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!
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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.

Ryugyong Hotel, as it sat for years: just an enormous concrete shell.

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?

Ryugyong Hotel with glass facade installed.

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.

The Shard, a glassy obelisk of sorts, in London

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.
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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.



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Driven to the Standard

"And now," as they say on Monty Python, "for something completely different!"

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
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God's Goodness Exceeds Our Normalcy

"God is good!"

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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I See Skies of Blue

Nuthin' but bloooo sky...

That's what I see when I look straight up into the heavens today.

And I like it!

Don't you, too?  Sparkling and clear blue sky.  Kinda darker, the deeper into space you look, with a soft whitish tint as your gaze travels to just about the treeline.  The kind of blue that you really can't photograph unless you have an expensive camera, otherwise everything kinda seems faded.

Here in Texas, in August, blue skies like today's are rare, even though we have plenty of sunny days.  Smog tends to add a brownish-purple tinge to the sky on cloudless days, as the sun scorches the chemicals in our air.  But in the springtime, when breezes are more reliable, and the air hasn't yet been cooked by the summer sun, the blue is as blue as blue skies should be.

Bluer than the signature powder-blue gift boxes at Tiffany's.  But not the cold blue of ordinary sunny days during the winter.

In a way, if you think about it, blue skies provide an indisputable testament to the validity of Creation science.  How so?  Well, consider how the pollutants we humans have introduced to our atmosphere over the past century or so.  Pollutants created from the mixing and emissions of chemicals which had never before taken place on our planet in such quantities and concentrations until the 1900's.

How would an evolutionist explain the fact that the chemical make-up of the atmosphere was prepared for the introduction of these new "man-made" chemicals?  Why didn't the atmosphere simply explode or ignite when these new chemical compositions reached the stratosphere?  How did evolution prepare the gasses - that previously existed uninterrupted up there for so long - for such a relatively new phenomenon as non-organic compounds invading such a previously untested environment?

Was it luck that our atmosphere didn't react in violent convulsions from the unanticipated intrusion of new chemicals into the air?  I understand that people who believe evolutionary theory say that some evolution cycles are faster than others, but with all of the pollution we've introduced into the atmosphere, shouldn't we be seeing some sort of evolutionary repercussions?

Of course, evolutionists say we are:  the melting ice caps, the rising sea levels, the loss of biodiversity.  That's evolution's way of reacting to man's pollution of our air, they claim.

And unlike many evangelicals, I don't doubt that man-made pollution is bad for the environment.  I wonder how many conservatives today would want to live in the Cleveland of the 1960's, when the Cuyahoga River caught fire from all of the chemicals being dumped into it.  How many Republicans in California get sick from all the smog - smog that used to blanket cities across the United States until pollution controls were enacted to help clean the air?

Pollution and its effects are indisputable, and all of our lives are better for efforts to reduce it.  And it's impossible to prove that all of the chemicals we've pumped into the air are not causing some impact on any possible changes to our climate.  But it's also impossible to prove the extent of that effect.  After all, the Earth has been colder before, and it's been warmer.  What about the Ice Age?  Something heated up, otherwise we'd still be living in the Ice Age, right?  So while pollution needs to be fought against, we can't blame it entirely for all of the ills some hard-line environmentalists want to.

Does that mean that we Americans need to adopt even more-stringent rules to further eliminate pollution?  Well, that depends, doesn't it, on what our fellow planetary citizens do to help with our air quality.  After all, we're not the globe's only polluters, and just as the rest of the world consumes our air, we also consume theirs.  So how are the subsistence farmers who burn piles of methane-releasing dung in Africa going to reduce their emissions?  How are the masses of impoverished people around the world who heat and cook by burning unregulated oil going to reduce their emissions?  How are all of the countries who burn coal while shunning modern air-scrubbing smokestack technology going to reduce their emissions?

Pollution isn't only an American problem, just as global warming may be more cyclical than some scientists want to admit.

