled him as a person who needed to be killed simply because he was an unknown black teenager. Would Zimmerman have shot Martin if the teen was white? It all comes down to why Zimmerman pulled the trigger, and we won't know that for sure until his trial.
As for the racial profiling component, I could take offense that some black people might be profiling me because I'm a white guy in suburban Texas, so how could I possibly have anything relevant to bring to this discussion. Instead, I'll take the high road and wait for Zimmerman's day in court.
Not because racial profiling caused the death of Trayvon Martin. But because we don't know whether it did or didn't.
In the meantime, all of this bitter acrimony only makes the path to justice for Martin's family - and indeed, for race relations in the United States - that much more elusive.
_____
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Time for Our Lives
Can you make your life longer?
It's a familiar passage of Scripture, the Sermon on the Mount. And parts of the Sermon on the Mount are more famous than others. You'll likely recall the part about not being anxious about life, what you'll eat, or what you'll wear. Lilies of the field, and birds of the air, right?
But how often have you stopped, cold still, at Matthew 6:27? I don't know that I ever have. Yesterday, however, when in his sermon, my pastor pointed out that none of us can add a second of life to our time here on this planet, I sat bold upright:
"And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" (ESV)
Because it's true, isn't it? God ordained when we were born. And before we were born, God knew when, in His sovereignty, He would call us home to be with Him.
...Or not - which is really the only scary part about this. If you don't have a personal relationship with God's Son, Jesus Christ, knowing there's a celestial clock somewhere in Heaven clicking down the seconds of your heretofore unrepentant life should send chills up your spine. As a reformed believer, I believe God doesn't lose any of His own, which means that if that celestial clock's alarm goes off on your life, and you're not saved, God's sovereignty still works. But that doesn't mean the moment of salvation can't come after too much of one's life has been wasted on selfish pursuits. Even if God draws you to Himself in the final days of your life on this planet, that doesn't mean He'll give you more time to do something else for Him while you're here. Suffice it to say that it's in your best interests to surrender your life to Him sooner, rather than later. Waiting won't lengthen your life.
It's so profound, it bears repeating: nobody can lengthen their life. According to Psalm 139:6, all the days God ordained for us were known by Him before one of them came to be. So once we arrive, pop out of the womb, work our way up through high school, and on into college - if we even live that long - there's nothing we can do, no education we can pursue, no life choices to make, that will add one second to the time God, in His sovereignty, has ordained for you and me.
And don't think because I say it so bluntly means that I appreciate the gravity of such truth. Frankly, it strikes me as bizarre. How counter-cultural to believe that all the good things we do to our bodies won't lengthen our life, and all the bad things won't shorten it.
Think about it: Jim Fixx, the jogging guru, died of a heart attack immediately after finishing his daily run in 1984. In 2010, a woman in Britain died at age 102 after smoking since she was 17.
Does this mean, then, we can treat our bodies as though our physical self doesn't matter? Can we eat, drink, and sit our way through life since our health means nothing to our longevity? Of course not!
Laziness is a sin. So are gluttony and being drunk. Keep in mind: our body is still the temple of the Holy Spirit for as long as we're here. Good health habits may not extend our lives past God's original expiry date, but they can certainly make the days we have more productive. Treating our bodies right makes us feel better, gives us more energy, and keeps us more healthy, all so we can glorify Him more effectively with the talents and abilities He's given us.
Does this mean we shouldn't take death-defying risks? Should we bungee-jump every day, skydive every other day, play Russian Roulette every weekend, or attend the Democratic National Convention this year with one of those "Miss Me Yet?" t-shirts with that goofy shot of a smirking George W. waving his hand? (OK, that last one is a complete joke).
Wisdom, maturity, self-control, a healthy respect for death, and common sense are all Biblical qualities. Leading a risk-averse life might not lengthen your days, but might your personal testimony of faith be stronger by abiding in God's purposes for satisfaction instead of ruthlessly pushing the daredevil envelope? How much of a testimony do you set by taking too many foolhardy risks? If you jump off of a bridge with nothing but a glorified rubber band keeping you from plummeting to certain death, whether you survive or die says little about your own ability to cheat death, and more about God's sovereignty. So what's the use? Some personal thrills? If that's what it takes to get your juices going, you may not sinning, but I would question whether you're putting your thirst for adventure to good use.
Granted, in the specific context of Matthew 6:27, it's anxiety that doesn't add any more days to our lives. In fact, science tells us that anxiety is bad for the heart. Although the irony of this is that anxiety won't cost us days of life in penalties, either, will it? We'll just be that much more miserable in life, and display that much less faith in God's sovereignty.
After all, anxiety poses one of the strongest suppressive agents to our faith, doesn't it? From worrying about how things will look to other people, to whether or not we'll experience rejection, to even fearing for our lives. Not that prudence and discernment aren't also Biblical qualities, but sometimes, don't we forget that we're supposed to be "anxious for nothing?" As we contemplate ways to serve God, how often do we relish the reality that there's nothing we can do that will cost us our life prematurely? Or give us a few bonus years?
None of us can add any time to our lives. They're ready. Their timeframe is set. So why don't we go and live them?
For His glory, and through His sovereignty, we've been given all the time we need.
_____
It's a familiar passage of Scripture, the Sermon on the Mount. And parts of the Sermon on the Mount are more famous than others. You'll likely recall the part about not being anxious about life, what you'll eat, or what you'll wear. Lilies of the field, and birds of the air, right?
But how often have you stopped, cold still, at Matthew 6:27? I don't know that I ever have. Yesterday, however, when in his sermon, my pastor pointed out that none of us can add a second of life to our time here on this planet, I sat bold upright:
"And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?" (ESV)
Because it's true, isn't it? God ordained when we were born. And before we were born, God knew when, in His sovereignty, He would call us home to be with Him.
