Before Cigar Bars, There was Wilkerson

(Updated with photos, October 2, 2021)

Among the verdant green woods of East Texas yesterday, the man who pioneered a harrowing ministry to New York City's infamous street gangs died when he drove his luxury car into the path of an 18-wheeler.

The Cross and the Switchblade has proven to be a seminal account of conviction, insight, and tenacity against the odds. David Wilkerson, its author, was an ordinary, WASPish young preacher from small-town Pennsylvania. Yet in the late 1950's, he felt God calling him to begin an outreach ministry to none other than gang members and drug addicts in New York City's increasingly violent slums.

Back then, the unprecedented phenomenon of white flight had already gripped urban America, as post-war Caucasians scrambled for new, pristine suburbs. In the vacuum created by such a mass exodus of its employment base and middle class taxpayers, the world's largest city (at the time) found itself reeling from an epic surge in crime, drug abuse, and acute social dysfunction.

Nicky Cruz, left, and Israel Narvaez, right, of Brooklyn's notorious Mau Maus street gang,
trading in their weapons for Bibles with Wilkerson.

David Wilkerson's Impact

For a white guy who didn't know Spanish, attempting evangelism in Gotham's hardened streets and lethal alleys struck many people as foolhardy. Even within the evangelical church. Most people of faith were fleeing the inner city as fast as everyone else. To them, it was like rushing from a burning building; and then seeing a lone, naiive figure dash back into the inferno to try and rescue others.

Fast forward a couple of decades, and Wilkerson hadn't only evangelized one of Brooklyn's most ruthless thugs, Nicky Cruz, but he had charted a stark new course for how the church can minister cross-culturally.  He'd begun one of the country's first urban-based youth outreach programs, Teen Challenge, in Brooklyn.  He'd founded an improbable congregation targeted towards Broadway's notoriously libidinous theater industry and boldly named it Times Square Church. Eventually he'd launch his own Christian leadership ministry, World Challenge; which, among other things, had him scheduled to preach in locales as diverse as Haiti and Ireland later this year.

Times Square Church today

Oddly enough, I'd referenced Wilkerson myself only a few days ago in this very blog while discussing the early years of modern inner-city ministry in New York. If he wasn't the very first to do so, Wilkerson was among the very first to labor for the Kingdom when our modern-day inner city was not a popular place to do so.

Now that Gotham has defied the odds and become more glamorous than ever, it almost seems like evangelists are swarming over urban America like it's some sort of lark, doing church with a hip grunge vibe.  Back in Wilkerson's early days, urban ministry was hardly urbane; it literally was life and death, especially in Brooklyn, where even today, fashionable 'hoods for newly-arriving Gen-Xers remain few and absurdly gentrificated. When Wilkerson stepped out into Brooklyn's gang-choked avenues, there were no trendy trinkets to salvage from the urban culture, like cigar bars, for helping Christianity "fit in" and claim "credibility".  Preaching Christ was all that worked. (And for the record, that's all that STILL works...)

Back when I was in high school, I read a yellowed paperback copy of The Cross and the Switchblade of my father's, himself a Brooklyn son. Native New Yorkers of faith who stayed in the city had marveled - albeit with a dose of New York skepticism - that somebody from out of town wanted to help them reach their city. My father's family had remained in Brooklyn, even as the rest of the city seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

What struck me about the ministry God gave Wilkerson wasn't its more sensationally charismatic elements. And yes, he claimed to be a pentecostal. Even when I lived in Manhattan after college, my friends at the city's venerable Calvary Baptist Church never really credited Wilkerson as being completely orthodox, although Times Square Church was considered one of the three major evangelical churches in Manhattan at the time, including Redeemer Presbyterian (there are many, many more today)

No, it was Wilkerson's willingness to be used of God for something few others would embrace or celebrate, or even understand, that challenged me all those years ago.  I've never been a risk-taker, and maybe I didn't understand that what God was inviting Wilkerson to do involved considerably more risk than I would think was wise, even today.  But it didn't seem so much like risk as it did simple faith and trust in a sovereign Lord.  After all, how much risk is really involved if the One Who's leading us has already guaranteed ultimate success?

Which, as I contemplate the sudden passing of Wilkerson, returns to haunt me afresh as I look at where I am in this journey of life. What is risk? What's guaranteed in this journey, and what isn't?

Switchblades and Seatbelts

Unfortunately, a foolhardy element of risk shrouds Wilkerson's death in Texas' Cherokee County.  Police officials discovered  that he wasn't wearing his seatbelt at the time of the crash.  Wilkerson died at the scene, while his wife, a passenger in their white 2008 Infiniti, was airlifted to a hospital in nearby Tyler.  The driver of the truck Wilkerson hit head-on was also hospitalized after his truck plunged over the bridge they were both crossing.