Global warming still doesn't answer my original question, either.  Sure, we may be seeing some severe biological reactions to pollution now, but in the grand scheme of things, they're hardly cataclysmic.  Human lifespans around the world continue to increase - we're not dying off in droves from air-borne pollution.  Plenty of other predatory practices are contributing to the loss of biodiversity, not just pollution.  And we're still able to breathe the same air that existed on this planet before Columbus discovered the New World.

Yes, as good stewards of God's creation, we need to clean it up a bit more.  "Rule and subdue" doesn't mean "plunder and destroy."  Our forefathers kinda went overboard on the pollution thing back during the Industrial Revolution, and even today, our major chemical companies have only moved the worst of their business practices to impotent Majority World countries where people don't realize they're being exposed to carcinogens that North Americans wouldn't dare breathe.  Those people don't necessarily see the same blue sky I'm enjoying today.

And when I don't see this blue sky in August here in Texas, and I know it's because of pollution, I have greater sympathy for those folks in places like China, Bangladesh, India, and even parts of Russia where environmental regulations are mired in sub-human standards.

Still, the proof I see in skies like today's here in Texas give me hope, because not only is my heavenly home somewhere up beyond the farthest reaches of the space crowning this air, but this air helps prove that my God truly is great.  He created this air knowing that people like me would take it for granted and pollute it. And He designed it to accommodate just enough pollution to serve as a warning as to how important clean air is to our well-being.

And in the words of Louis Armstrong, "I think to myself, what a wonderful world!"
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Don't Let Your Plates Speak for You

Should state license plates promote a particular religion?

Of course not.

I've never been a huge proponent of "vanity plates," the customized license plates that can feature anything from sports teams to popular slogans to tourist destinations.

Not that license places need to be plain with only numbers and letters on them.  But their primary function is to identify a vehicle as having the authority to be on publicly-funded roadways.  And vanity plates are simply a license for trouble.

How so?  For example, consider the process of deciding what merits a vanity plate.  What teams get included or excluded?  What tourist destinations, slogans, and other considerations get the green light or red light?  Why?  Because who says?

Here in Texas, you can purchase separate vanity plates for your Ford car or truck.  You can get some for your favorite power company or restaurant.  Breast cancer, Dr. Pepper, nurses, Realtors, wind farms - they all have special plates.

And now we've come to what I knew would happen eventually:  religion on license places.  For a while, Texas has allowed the slogan "In God We Trust" on vanity plates featuring an Americana motif, and certainly, as slogans go, I don't have a problem with the wording.  But it was only a matter of time before somebody took things a step further.

Which they've now done.

The Texas Department of Motor Vehicles has begun authorizing black and white plates featuring a rendition of three crosses and the phrase, "One State Under God."  And right on cue, protests have arisen over the blurring of the line between separation of church and state.

I wonder if the same people who rush to their DMV office to purchase these new "One State Under God" plates would be so eager to let Muslims affix an Islamic saying onto our license plates.  Would Satanists be able to promote their faith?  How about atheists?  After all, atheism is a faith.

Every vanity plate carries a surcharge which varies based on the extent to which its customized.  Here in Texas, different vanity plates celebrating various social causes are sold with a portion of their proceeds directed to a signature non-profit group promoting that particular social cause.  And no, I can't argue with that.

Yet our new "One State Under God" plates will benefit a charity called "The Glory Gang" that works with at-risk kids in the sparsely-populated East Texas town of Nacogdoches.  How this particular charity got singled out to benefit from the proceeds of these plates, when a plethora of Christian non-profits exist in Texas, isn't clear.

Of course, Glory Gang sees the plates as a win-win.

“We believe the new plate will appeal to a lot of Texans who believe as we do-- who will like knowing that sharing a Christian message from their cars will also help kids in need,” said Matt Rocco, a Glory Gang board member.

Even if you think I'm wrong, and that religious-themed license plates are a good idea, you still have to admit that the slogan chosen for this inaugural plate doesn't make much sense.  "One State Under God?"

Of course, Texas is one state.  But "One State Under God" ostensibly mimics the national slogan, "One Nation Under God," which envisions a collection of states united in a common solidarity under the lordship of God.