...Or not - which is really the only scary part about this. If you don't have a personal relationship with God's Son, Jesus Christ, knowing there's a celestial clock somewhere in Heaven clicking down the seconds of your heretofore unrepentant life should send chills up your spine. As a reformed believer, I believe God doesn't lose any of His own, which means that if that celestial clock's alarm goes off on your life, and you're not saved, God's sovereignty still works. But that doesn't mean the moment of salvation can't come after too much of one's life has been wasted on selfish pursuits. Even if God draws you to Himself in the final days of your life on this planet, that doesn't mean He'll give you more time to do something else for Him while you're here. Suffice it to say that it's in your best interests to surrender your life to Him sooner, rather than later. Waiting won't lengthen your life.
It's so profound, it bears repeating: nobody can lengthen their life. According to Psalm 139:6, all the days God ordained for us were known by Him before one of them came to be. So once we arrive, pop out of the womb, work our way up through high school, and on into college - if we even live that long - there's nothing we can do, no education we can pursue, no life choices to make, that will add one second to the time God, in His sovereignty, has ordained for you and me.
And don't think because I say it so bluntly means that I appreciate the gravity of such truth. Frankly, it strikes me as bizarre. How counter-cultural to believe that all the good things we do to our bodies won't lengthen our life, and all the bad things won't shorten it.
Think about it: Jim Fixx, the jogging guru, died of a heart attack immediately after finishing his daily run in 1984. In 2010, a woman in Britain died at age 102 after smoking since she was 17.
Does this mean, then, we can treat our bodies as though our physical self doesn't matter? Can we eat, drink, and sit our way through life since our health means nothing to our longevity? Of course not!
Laziness is a sin. So are gluttony and being drunk. Keep in mind: our body is still the temple of the Holy Spirit for as long as we're here. Good health habits may not extend our lives past God's original expiry date, but they can certainly make the days we have more productive. Treating our bodies right makes us feel better, gives us more energy, and keeps us more healthy, all so we can glorify Him more effectively with the talents and abilities He's given us.
Does this mean we shouldn't take death-defying risks? Should we bungee-jump every day, skydive every other day, play Russian Roulette every weekend, or attend the Democratic National Convention this year with one of those "Miss Me Yet?" t-shirts with that goofy shot of a smirking George W. waving his hand? (OK, that last one is a complete joke).
Wisdom, maturity, self-control, a healthy respect for death, and common sense are all Biblical qualities. Leading a risk-averse life might not lengthen your days, but might your personal testimony of faith be stronger by abiding in God's purposes for satisfaction instead of ruthlessly pushing the daredevil envelope? How much of a testimony do you set by taking too many foolhardy risks? If you jump off of a bridge with nothing but a glorified rubber band keeping you from plummeting to certain death, whether you survive or die says little about your own ability to cheat death, and more about God's sovereignty. So what's the use? Some personal thrills? If that's what it takes to get your juices going, you may not sinning, but I would question whether you're putting your thirst for adventure to good use.
Granted, in the specific context of Matthew 6:27, it's anxiety that doesn't add any more days to our lives. In fact, science tells us that anxiety is bad for the heart. Although the irony of this is that anxiety won't cost us days of life in penalties, either, will it? We'll just be that much more miserable in life, and display that much less faith in God's sovereignty.
After all, anxiety poses one of the strongest suppressive agents to our faith, doesn't it? From worrying about how things will look to other people, to whether or not we'll experience rejection, to even fearing for our lives. Not that prudence and discernment aren't also Biblical qualities, but sometimes, don't we forget that we're supposed to be "anxious for nothing?" As we contemplate ways to serve God, how often do we relish the reality that there's nothing we can do that will cost us our life prematurely? Or give us a few bonus years?
None of us can add any time to our lives. They're ready. Their timeframe is set. So why don't we go and live them?
For His glory, and through His sovereignty, we've been given all the time we need.
_____
Friday, April 20, 2012
Right of Way
Two of my nephews are learning how to drive.
No, they're not learning how to drive their parents crazy - they've already mastered that skill! They're learning how to drive a car. And in a way, that's driving their parents crazy, too.
I feel sorry for the good citizens of suburban Detroit. Not only do they have to endure the foul weather, rutted freeways, and corrosive politics of southeastern Michigan, but they've got to share the same roads as my fine young nephews. I wonder if my brother and sister-in-law's insurance agent has already changed his phone number?
Unfortunately, one of my nephews, in particular, is having an extraordinarily difficult time adjusting to the rules of the road.
Earlier this week, he and my brother were driving down a major suburban boulevard, and another vehicle further on ahead of them came to a stop in their lane. But my nephew, behind the wheel, wasn't slowing down.
My brother does not panic easily, but he grew quite concerned, as they were rapidly losing time and space to take evasive action.
"Why aren't you slowing down?" my brother finally yelled.
"Well, I was already in this lane, so I have the right-of-way," my nephew calmly, yet illogically, reasoned. It was as if the entire world knew that my nephew was navigating this lane of roadway and would acquiesce to his prerogatives. My nephew, who currently holds a 4.0 GPA in high school, didn't understand that driving is far more complex than knowing who has the right-of-way.
Having the right-of-way is one thing, but you also have to be constantly accommodating the actions of other drivers. Even if it means that you have to cede your right-of-way to avoid an accident. Which, fortunately, they did.
It's going to be a long spring up there in my brother's household!
Even though a driver cedes his right-of-way to avoid an accident, that doesn't mean the other driver has "won," does it? It just means that, particularly when other drivers do stupid things you have to avoid, you're the better driver for better recognizing the urgency of the situation. Your reward may not seem glamorous - sparing yourself an accident - and indeed, you might get quite aggravated, especially when it seems you're always having to accommodate the bad moves other drivers make. But you get to your destination in one piece, and life goes on.
Sometimes I think life itself is like that. Especially the part of life that involves politics and public policy.