The Wilkerson's split their time between New York City and the tiny East Texas town of Lindale.  In his late 70's, he'd given up the pulpit ministry at Times Square Church and had been living somewhat under the radar, roving the globe giving seminars and preaching.  A small, private family funeral has been tentatively planned in Lindale, with a grander public memorial service in New York later in May.

But good grief - what's up with famous evangelicals not wearing their seatbelts? In 1997, you'll recall that singer Rich Mullins, driving without his seatbelt on, accidentally flipped his Jeep on a highway. Although being flung from his vehicle didn't kill him, being run-over by a passing tractor-trailer truck did. I'm being blunt to make an ancillary point: 65% of all people killed in car accidents died not wearing their seatbelts.  And it's not like buckling up takes a lot of time or is terribly difficult.  There aren't many good reasons for not wearing them. Especially for those who should be setting a good example.

Obviously, when it's your time to go, it's your time to go, and nothing can change that.  God's sovereignty is perfectly synchronized between our mortality and His eternity.  So, although death can come in tragic ways, people of faith have hope in believing His summons to Heaven won't be early or late. But, sheesh - for a man with Wilkerson's ministry pedigree to be killed while not wearing his seatbelt?  That's just so sad.

Parting Words

Still, at least as a native Brooklynite, I would be shamefully negligent if I didn't emphasize the extent to which God honored Wilkerson - and the faithfulness with which he served Jesus - among some of the most unloveable people in the world's greatest city.  Few people have ministered to New York's unloved in such a Christ-honoring and groundbreaking way.  While I'm wary of some of Wilkerson's pentecostal proclivities, I can't help but be grateful for his overall legacy.

Despite all of the success God gave Wilkerson, however, New York in many ways has deeper poverty, darker crime, and more blatant licentiousness than ever before.  Indeed, the back-to-the-city ethos Wilkerson helped start among evangelicals can't claim victory anytime soon.  But Wilkerson himself, on his blog yesterday sometime before going out on his fateful drive, posted these words:

"To those going through the valley and shadow of death, hear this word: Weeping will last through some dark, awful nights—and in that darkness you will soon hear the Father whisper, 'I am with you. I cannot tell you why right now, but one day it will all make sense. You will see it was all part of my plan. It was no accident. It was no failure on your part. Hold fast. Let me embrace you in your hour of pain.'

"Beloved, God has never failed to act but in goodness and love. When all means fail—his love prevails. Hold fast to your faith. Stand fast in his Word. There is no other hope in this world."

And all God's people said, "Amen."
_____

Embarrassment of Resources

HOLY WEEK, or THE WEEK OF CHRIST'S PASSION
DAY 43 OF 46




Want to drive yourself crazy?

Spend two whole days surfing blogs and websites of supposedly important Christian organizations, preachers, theologians, and opinionated blowhards.

Granted, I fall squarely into that last category myself. Well, the "opinionated blowhards" part; I doubt anybody would consider this blog important.  But even this blog helps to illustrate how much evangelical content has been compiled just on the Internet. It's not until you flip from page to page and website to website like I did yesterday, though, that you risk getting really depressed. Not only does this plethora of content stake out all sorts of ideologies, perspectives, convictions, and obsessions regarding Christianity, but after a while, I realized how redundant non-essential most of this well-groomed content is.

Indeed, despite advanced technology, there really isn't anything new under the sun.

Building Bigger Barns?

Perhaps moreso than ever before, the evangelical church in North America has a crushing trove of accessible advice, reference material, sermons, reviews, workshops, articles, podcasts, critiques, Twitter feeds, and rhetoric waiting for its Biblically-astute audience. The sheer volume of these resources must be inexhaustible.

And still, into what has North American evangelical Christianity evolved? Most congregations have yet to be integrated racially and economically. Many congregations try to apologize for the Gospel by making their services appealing to popular culture, ignoring our mandate to be in the world but not of it. The divorce rate among churched people is the same as for unchurched. And we're quickly losing ground on most moral indicators, like drug abuse, extramarital sex, fiscal responsibility, and even scholastic aptitude.

Within these past couple of days, I've read about how some Reformed pastors like to drink beer because it upsets fellow believers, and they justify their churlish attitudes by warping scriptures regarding holiness and weaker brothers to suit their preferences. I've perused vast conference agendas covering all sorts of topics in minutiae for the high-energy preacher. I've waded through biographies of Christian leaders that include litanies of books they've written, parachurch organizations they've launched, and fellow Christian celebrities with which they've ministered. And I've skimmed impressive-sounding content covering topics like missional churches, soft universalists, sustainable evangelism, transformational ministry, transformance, new monasticism, and gender fluidity.