"One Nation Under God," therefore, makes sense.  "One State Under God" is a weak copy which trivializes not only the original slogan from which it's trying to borrow credibility, but also the concept of Christian-themed license plates in general.

I'd have thought that something like "God Bless Texas" - a popular slogan that has become a thoroughly Texan anthem with decidedly innocuous tones - would be more appropriate than the poorly-phrased "One State Under God."

But then, we wouldn't need to be having this discussion if our license plates simply stayed out of religion altogether.  It's not that we don't have the freedom to broadcast our faith from our car bumpers.  But our faith should be more interactive when it comes to how we drive.  After all, how many times have you been blasted by a speeding vehicle blowing past you bearing a Christian bumper sticker on its rear?

Let other drivers know you're a Christian by your love behind the wheel.  Not some slogan on your license plate.
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Dog Day Saturday

At first glance, it looked like a scraggly pile of leaves.

But when it got up, you could see that it had four legs.

Underneath a neighbor's pickup truck parked across the street, a mangy mutt of a dog appeared this past Saturday.  It could stand up underneath the full-sized Chevy, which tells you how tall it was.  And it wasn't much longer, either.  It's greyish-brown hair was matted and clumped, looking like cornrows in places.  Hair completely covered its eyes and spread out from each of its paws.  Other than hair, all that could be seen was a cute little black button nose.  And every now and then, a little pink mouth with perfectly-aligned itty-bitty white teeth.

It appeared as though this dog's previous owners had put braces on those teeth in its earlier life, they were so straight.  In that earlier life, it was probably well-groomed, well-fed, and even well-trained.  It certainly wasn't a wild dog who'd lived for years - or even many months - on the streets.  It didn't snap, or bark much at all.  It didn't dislike humans, but it was wary.  Eventually, with some coaxing, it decided to inch itself to the side of the pickup, closer to us humans, yet still well-protected by the underbelly of the Chevy.

A neighbor up the street saw it first, and came back with some dog food he purchased at a nearby convenience store, since he didn't have a dog of his own.  But this little mutt wouldn't come out from under the truck, so our neighbor tore off the side of a Styrofoam fast-food soda cup, filled it up with the dog food, and left it in the curb.

After the first neighbor went back home, I softly approached the pickup truck, talking to the dog in a hushed manner.  He wagged his mangy tail, but displayed little other interest.  I got down onto the pavement on my hands and knees, with my rear-end sticking up in the air, trying to coax the mutt out from under the truck, but he just moved from one spot to the other, wagging his tail in a decidedly noncommittal way.

Another neighbor drove by, saw the situation, and went home to get some doggie treats she had on-hand for her own two pets.  We made a little smorgasbord of the food on the pavement near the wayward stray, and after we moved back, he came out and gobbled up some of the pieces.

Yet another neighbor drove by, got out of her silver Cadillac, got down on her hands and knees, and tried to coax the mutt from underneath the pickup.

No success.  Although he seemed charmed by all of the attention he'd suddenly acquired, he didn't really trust any of us.

What do to?  Another neighbor drove by and suggested a no-kill shelter she knew of - about 30 miles away.  We couldn't even get the dog out from under the truck, let alone pick him up.  And did any of us have room in our Saturday to drive a couple of hours to take a stray dog to anyplace but the city pound, where they only keep strays for three days?

I decided that I could, but I needed more time to establish some sort of rapport with this little doggie.  So after talking to him some more, I went inside to try again later.  Only by then, our newest neighbor had moved on - to another, smaller pickup truck parked in our next-door-neighbor's driveway.  They were away on vacation, but I knew if they came home a day early and their two small children found a lost dog at their house, their parents would have a horrible time trying to convince them that it wasn't Providence giving them a new pet!

So I went next-door, and crouched beside their gold-colored Ford pick-up.  I talked to the dog, patting the concrete driveway with my hand, and generally trying to play dog whisperer to the shaggy-haired mutt.  At least the day was fairly cool and we had a bit of a breeze, so I wasn't perspiring like I would have done had this taken place during one of our notorious Texas summers.  But still, the dog seemed to enjoy the attention, but that was about it.