How many times do you feel as though you have the right-of-way in a course of action or policy decision, but you find yourself being confronted with a head-on collision if somebody doesn't maneuver out of the way? People who get in our lanes of life may be there for no good reason, but don't we often find ourselves being the ones being forced to take evasive action, even when we're in the right?
Yes, the other driver who's obstructing the traffic flow in our lane may be stupid. They may be belligerent. They may feel a sense of entitlement, and then criticize us for feeling entitled to exercise our right-of-way, trying to accuse us of being at fault.
But what does the better driver do? In such cases, they take the evasive action necessary. As soon as they can, they maneuver back into their original lane, and continue on their journey as best they can. Of course, the hope is that you can proceed far enough down the boulevard of life so that at the next red light, the wacko driver who pulled out in front of you doesn't catch up with you.
Then too, sometimes the lane the wacko driver forces you to switch into turns out to be not so bad after all. Hey, look: it even gets you closer to the turn lane you need up ahead! Indeed, sometimes it takes a scare before we appreciate the little things in life.
Hopefully, it won't take an accident to learn how to important it is to navigate around the wacko drivers in our lives. Both on real streets as we're really driving, and the bigger picture of our life experiences. And our country's politics, too.
Not to say that once in a while, we'll be left with no other option except slamming into the obstacle blocking our right-of-way.
But at least we still need to slam on our own brakes. You never know how much the impact might impact yourself. Even if you it, you will want to be able to sort out the situation based on the facts.
Drive on, gracious road warrior!
_____
No, they're not learning how to drive their parents crazy - they've already mastered that skill! They're learning how to drive a car. And in a way, that's driving their parents crazy, too.
I feel sorry for the good citizens of suburban Detroit. Not only do they have to endure the foul weather, rutted freeways, and corrosive politics of southeastern Michigan, but they've got to share the same roads as my fine young nephews. I wonder if my brother and sister-in-law's insurance agent has already changed his phone number?
Unfortunately, one of my nephews, in particular, is having an extraordinarily difficult time adjusting to the rules of the road.
Earlier this week, he and my brother were driving down a major suburban boulevard, and another vehicle further on ahead of them came to a stop in their lane. But my nephew, behind the wheel, wasn't slowing down.
My brother does not panic easily, but he grew quite concerned, as they were rapidly losing time and space to take evasive action.
"Why aren't you slowing down?" my brother finally yelled.
"Well, I was already in this lane, so I have the right-of-way," my nephew calmly, yet illogically, reasoned. It was as if the entire world knew that my nephew was navigating this lane of roadway and would acquiesce to his prerogatives. My nephew, who currently holds a 4.0 GPA in high school, didn't understand that driving is far more complex than knowing who has the right-of-way.
Having the right-of-way is one thing, but you also have to be constantly accommodating the actions of other drivers. Even if it means that you have to cede your right-of-way to avoid an accident. Which, fortunately, they did.
It's going to be a long spring up there in my brother's household!
Even though a driver cedes his right-of-way to avoid an accident, that doesn't mean the other driver has "won," does it? It just means that, particularly when other drivers do stupid things you have to avoid, you're the better driver for better recognizing the urgency of the situation. Your reward may not seem glamorous - sparing yourself an accident - and indeed, you might get quite aggravated, especially when it seems you're always having to accommodate the bad moves other drivers make. But you get to your destination in one piece, and life goes on.
Sometimes I think life itself is like that. Especially the part of life that involves politics and public policy.
How many times do you feel as though you have the right-of-way in a course of action or policy decision, but you find yourself being confronted with a head-on collision if somebody doesn't maneuver out of the way? People who get in our lanes of life may be there for no good reason, but don't we often find ourselves being the ones being forced to take evasive action, even when we're in the right?
Yes, the other driver who's obstructing the traffic flow in our lane may be stupid. They may be belligerent. They may feel a sense of entitlement, and then criticize us for feeling entitled to exercise our right-of-way, trying to accuse us of being at fault.
But what does the better driver do? In such cases, they take the evasive action necessary. As soon as they can, they maneuver back into their original lane, and continue on their journey as best they can. Of course, the hope is that you can proceed far enough down the boulevard of life so that at the next red light, the wacko driver who pulled out in front of you doesn't catch up with you.
Then too, sometimes the lane the wacko driver forces you to switch into turns out to be not so bad after all. Hey, look: it even gets you closer to the turn lane you need up ahead! Indeed, sometimes it takes a scare before we appreciate the little things in life.
Hopefully, it won't take an accident to learn how to important it is to navigate around the wacko drivers in our lives. Both on real streets as we're really driving, and the bigger picture of our life experiences. And our country's politics, too.
Not to say that once in a while, we'll be left with no other option except slamming into the obstacle blocking our right-of-way.
But at least we still need to slam on our own brakes. You never know how much the impact might impact yourself. Even if you it, you will want to be able to sort out the situation based on the facts.
Drive on, gracious road warrior!
_____
Monday, April 16, 2012
Views of Skyscraper News
It was supposed to open yesterday.
April 15, 2012. Tax day in the United States. The Ides of April.
Except it was supposed to open in Pyongyang, North Korea, as part of this past weekend's 100th anniversary celebrations of the birth of Kim Il Sung, father of that country's despotic Communist dynasty.
What is it? Well, that depends on whom you ask. Several years ago, Esquire dubbed it the "Hotel of Doom," an unfinished luxury hotel of a "brutalist" aesthetic (to use a slang architectural vernacular) in one of brutal Communism's final wastelands. Derided for decades while its hulking, 105-story concrete shell decayed, unfinished, an Egyptian conglomerate has apparently slathered some sleek glass panels across its tetrahedronical form and come close to polishing it off.
Close, yet apparently still not in time for this weekend's pageantry, which included, among other bizarre flops, North Korea's self-destructing rocket. As of today, there's still no word that the hotel managed to open on what would have been the latest deadline for a project doomed from the start.