And you thought the Gospel was only about salvation through Christ!

Doctrinal Hedonism?

It all started as what I thought would be a simple research project regarding the emergent church and the Wild Goose Festival coming up this June in North Carolina. But then I learned through my research that the emergent church had pretty much stagnated in 2009, and has been re-branded as post-emergent. And even though most of the featured speakers at the Wild Goose Festival boast legitimate emergent credentials, some of the festival's supporters were also claimed by some trendy hipsters in the Mark Driscoll genre. And then I found where John Piper gave a speech to outline the differences between Reformed emerging churches, like Driscoll says his is, and the emergent fad.

Quite frankly, I'm exhausted. Discouraged. And even uninterested in associating with many of the people whose stuff I've been reading.

People with names you'd most likely be familiar, if you're an evangelical Christian. And some people you maybe even admire.

Not because they're smarter than me, or more spiritual than me, or famous or - as some are - wealthy.  All lumped together, they make faith seem sterile and esoteric.

Working for a church like I did years ago, I've already lost my ability to idolize or become infatuated with Christian leaders. I pray for my pastors, yes, and I value their contributions to the ministry of our church, but beyond that, preachers and teachers and opinionated blowhards are simply mere mortals, just like you and, well, me. It's just the famous ones have savvy publishers, publicists, website designers, and videographers.

It seems that all they really offer is a persona and charisma which we associate with competency, authority, and achievement in our society. And yes, many of the men - and women - we objectify in evangelical Christianity possess exceptional pedigrees in these qualities. But how much has all of this attention we've paid to them and their bullet points really helped believers in North America be authentic, vulnerable, and astute followers of Christ?

Are we, as part of the world's most economically successful and materialistic society, so stunted spiritually that we need these professional Christians to help us be as ineffectual and myopic as we are?  Are these professional Christians the problem, or the people who are paying their salaries?

After all, how many of us still expect our pastors to do most of the heavy-lifting when it comes to spiritual things? And to keep their jobs, might our pastors be perpetuating the problem by building their own little empires of influence they like to call "ministries?"

What if believers across the globe had the same access to this monstrous pile of elite exegesis on doctrines and theology that we have here in North America?  Might they put us to shame by their earnest devotion to Christ - as the persecuted church already does in unsung pockets of the globe?

Even in the Church Economy, We Consumers Share the Blame

Maybe instead of relying on our extensive Christian subculture for relevance, we can demonstrate our faith better not by flaunting our exercise of stereotypically forbidden activities like drinking and dancing, but by demonstrating a Biblical attitude both if you decide to do these things yourself, or if you know other believers don't.

Maybe we can work harder at trying to appreciate the underlying reasons for why a co-worker is treating us in a particularly way; not condoning the causes or the behavior, but having a level of empathy that could help us convey the love of Christ to that person in a meaningful way.

Maybe we could exercise far more discretion in what we allow ourselves to experience in the media that might, however subtly, distort our view of sin and its pernicious dangers.

Maybe we could spend more time in contemplative study of God's Word, as well as in prayer, so that the things we learn about God and our faith come first-generation from the Creator Himself, not necessarily second-generation through professional Christians.  Not that preachers and teachers can't be a valuable resource for developing our faith, but they can't substitute for the Author and Perfecter of our faith.

Think about it:  do we need more preachers in North America?  More church buildings?  More congregations?  More conferences, websites, blogs, Twitter feeds, books, and videos?

Or do we need people of faith to be more committed to Christ, more resolved to learning about Him, more repentant of their sin, more joyful from His grace, more eager to honor Him in all that we do, and more bold to talk about Him within their spheres of influence?

Remember, to whom much is given, much is required.  And here in North America, we have far more resources than we use or need. 

And like any good conservative, I dislike waste.
_____

Tales from Retail

DAY 38 OF 46

Trevor Bannister passed away in Surrey, England yesterday.  He was 76.

To most Americans, this news will come as neither a surprise nor an interesting bit of information.  In Britain, however, it's today's #1 story on the BBC's website.

Bannister's claim to fame came playing Mr. Lucas, a character on the 1970's BBC sitcom, Are You Being Served? (AYBS).  Just as America has its brand of situation comedies for TV, so does England, where AYBS has been a favorite.  Set in a Harrods-styled London department store, fictionally named Grace Brothers, this series centered on the lives and foibles of staff in its gentlemen's and ladies' departments.  