After a while, after I'd gone back inside, I noticed the neighbor up the street who'd gone out to purchase dog food had returned.  He was sitting on the curb, next to the white Chevy, talking to the dog, which had left the Ford and returned to the truck parked in the street.  "Good," I thought to myself.  "Maybe he'll be able to take care of the dog!"  I didn't want to have to take the stray myself to a shelter - no-kill or not.  But I knew we couldn't keep him.

After another hour or so, I looked again, and there was no scraggly-looking clump underneath the Chevy.  Had our neighbor taken him home?  Nope, I looked next-door, and the stray had simply returned to our next-door-neighbor's Ford.  So I went over again to talk to him, and to my surprise, it didn't take long for the little doggie to slowly work his way from underneath the truck into my reach.  So I stretched over and scratched his little head.

And he liked it!

I scratched behind his ear, under his chin, and across his back.  My hand turned brown and greasy from stroking such dirty hair.  But when I moved closer, the dog ducked back underneath the truck.

I'd done some research online and found a no-kill shelter in Fort Worth, which was closer to us, but they closed at 5pm on Saturdays, and it was 4:30 now.  And I still couldn't get to the dog to pick him up.  I started to walk away, and the dog came back from underneath the truck, and he started to follow me down the neighbor's driveway!

Was this my chance?  I turned around and bent down to scratch behind his ears again, and the dog came right up to my legs.  As I had been petting him, I'd noticed that fleas were running all over his skin.  The whole time he had been in our neighborhood, and all of us neighbors had been talking to him, he would suddenly attack his backside with his back feet in a scratching fit - obviously because of the fleas.  So as much as I wanted to help the little mutt, I didn't want to get covered in fleas myself.  So I didn't really want to pick him up.  But if I could get him to follow me to our house and into my car, then I could just spray the car's interior afterwards.

So I walked slowly across our lawn, and the little dog followed me.  We kept going, and he was following me, right up until the point where he seemed to start reading my mind as I mentally strategized about how I'd deal with his fleas and get him to the shelter, as time was running out.

Suddenly, he turned around and trotted back next door, and scooted himself underneath our neighbor's truck.

I went inside, and called the shelter to see if they could stay open a little while longer.  But they'd closed early for the day.

After dinner, I went back next door, and the dog came out from under the truck and let me pet him again and scratch behind his ears.  I killed a couple of fleas that made their way onto my arm and shirt, but I was really feeling sorry for the little fella.  I walked back into our yard, and the mutt followed me, and I thought maybe if I could get him into our fenced backyard for the evening, at least we could keep a better eye on him, and take him to the shelter after church Sunday morning.

About that time, yet another neighbor was walking her dog down our street, walking towards me and the stray.

"Oh, good!" she exclaimed.  "You got him to come out from underneath the truck!"

"Yes, but I don't know what to do with him right now," I replied.

"Well, Paul, our neighbor, wants to keep him."  I figured out that Paul was the guy who'd come down with the dog food earlier in the day, and who'd sat on the curb for a long while talking to the dog under the truck.

Wow - that was good news!  I had hoped that neighbor - who I'd never met before - would provide a good resolution for our problem, and he'd come through!  So we walked with the mutt - he was following me around quite obediently now - up the street to Paul's house.

And Paul was walking down the street - with even more dog food that he'd mixed with some hamburger!  When he saw us coming towards him with the stray, he broke out into a broad smile.

Turns out, he's an older single guy with some health issues who had a dog like this mutt back when he was much younger.  He was ready to deal with the fleas and the matted hair, and had a spacious, fenced backyard to keep him.  So we escorted the newly-christened "J.J." into the backyard, where he promptly did his business next to Paul's in-ground swimming pool!  It was as if he knew this was his new home!

Paul didn't care.  He was deeply pleased.  He was going to give J.J. a thorough bath and make an appointment with a dog groomer.  "I guess you'll see me more often now," he joked, since he'd realized he'd have to take J.J. out for daily constitutionals.