Back in the 1980's, Ryugyong Hotel would have been the world's tallest hotel, had it been completed on its first official timetable. But its construction stalled, after two years of heady - and hefty - concrete sculpting couldn't keep pace with dwindling financial and materiel infusions from the crumbling Soviet Union. By the mid-1990's, after being abandoned for several years, experts were dubious that it could be salvaged. Rumor had it that elevator shafts were crooked, concrete had been mixed inaccurately, and that being left open to the elements during North Korea's extreme temperatures for so long would make any reasonable attempts at finishing the project unlikely.
And they were right - at least when it comes to "reasonable." A term which, of course, had already been stretched to the limits of its legitimacy, since this was a frivolous hotel being built in one of the world's most impoverished countries. Skyscraper technology - like rocket technology - is not North Korea's strong suit. Instead, oppression, deprivation, and severe order are North Korea's strong suit, even as the Ryugyong's new, glassy facade beams ever still lifelessly over the hapless residents of Pyongyang.
Impressive it may have always been, whether in the foreboding despair of its formerly unfinished shell, or the surprisingly modern stance with which its Egyptian contractors have managed to sheath it. But in terms of meeting a need, when starvation is rampant across North Korea, wide boulevards are eerily devoid of life, no private corporations function north of the De-Militarized Zone, and the country is officially closed to non-Communistic tourism, does a 105-story hotel with a revolving restaurant qualify as progress?
Estimations by experts in South Korea and other First World nations put the costs at salvaging the Ryugyong in the billions of dollars, a sizable chunk of what anybody can realistically identify as North Korea's economy. Even if Orascom, the Egyptian firm which invested a minimum of $400 million to assume the project and install telecommunications equipment at its apex, manages to finish-out the interior into a lodging facility worthy of any star, will it ever achieve 100% occupancy? On a regular, profitable basis?
Critics pan Orascom's inclusion of telecommunications equipment into the project as dubious, considering the fact that ordinary North Koreans are prohibited from owning cell phones or accessing the Internet. Indeed, Pyongyang is not one of the world's major iPhone markets. It's been suggested that the Ryugyong is simply an Orwellian icon for the relentless government spying and personal intrusions to which North Koreans have already become acclimated in their totalitarian regime.
If it ever gets built-out inside and furnished as a hotel, having a foreign telecommunications company helping foot the bill for its completion should make any potential customers think twice. Who would assume that their every move inside the Ryugyong won't be watched meticulously via sophisticated cameras, sensors, and other bugging devices? Even North Korea's own government elite, the folks Pyongyang will most likely recruit as guests for their charade at the Ryugyong, would probably prefer to spend their free time in their own apartments where they already know where the secret microphones are located.
Oddly enough, the North Koreans, who have a variety of traditional alcoholic beverages they enjoy, may run into some stiff opposition if the executives at Egypt's Orascom impose strict Sharia standards to their towering investment. Turns out, the latest controversial skyscraper being erected half a world away in London right now, the Shard, is owned by Qatari Muslims who have already restricted alcohol consumption in their yet-to-be-completed trophy. It's made for some secretly difficult attempts to fill the building's lower floors with posh restaurants, since they make significant chunks of their profits from alcohol sales.
Fortunately for the Brits, the sovereign wealth fund of Qatar, which also owns England's iconic Harrod's Department Store, is obtaining a special Islamic "dispensation" so it can sell alcohol in their home country during its hosting of the 2022 World Cup in Doha. Maybe it can still do the same for its Shard.
And maybe Egypt can piggyback on the dispensation for the Ryugyong.
Last week, the Shard, designed by celebrity architect Renzo Piano, unofficially became the tallest building in Europe when the final steel framing for its superstructure was welded into place. While it's easy to poke fun at the Ryugyong as being completely frivolous, the Shard is being constructed in a hot commercial office district in one of the most cosmopolitan cities on Earth.
As if, from out of nowhere, the Islamic domination of the world's haughty skyscraper race increases its reach from Pyongyang to London. For them, the sky apparently is the limit.
_____
April 15, 2012. Tax day in the United States. The Ides of April.
Except it was supposed to open in Pyongyang, North Korea, as part of this past weekend's 100th anniversary celebrations of the birth of Kim Il Sung, father of that country's despotic Communist dynasty.
What is it? Well, that depends on whom you ask. Several years ago, Esquire dubbed it the "Hotel of Doom," an unfinished luxury hotel of a "brutalist" aesthetic (to use a slang architectural vernacular) in one of brutal Communism's final wastelands. Derided for decades while its hulking, 105-story concrete shell decayed, unfinished, an Egyptian conglomerate has apparently slathered some sleek glass panels across its tetrahedronical form and come close to polishing it off.
Close, yet apparently still not in time for this weekend's pageantry, which included, among other bizarre flops, North Korea's self-destructing rocket. As of today, there's still no word that the hotel managed to open on what would have been the latest deadline for a project doomed from the start.
 |
| Ryugyong Hotel, as it sat for years: just an enormous concrete shell. |
And they were right - at least when it comes to "reasonable." A term which, of course, had already been stretched to the limits of its legitimacy, since this was a frivolous hotel being built in one of the world's most impoverished countries. Skyscraper technology - like rocket technology - is not North Korea's strong suit. Instead, oppression, deprivation, and severe order are North Korea's strong suit, even as the Ryugyong's new, glassy facade beams ever still lifelessly over the hapless residents of Pyongyang.
Impressive it may have always been, whether in the foreboding despair of its formerly unfinished shell, or the surprisingly modern stance with which its Egyptian contractors have managed to sheath it. But in terms of meeting a need, when starvation is rampant across North Korea, wide boulevards are eerily devoid of life, no private corporations function north of the De-Militarized Zone, and the country is officially closed to non-Communistic tourism, does a 105-story hotel with a revolving restaurant qualify as progress?
 |
| Ryugyong Hotel with glass facade installed. |
Critics pan Orascom's inclusion of telecommunications equipment into the project as dubious, considering the fact that ordinary North Koreans are prohibited from owning cell phones or accessing the Internet. Indeed, Pyongyang is not one of the world's major iPhone markets. It's been suggested that the Ryugyong is simply an Orwellian icon for the relentless government spying and personal intrusions to which North Koreans have already become acclimated in their totalitarian regime.