Mr. Lucas - his first name being something of a mystery - worked as the "junior" clerk behind the men's counter, the lowest rung on London retailing's hierarchial ladder.

Once, when challenged to supply his first name during a staff meeting, Bannister's character grimly refused, insisting, "Just call me Mister Lucas".  Another character, the bawdy custodian Mr. Mash, called him "James", but writers for the series eventually realized naming him the slang version of "Richard" would play well against the show's suggestively homosexual character, Mr. Humphries.

Indeed, contrasted with Mr. Humphries' stereotyped flamboyance, which in that day was rare and risky for television, Bannister's Mr. Lucas considered himself quite the ladies man and store playboy.  He was forever arriving late after an all-night date, and forever crassly wooing Miss Brahms, the far more competent junior on the ladies' counter.  As the novice salesman, he clung onto his job usually by the skin of his teeth.  His character valued authority the least, and teased Mrs. Slocumbe the most.  He marveled at the illogical ways retail sometimes works, and generally preferred giving up a sale rather than fun.

British comedy has been described as an acquired taste, and indeed, not a lot of Americans find it laugh-out-loud funny.  Most of the time, English humor comes not from blatant jokes or hilarious storylines, but from intricate writing which draws viewers into each character's persona.  British comedies tend to engage our shared humanity by encouraging us to live their shows vicariously through strongly-defined characters.  We're not expected to simply be a static audience and watch, so scripts are written both to elicit laughter and convey an almost familial poignancy as we infer well-nuanced personality traits into changing plots.

Welcome to Jas. K. Wilson

Even though I'm personally saddened to hear that the man who played Mr. Lucas has died, however, Bannister's passing has gotten me reminiscing about something else.  Back when I was still in high school, I got a job at an upscale men's store at the mall, and I worked there for over six years.  Whenever I watch AYBS, I can't ignore how the show parallels my own real-life experiences in retail.

Although it had become part of a nationwide corporation, the store for which I worked, Jas. K. Wilson, retained distinct local characteristics of when it was a fine haberdashery in downtown Dallas, just down the street from Neiman Marcus' flagship store.

Our clothes were expensive, and we were known for our service and attention to detail.  The styles of our clothing ranged from the old-fashioned to the moderately trendy, and we were never reprimanded for evidencing a bit of snobbery when customers asked for something too bourgeoisie.  We were fond of joking that "there's no such thing as a short-sleeved dress shirt."  And I can even recall managers clucking that "the customer is always right, except when they're wrong."

So maybe now you have a better idea of where I've gotten my spurts of attitude.

It wasn't all posh and refined, however.  I helped catch an alleged thief once, while working in the shoe department.  A customer reported that purchases she'd taken back to her car were stolen during a subsequent burglary of her car.  Among the items stolen was a pair of bedroom slippers for her father that she'd purchased from me.  Imagine my surprise when the next day, a bedraggled, greasy-haired white man brought the very same stolen slippers back to the store for a refund!  Complete with store bag and receipt!  I wasn't sure how to handle it, but managed to keep the guy engaged in conversation at the cashier's desk while one of our managers notified the police.  

I don't think the suspect was ever booked.  Since the slippers' value was far below the threshold of a major crime, and since simply being in possession of items related to a car burglary doesn't necessarily prove one's a burglar, I don't recall the police did much of anything with the suspect after discreetly escorting him from our store. 

The take-away for us was that my customer got her purchase back, her father got some slippers with a far more compelling provenance, and our store's reputation for exceptional customer service got some polishing.  For my bit of derring-do, I received some award at a company-sponsored breakfast banquet at a local hotel honoring employees across our company who had contributed to what the industry calls "loss prevention".

Speaking of loss prevention, I had three individual store managers who ended up being caught embezzling from the company.  Yes.  Literally.  Three.  That we knew of.  Just from our store.

And the police were never called on any of them, for crimes involving much more money than the cost of a pair of gentleman's slippers...

Minding the Store

Our retailing drama wasn't all negative.  Each quarter, a fancy sales meeting would be held at a Dallas country club or luxury hotel.  Corporate executives would present the upcoming season's signature fashions during those breakfast banquets.  Top salespeople were regularly fetted by corporate with trinkets, including silver award pins designed by Tiffany & Co (no, I never sold enough to receive one!).  There used to be formal training sessions at headquarters in Dallas.  Yes, like at Grace Brothers, there were occasionally far humbler and mundane store meetings, but at least the firm sprung for the boxes and boxes of donuts we'd devour.  