I walked back down the street to my home, leaving J.J. at his new one.  It was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  Everything had worked out!  How nice that all of us neighbors were able to share a common concern, and how especially nice that one of us was in a position to take a stray right off the street, despite all of his fleas and however many other problems he might have.

It reminded me that some stories can still have happy endings.  And that redemption isn't as impossible as we often consider it to be.

Bow. Wow!
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You Are Second

You've seen the billboards.

And the commercials, and the t-shirts, and the online advertising.

It claims "I am Second."  Supposedly a clever religious marketing slogan to indicate that God is first in purpose and priority, and since I believe that, I'm a Christian.  It's cool, hip, and minimalist, so nobody can really get offended.  And it fits so well with North America's pop theology.

And yes, God is first.  No doubt about it.

But are we really second?  Think about it.

Remember this encounter in the Gospels?

One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?"

"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'  The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these."  (Mark 12:28-31)

Or how about the apostle Paul's admonishment from Philippians 2:3:  Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.

God, others, ourselves.  Isn't that the real order?

Ironically, the "I am Second" campaign reflects the humanistic reality that I'm assuming it's trying to challenge.  We do consider ourselves more important that others, don't we?  Many Americans will admit to some Higher Power being in charge of things, even as they're not eager to cede second place to anybody else.  But those of us who believe that the God of the Bible is first must also believe in the corollary to that doctrine:  God is first.  You are second.  I am further on down the list.

One of the greatest struggles of my life involves believing this and acting on it.  Acknowledging that your needs should come before my own has become profoundly heretical in the American mindset.  We hardly show affinity for each other, let alone affection and - gasp! - love.  Not romantic love, of course, but brotherly love.  The willingness to defer.  The eagerness to help.  The loathing of repayment - with interest.

And guess what - I am not second.  You are.  Even if you selfishly agree with me that you're second.

But don't assume that for too long.  Otherwise I'll have to start praying for your salvation.  Because believing "I am second" is apparently, according to the Bible, as sinful as believing you're first.

Who's on second?  Narcissism tells us what we want to believe.  God's Word tells us the truth.

So, yes, I believe you are second.  Even though sometimes I may not act like I believe it.  So when that happens, please forgive me.  Because technically, to you, I'm second.

We're taught that life isn't supposed to work this way - with others being more important than ourselves.  But things aren't really working out being motivated by our personal selfishness, are they?  Maybe "You Are Second" would be one of those faith things we usually defer to those really spiritual moments in our lives that we don't consider pragmatic for everyday living

So, am I off the hook?  Do I not really have to take being selfless seriously?

Why don't you tell me?

After all, you are second.

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Adults Shouldn't Model Childish Behavior

"How silly," I thought while reading the article.

"Like a bunch of children."

In an account of the endemic corruption crippling recovery efforts in Afghanistan, the New York Times this week gave a bleak update on the near-collapse of Kabul Bank by untouchables in that country's elite.  It was part of the scenario about how the American military's pull-out from that war-torn country has been absurdly complicated by the graft which chokes the Afghan government.

This scenario has gotten choked by stories of President Harmid Karzai pretending not to know that his top officials are plundering the nation's few banks.  Stories about how Karzai's government manipulates American military officers, stalling for time as politicians back home keep throwing our tax dollars into the black hole that is our reconstruction efforts.  About how bank officials, supposedly having been found guilty of bank fraud, don't even go back to prison after working their day jobs... jobs that allegedly have put them in prime positions of committing fraud in the first place.  About how just about everybody over there blames us for this mess, apparently because the United States had some wild expectation that law and order would be the best way for Afghanistan to leapfrog into the Twentieth Century.

Yes, that would still make Afghanistan a backwards country, but at least it would be a step in the right direction.

Instead, the Afghan people - from its president on down - appear intent on bickering, fighting, and defrauding themselves back to the Stone Age.

And I think to myself, "how silly."  It's as if they're content to fade back into the world's backyard sandbox, with thugs bullying their way around the dirt.