If it ever gets built-out inside and furnished as a hotel, having a foreign telecommunications company helping foot the bill for its completion should make any potential customers think twice. Who would assume that their every move inside the Ryugyong won't be watched meticulously via sophisticated cameras, sensors, and other bugging devices? Even North Korea's own government elite, the folks Pyongyang will most likely recruit as guests for their charade at the Ryugyong, would probably prefer to spend their free time in their own apartments where they already know where the secret microphones are located.
 |
| The Shard, a glassy obelisk of sorts, in London |
Fortunately for the Brits, the sovereign wealth fund of Qatar, which also owns England's iconic Harrod's Department Store, is obtaining a special Islamic "dispensation" so it can sell alcohol in their home country during its hosting of the 2022 World Cup in Doha. Maybe it can still do the same for its Shard.
And maybe Egypt can piggyback on the dispensation for the Ryugyong.
Last week, the Shard, designed by celebrity architect Renzo Piano, unofficially became the tallest building in Europe when the final steel framing for its superstructure was welded into place. While it's easy to poke fun at the Ryugyong as being completely frivolous, the Shard is being constructed in a hot commercial office district in one of the most cosmopolitan cities on Earth.
As if, from out of nowhere, the Islamic domination of the world's haughty skyscraper race increases its reach from Pyongyang to London. For them, the sky apparently is the limit.
_____
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Feet Featured in Easter's Feat
Feet.
Or, as one of my nephews used to say when he was very young: "foots!"
I'd never noticed it before, but have you ever realized that feet play a role in the Easter story?
My pastor mentioned it this past Resurrection Sunday in his sermon. And since I'm a member of our Chancel Choir, which sat through all three of our Easter services in their entirety, right behind the pulpit, by noontime, my pastor's point about feet had become etched in my brain.
Which isn't a bad thing. Repetition is usually the only way I learn. Well - repetition, and trial-and-error. Which, combined, helps explain some things about my personality.
Feet first come into the picture on the day before the crucifixion, which we normally celebrate on Maundy Thursday. Now, immediately, most non-liturgical evangelicals wrinkle up their noses in scorn at the unfamiliar term, "Maundy." So relax: it's not all high-and-mighty as you think it sounds.
By popular tradition, scholars usually ascribe the terms "commandment" or "footwashing" to the word "Maundy," after the Latin mandatum, which is the first word of the phrase "Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos" (John 13:34) We know this verse in English as, "A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another."
What was the command? That we, His disciples, love one another as He loved us. And to initiate that command, Christ washed the feet of His disciples after they came to the upper room for their Passover meal.
Christ. Washing the feet of his inauspicious group of disciples. Even knowing one of them would betray Him later that night. Twelve sets of odoriferous, dusty, dirty, calloused, First Century feet.
Other experts theorize that Maundy comes from French and Latin words for begging, or from the ancient custom of royalty giving alms to the poor during Holy Week. But it doesn't really matter, since most contemporary Maundy Thursday services these days incorporate neither footwashing or money. Except maybe references to those heinous 30 pieces of silver.
For example, at my church on Maundy Thursday, we celebrate holy communion after a service of music, liturgy, and a homily (a shorter-than-usual sermon). The mood is decidedly contemplative, rather than celebratory. Our service ends with all of the lights being turned off and a lone candle being escorted down the center aisle while a pastor reads a selection of scripture, such as Peter's betrayal of Christ. We call that part "Tenebrae," after the Latin word for "shadows." And then we file out of the sanctuary exits in utter silence.
On the first day of the new week, back among the tombs outside Jerusalem, when Mary and the "other" Mary came to where Christ had been buried, they encountered the stone rolled away, and then our risen Christ Himself. When they recognized Who He was, according to Matthew 28:9, they grabbed His feet and worshipped Him.
And this is the second time feet become incorporated into the Easter story. In a decidedly more celebratory fashion, right?
Yet in our rush to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, many of us today miss the imagery of the women, crumpled at Christ's feet, in their culture's customary manner of showing devotion, love, and sheer relief. Isn't it interesting to note that the women don't appear to have spent a lot of time gazing into His face, something you and I would likely have done. They didn't stand back and survey Christ from top to bottom, marveling that He was all in one piece. It seems pretty straight-forward: the women grabbed Christ's feet and worshipped Him from a position of servitude, humility, and - dare I say it? - desperate joy.
We don't really do much of any of that today, do we? Feet were unpleasant things back during Christ's earthly ministry, and they haven't risen too far on the aesthetic meter during the past two thousand years, have they? Sure, today, we clover then with comfy socks and expensive shoes, but they still get pretty smelly and dirty despite our comparatively sedentary lifestyles.
No Westerner with any personal dignity falls to the ground and grabs somebody else's feet unless maybe they're trying to throw them off balance, or keep them from fleeing.
And maybe that's what the women were doing - trying to keep Christ from leaving them again. But is that the tone of their actions being conveyed by the text? Seeing the raw power Christ has proven by appearing to them in the flesh, after being so brutally and definitively killed before their eyes, the women knew of no other response. Couldn't theirs have more likely been a reflex to the profound, unprecedented experience of both Christ's proven words and their own lack of faith? My pastor didn't get this far into his comments about feet, so I'm walking on my own theological tightrope here. Were the women visiting the tomb out of an abundance of certainty that Christ wouldn't be there? Perhaps when they saw the empty tomb, then Christ's words that He would rise from the dead began to take on a new reality: they didn't dare hold out too much hope before, but now, could it really be true? Then to see Jesus literally in the flesh, alive and whole, healthy and vibrant?
I'd have probably had a short-circuit in my brain.
And I'd like to think that I would have followed the two Mary's and fallen on my knees to grasp Christ's feet in adoration.
But knowing how much a product of my current generation I am, I don't think I'd worship as much as I'd try to minimize my obvious disbelief. I'd try to cover up my utter surprise, or even worse, pretend that I really trusted all along that Christ would rise from the dead.
But I'd know better. And even more, Christ would know.
Yet He would love me anyway.
Indeed, He loves me anyway, even today, when I balk at the idea of falling on my knees and kissing anybody's feet. It's so counter-cultural to the way we Americans have been taught to behave in this world, isn't it? We're superior. We're authoritative. Just by virtue of us being Americans.
Yet we have no virtue in God's eyes, save for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. It's that same sacrifice that will make it possible for me - and all of us who have been saved through it - to one day fall on our knees in Heaven and grab our Savior's feet in adoration.
Christ had no inhibitions about washing His disciples' feet. And the Biblical account of the Marys at the tomb focuses on His own feet, not His face, or even His hands - another mundane part of our anatomy that we consider more functional than glamorous.
And maybe that's part of Christ's testimony. Hands and feet. The parts of our body that get stuff done outside of ourselves.
As I've been writing this essay, I've had a particular Twila Paris song running through my mind. And maybe you've had it going through yours, too, as you've read this. So why not play this video and contemplate the hands - and particularly, the feet - of your Savior as we continue walking away from the tomb into the daily ministries to which He's called us.
_____
Or, as one of my nephews used to say when he was very young: "foots!"
I'd never noticed it before, but have you ever realized that feet play a role in the Easter story?
My pastor mentioned it this past Resurrection Sunday in his sermon. And since I'm a member of our Chancel Choir, which sat through all three of our Easter services in their entirety, right behind the pulpit, by noontime, my pastor's point about feet had become etched in my brain.
Which isn't a bad thing. Repetition is usually the only way I learn. Well - repetition, and trial-and-error. Which, combined, helps explain some things about my personality.
Feet first come into the picture on the day before the crucifixion, which we normally celebrate on Maundy Thursday. Now, immediately, most non-liturgical evangelicals wrinkle up their noses in scorn at the unfamiliar term, "Maundy." So relax: it's not all high-and-mighty as you think it sounds.
By popular tradition, scholars usually ascribe the terms "commandment" or "footwashing" to the word "Maundy," after the Latin mandatum, which is the first word of the phrase "Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos" (John 13:34) We know this verse in English as, "A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another."
What was the command? That we, His disciples, love one another as He loved us. And to initiate that command, Christ washed the feet of His disciples after they came to the upper room for their Passover meal.
Christ. Washing the feet of his inauspicious group of disciples. Even knowing one of them would betray Him later that night. Twelve sets of odoriferous, dusty, dirty, calloused, First Century feet.
Other experts theorize that Maundy comes from French and Latin words for begging, or from the ancient custom of royalty giving alms to the poor during Holy Week. But it doesn't really matter, since most contemporary Maundy Thursday services these days incorporate neither footwashing or money. Except maybe references to those heinous 30 pieces of silver.
For example, at my church on Maundy Thursday, we celebrate holy communion after a service of music, liturgy, and a homily (a shorter-than-usual sermon). The mood is decidedly contemplative, rather than celebratory. Our service ends with all of the lights being turned off and a lone candle being escorted down the center aisle while a pastor reads a selection of scripture, such as Peter's betrayal of Christ. We call that part "Tenebrae," after the Latin word for "shadows." And then we file out of the sanctuary exits in utter silence.
On the first day of the new week, back among the tombs outside Jerusalem, when Mary and the "other" Mary came to where Christ had been buried, they encountered the stone rolled away, and then our risen Christ Himself. When they recognized Who He was, according to Matthew 28:9, they grabbed His feet and worshipped Him.
And this is the second time feet become incorporated into the Easter story. In a decidedly more celebratory fashion, right?
Yet in our rush to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, many of us today miss the imagery of the women, crumpled at Christ's feet, in their culture's customary manner of showing devotion, love, and sheer relief. Isn't it interesting to note that the women don't appear to have spent a lot of time gazing into His face, something you and I would likely have done. They didn't stand back and survey Christ from top to bottom, marveling that He was all in one piece. It seems pretty straight-forward: the women grabbed Christ's feet and worshipped Him from a position of servitude, humility, and - dare I say it? - desperate joy.
We don't really do much of any of that today, do we? Feet were unpleasant things back during Christ's earthly ministry, and they haven't risen too far on the aesthetic meter during the past two thousand years, have they? Sure, today, we clover then with comfy socks and expensive shoes, but they still get pretty smelly and dirty despite our comparatively sedentary lifestyles.
No Westerner with any personal dignity falls to the ground and grabs somebody else's feet unless maybe they're trying to throw them off balance, or keep them from fleeing.
And maybe that's what the women were doing - trying to keep Christ from leaving them again. But is that the tone of their actions being conveyed by the text? Seeing the raw power Christ has proven by appearing to them in the flesh, after being so brutally and definitively killed before their eyes, the women knew of no other response. Couldn't theirs have more likely been a reflex to the profound, unprecedented experience of both Christ's proven words and their own lack of faith? My pastor didn't get this far into his comments about feet, so I'm walking on my own theological tightrope here. Were the women visiting the tomb out of an abundance of certainty that Christ wouldn't be there? Perhaps when they saw the empty tomb, then Christ's words that He would rise from the dead began to take on a new reality: they didn't dare hold out too much hope before, but now, could it really be true? Then to see Jesus literally in the flesh, alive and whole, healthy and vibrant?
I'd have probably had a short-circuit in my brain.
And I'd like to think that I would have followed the two Mary's and fallen on my knees to grasp Christ's feet in adoration.