Meanwhile, half-way around the world, in a village near Syracuse, New York, things aren't that much different.  A widowed mother has found herself under the microscope for driving her teenaged daughter to the parking lot of a Catholic church for a pre-arranged fight with another girl from high school.  The widow brought along her other daughter, a 12-year-old, to videotape the fight.

Supposedly, this was the appropriate resolution for incidents of bullying to which the widow's teenaged daughter had allegedly been subjected by the other teenager.  Claiming to have become frustrated that the school district wasn't doing anything to intervene in the bullying, the widow decided that a supervised fight - behind, ironically, the sanctuary of Holy Family Church - could help resolve things.

As you might imagine, it hasn't.

A video - the other girl also had her boyfriend videotape the fight - went viral around the high school this week.  The town's police department obtained a copy.  And today, the widow was in court, charged with endangering the welfare of a child. 

Back when I was in junior high school, I was the victim of a bully in gym class who grabbed flesh on my arm and twisted it so hard and so long that it swelled profusely and turned black and blue.  My parents met with school officials and the coach who taught our class, and while I don't ever remember receiving an apology, I did learn that my bully came from a pretty messed-up home, so I actually ended up feeling sorry for him.

Perhaps the fact that this widow's husband had passed away relatively recently created a vacuum in the family that left their eldest daughter particularly vulnerable to bad behavior by others.  Perhaps the loss of what could have been the authority figure in their home left the widow a bit bereft regarding appropriate conflict resolution tactics.

School officials and the police differ with the widow regarding the extent to which they knew about the bullying which provoked this churchyard fight.  But even as a victim of school bullying myself, I'm not convinced that schools - in this day and age of lawsuit-happy parents - should shoulder the entire responsibility for addressing bullying situations, particularly when they don't occur on-campus.

Still, the fact that this widow considered violence (and yes, I've seen teenaged girls fight, and it gets far more violent far faster than when boys fight) an appropriate choice for resolving the conflict between these two teenagers is troubling.  Mostly because so many people agree with her.

Wouldn't the best recourse for this mother have been to arrange a conversation with the parents of the other teenaged girl to discuss the situation rationally?  Even if you don't get what you think is the best resolution, you've established some level of dialog that can either become evidence in your favor should any legal proceedings be necessary down the road, or at least prove to your child that you know violence isn't the best response to violence.  At least, not when it comes to school bullying.

Plenty of central New Yorkers responding to this story on Syracuse.com complain that people like me are the reason why America has lost its foreign relations backbone.  Even if that were true, despite our troops being stretched thin across the globe (which proves it's not), the inverse is even truer:  violence begets violence more often than not.

Just look at Afghanistan.  They have been at war for centuries.  The country is a polyglot of fiefdoms, warlords, tribal sects, and other factions.  They fight each other, and whomever is stupid enough to try and pick a fight with them.

When George W. Bush went after the Taliban after 9/11, I applauded his efforts at both rooting out one of the world's most dangerous terror organizations, and taking advantage of the momentary vacuum in power to help introduce First World ideologies and technologies for the good of the Afghan people.  But Bush's advisers swayed his attention to Iraq, we took our eyes off the ball in Afghanistan, and the Taliban came roaring back while our back was turned.  And it's been a downward spiral ever since.

What does a fight between two teenaged girls in a Catholic church's parking lot in rural New York State have to do with corrupt oligarchs in Afghanistan?

It's this:  authority figures need to know their purpose - and maintain their integrity - before trouble ever starts.  America squandered what most people considered a remarkable feat early in the last decade, before Iraq.  This mother in New York forgot that she's supposed to be teaching her children how to be responsible adults, and that only barbaric cultures skip diplomacy for violence.

I don't comment much on parenting in my blog, because I don't have kids, and telling other people how to raise theirs is not a good use of my energies.  Neither am I an expert on Afghanistan, or American foreign policy, for that matter.

Yet the factors responsible for the degradation of civilization can't be that complex for somebody as ordinary me not to understand them.  Yes, violence and corruption may appear to be the easier way out of the problems we face.

But adults supposedly put childish things away when they mature.
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