But knowing how much a product of my current generation I am, I don't think I'd worship as much as I'd try to minimize my obvious disbelief. I'd try to cover up my utter surprise, or even worse, pretend that I really trusted all along that Christ would rise from the dead.
But I'd know better. And even more, Christ would know.
Yet He would love me anyway.
Indeed, He loves me anyway, even today, when I balk at the idea of falling on my knees and kissing anybody's feet. It's so counter-cultural to the way we Americans have been taught to behave in this world, isn't it? We're superior. We're authoritative. Just by virtue of us being Americans.
Yet we have no virtue in God's eyes, save for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ. It's that same sacrifice that will make it possible for me - and all of us who have been saved through it - to one day fall on our knees in Heaven and grab our Savior's feet in adoration.
Christ had no inhibitions about washing His disciples' feet. And the Biblical account of the Marys at the tomb focuses on His own feet, not His face, or even His hands - another mundane part of our anatomy that we consider more functional than glamorous.
And maybe that's part of Christ's testimony. Hands and feet. The parts of our body that get stuff done outside of ourselves.
As I've been writing this essay, I've had a particular Twila Paris song running through my mind. And maybe you've had it going through yours, too, as you've read this. So why not play this video and contemplate the hands - and particularly, the feet - of your Savior as we continue walking away from the tomb into the daily ministries to which He's called us.
_____
Friday, April 6, 2012
Driven to the Standard
On this Good Friday, we're going to take an odd turn and talk about cars. And specifically, how next year may be an extremely confusing one for car buyers.
The 2013 model year promises the debut of a whole new stable of mid-sized family sedans from various makers. And while that might sound like good news for auto enthusiasts, just look at, well, what all these new cars look like:
They're not ugly, are they? But don't they all look the same?
I know each generation of cars that Detroit and Tokyo churn out tend to be homogenized in their aesthetics, but for this upcoming model year, it looks like every manufacturer's designers were reading off of the same script. Sameness down to the short trunk lid, the little flip up in the C-pillar window, the hatchback-looking rear window, plus horizontal taillights, a linear flair low on the side doors, squared muffler caps, and short front snouts. OK, the Lincoln has a simple triangular C-pillar window treatment, and the Nissan has rounded muffler caps, but can you even tell which one might be the Lincoln? The only thing that helps distinguish the Nissan are the pulled-eyebrow-shaped taillights that have become something of a Nissan signature.
For the record, the top car is a Chevrolet Impala, followed by the Lincoln MKZ, then the Nissan Altima, and ending with the Toyota Avalon. All new for 2013. Different taillights, yes, and front fascias for each car that display some individuality between them, but other than that, they're long, low wedges on wheels with very few distinguishing characteristics.
It's uncanny! Or... is it?
I realize what these designers are doing. They're all referencing the same scientific data acquired from years of aerodynamic modeling and testing, and they've all arrived at the same point in the evolution of automobile design where everybody has reached the same conclusions: low ground clearance, short trunks, acres of rear windshield, and plenty of bulbous sheetmetal designed more to appease the wind than create distinctive identities.
Our government has mandated ever-stricter fuel economy standards, and the only way car manufactures will be able to meet them is by adhering to the hard science of minimalist aerodynamics, and this is obviously the result. As time goes on, and as standards get even stricter, and as the buying public gets more acclimated to cars that look more like blobs splurted out of a tube of toothpaste, the shape of cars will probably continue their shapeless metamorphosis to the edgeless, creaseless egg-looking prototypes we used to see only in futuristic movies or really weird concept show cars.
Like many other things in our society, car design is on a race to the lowest common denominator, and by the looks of things for 2012, we're nearly there.
Actually, Jaguar has already pulled ahead of the pack, with its flagship XJ sedan looking just like these four cars starting last year. Only it's bigger than all of these, and costs up to twice as much. And considering that, at least in my own estimation, none of these cars look any better than the 2009 Honda Accord I currently own, I'm seeing less and less incentive to go car shopping anytime soon. And why pay more, when even top-of-the-line cars look just like ones that cost far less and carry all of the basic safety equipment mandated by the government?
So maybe I misspoke when I began this essay by saying that customers will have a confusing time trying to distinguish between these cars when they start arriving in dealer showrooms. Maybe instead of confusion, people will figure that since looks don't matter anymore, and nothing will stand out from the crowd, why bother paying for a status symbol nameplate?
Silly me - I know why people will still by the status cars. Sorry - I had a momentary lapse in reality.
What's even more real, however, as I've been studying the photos of this winter's car shows around the world, where the lack of distinguishing characteristics between the automakers has been pronounced, is the spiritual application that can be drawn from this conformity.
Couldn't our process of sanctification as believers be compared - however loosely - with the scientific processes automotive engineers have been following as they've worked over the years to make cars more fuel-efficient? If my assumption is correct, and that increasingly strict fuel standards are forcing all carmakers to settle on the same basic design standards that they know will achieve those standards, then Uncle Sam may achieve something it didn't set out to achieve, but has caused to happen anyway: the wholesale standardization or unification of the design of the four-door family car.
As we fix our eyes on Christ, and allow the Holy Spirit to guide us in ways which honor Him and benefit our faith walk, we may still exhibit certain differences between us, like skin color (paint color), eye color (headlight design), personality (option packages), ambition (drivetrain), ethics (brake lights), and spiritual giftedness (engine type). But shouldn't we start looking like the standard prototype? Not visually, since no man has seen God and lived. Yet just as all of these cars are becoming the same by the standard we use to, say, immediately identify cars from trucks, or older-model cars from newer-model cars, shouldn't we look different to the outside world?
Maybe that's too much of a stretch. But on this Good Friday, as we contemplate the sacrifice our Savior made for us, the fact that we are called to be like Him - instead of Him being called to be like us - can't be too inappropriate a reminder. None of these cars are manufactured by car makers who can order the government to make its standards fit what's already being produced. Well, I suppose they try - just like we do - but look how successful they are at it.
The good thing about Christ being our standard is that He's perfect, unlike government standards.
Plus, He's already paid the price - a price we could never pay. Even more expensive and costly a price than the most tricked-out Jaguar.
My dear Redeemer, and my Lord, I read my duty in your Word,
But in your life the law appears drawn out in living characters.
Such was your truth, and such your zeal, such deference to your Father's will,
Such love and meekness, so divine, I would transcribe and make them mine.
Cold mountains and the midnight air witnessed the fervor of your prayer,
The desert your temptations knew, your conflict and your victory, too.
Be now my pattern, make me bear more of your gracious image here,
Then God the Judge shall own my name amongst the followers of the Lamb. - Isaac Watts
_____
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
God's Goodness Exceeds Our Normalcy
It's a phrase I heard a lot of people repeating yesterday when learning that friends and loved ones had escaped the wrath of north Texas' destructive tornadoes. I probably even said it myself, and I certainly thought it.
After all, it's a normal reaction from people of faith upon learning some good news after a disaster.
But just because it's a normal reaction, is it entirely Biblical?
Yes, as the saying goes, God is good. But He's good all the time. All the time, God is good. When we think things are going well, and when we think things are terrible, God is still good. He can't not be good. Amen?
So, if and when we learn that friends and loved ones have suffered injury, damage, and even death after tragedies like tornadoes, why do we still not say, with equal enthusiasm and relief, "God is good!"
Sure, we respond to bad news with prayerful condolences and reminders that God is in control, which is also true. But don't you have a hard time saying "God is good" when bad things happen? Even yesterday, although probably 99% of us residents here in the Dallas - Fort Worth area escaped damage and harm, several hundred of our neighbors have lost their homes, and a couple dozen have been injured. Was God bad to those people because He didn't spare them like He spared the rest of us?
Did those people deserve to have their homes flattened, their cars whipped through their neighborhoods, and their health compromised? Did the rest of us who suffered only frayed nerves yesterday afternoon as the storms ravaged north Texas deserve to emerge relatively unscathed? Is God capricious in His goodness?
 |
| What's left of what was a two-story single-family residence in the Dallas suburb of Forney. As far as we know, nobody was injured here. Photo by Wayne Walker, a friend of mine and a resident of the same neighborhood, whose home was spared any damage. |
Theologically, we know that God is not capricious. His goodness is everlasting. God is indeed good all the time. So why do we affirm that truth only when, well... things are going well for us?
When we're relieved that friends and loved ones - not to mention ourselves - are spared from harm and calamity, might we be taking for granted the very normalcy to which we're comparing that harm and calamity? We assume that normalcy equates to something that we deserve, we've earned, or something to which we're somehow entitled. Normalcy serves as a benchmark for everything better or worse that happens to us.
At least, that's how I view normalcy in my own life. I place a high value on my normalcy, even though my lifestyle is not what I would consider to be luxurious or glamorous. Compared to Majority World residents, where even electricity and clean water are luxuries, my level of normalcy is quite desirable. But here in the United States, few Americans would look at my normalcy and be content with it. I'm not even content with it, but it's my normalcy, and it's what I know. I know how to function in it, and I know it's better that what it could be. Enhancements to my normalcy would be welcomed, but compromises to it? Not so much.
In the back of our minds, we know that our normalcy could fall to standards far lower than what we currently enjoy. So when we're spared the sudden danger of being kicked down a few notches in our comfort levels by something like a destructive tornado, we heave a sigh of relief and credit God with not subjecting us to a reality worse than what we currently know. And again, that's probably human nature to react with such relief - and yes, even genuine gratitude.
After all, I don't think it's healthy to wish that bad things would happen to us. I don't think we express a genuine appreciation for the things with which God entrusts us when we either view them with disdain or cavalierly dismiss their value. Or take them for granted.
There's nothing wrong with having things that make our lives safer and more comfortable. But don't we instead value that stuff too much? Don't we value our normalcy, and the comforts we enjoy in it, more than we should? How often do we relish the truth Job proclaimed: "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
I'm grateful for all of the many things with which God has blessed us Americans. Our standards for homebuilding are high, our technology is world-class, and our economy - at least here in north Texas - is robust enough to power our area through the rebuilding process after yesterday's storms. Most homeowners have insurance that may not cover all of their losses, but at least nobody was forced to spend the night out in the damp cold, and nobody missed a hot meal because our community didn't respond quickly enough.
The extent to which we've come to assume that we deserve these amenities, however, might dull our appreciation for the fact that our every breath is a gift from God. All of the biological faculties we employ to make our morning cup of coffee, or brush our teeth, or drive to work, or read this blog entry via the Internet are gifts from God. We deserve none of it. It's just that our highly developed lifestyle in the United States has jaded us into thinking that destructive storms deprive us of things that we deserve. Things for which we've worked, and saved, and expended sweat equity.
Literally, however, we should proclaim daily these words from the Apostle Paul:
"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength." - Philippians 4:12-13
We can't measure God's goodness by our normalcy. But we can always be grateful that His goodness is always better than what we deserve.
Of course, this is so much easier for me to say when I'm sitting in my air-conditioned home that didn't even once lose electricity during yesterday's fierce weather. As I look out my window on this sparklingly sunny day after the storms, no debris lays across anybody's lawns in my neighborhood, and all of our trees are firmly rooted into the ground. Cars aren't stacked on top of each other like firewood, and roofing shingles don't litter the street.
I don't mind telling you that I hope God never allows me to experience the devastation some of my fellow north Texans are experiencing today. And frankly, I can only hope that if He ever does, God will bring to my mind the very things I'm claiming here today with what I know is a comparatively untested credibility.
So even if you don't need to hear it again as much I do, let's say it like we believe it:
"Praise the Lord! He is good. All the time!"
_____
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