Like the staff at Grace Brothers, we were at least artificially exalted in our otherwise lowly positions.  We were salespeople, after all, and we were expected to sell - not to clean our store or water its live plants.  Custodians and porters did that, and we contracted with a niche company whose employees went around tending our lush broad-leafed foliage.  No plastic ficus trees for us!  We hired temps during the Christmas holidays just to wrap presents.  We had cashiers to prevent salespeople from being off the sales floor for too long.  After all, ringing up one sale means you're not making another one!  We had in-house tailors.  I remember one of our porters would carry customers' purchases out to their cars - which was almost unheard of at a suburban mall.

However, on the other end of the employee spectrum, our company management could sometimes be as clueless as the management at Grace Brothers.  One time, a corporate official who didn't think were were "pushing enough goods" tried to demonstrate to us some proper selling techniques one busy Saturday.  He left quietly around noontime, not having sold any more than any of the rest of us.

Indeed, I learned to value personal experience over book knowledge.  If you saw the amount of junk we were expected to sell that had been ordered by corporate buyers who'd never worked one day on a sales floor, you'd understand why I don't give a lot of credit to people just because they have an MBA after their name.  One of my managers used to describe them as being "educated beyond their intelligence".

When I began at Jas. K., an elderly gentleman named Coy worked there part-time.  Back then, we employees had sales books much like they had at Grace Brothers, and I imagine Coy's was about as empty as Mr. Lucas' was!  Coy never sold much because he was practically deaf, and almost as blind.  I remember watching him hold merchandise up against his face, and then extending his arm out as far as he could, squinting to ascertain something for an increasingly dubious customer.  Yet he lent a certain stateliness to the place, kind of like some of the characters on AYBS did.  He also had been in retail long enough to know a thing or two about it.

He used to like to encourage us younger salespeople with his philosophies of life.  He'd hold court in the middle of our enormous wall of dress shirts, or at one corner of our massive necktie counters near the front cash register, ignoring customers walking by as he shared his insights.  One of his favorites was that everybody should work at least one year in retail when they get out of school, before they go into whatever other career they might really want.  Retail, according to Coy, provided one of the best venues for learning about human nature in all of its quirky, goofy reality.

I learned that sometimes, you have to go along to get along.  I had one manager who tried to banish me to the stockroom every chance he got.  Eventually, I figured out that everybody in the store was aware of my situation, and my ability to tolerate it gave me a lot more credibility with them than it did my manager.  Maybe it didn't put money in my pocket, but people respected me, and to me, that was worth something.

And I also learned how hard people have to work sometimes for not a lot of money.  Our economic system pays workers based on how much our society values the work they do, rather than how much work they actually do.  That means people can labor exceptionally hard but earn far less than somebody who puts in far less physical or mental effort.  Again, however, if our personal integrity survives our workday, that is something, even if we can't immediately take it to the bank.

Maybe Coy was on to something after all.

So... when I learned today that the actor who brought Mr. Lucas to life had died, I felt compelled to spend a moment and commiserate over my own days in retail.  When I, too, was young and learning the ropes. And even still had a lot of hair, like Bannister did.

Instead of asking our customers, "are you being served?" however, we were coached to ask, "how may I help you?"

I suppose if I had asked the question with a British accent, I might have gotten more sales.

_____

Laws Exist Where Logic Doesn't

DAY 23 OF 46





No doubt about it: America has become a nanny-state.

That means we have too many laws governing too much human behavior.  One of the most well-known critics of our nanny-state, TV personality John Stossel, complains in a recent edition of Readers Digest that our government should "leave people alone... I think people should be able to do whatever the heck they want to do as long as they don't hurt somebody else."

And at first glance, he's right.  Legislation-creep has radically increased the scope of government intrusion into the private lives of every American.  Far more than our Founding Fathers intended.

But even though I agree that we've allowed politicians to craft excessive legislation for controlling how and what we do, I'm hesitant to call for repeals of these laws.

Because in this day and age, I see laws as a way to minimize the impact stupid people have on my life.

Laws Protect Us From Selfishness and Stupidity

What do I mean by that?  Quite simply: most laws exist because at some point, logic didn't.  Very few laws get crafted in a vacuum; some negative activity usually precipitates the awareness of a need for legislation.  If every American could be trusted to act responsibly and think about how the things they do affect others, would the government have to protect each of us from each others' bad behavior?

For example, wearing seat belts while in a moving vehicle became codified into law when drivers refused to acknowledge the safety benefits on their own.  Seat belts don't just protect you and the occupants in your car, which are excellent benefits in and of themselves.  They also protect other drivers like me because, if you get hit hard and flail about inside the passenger compartment of your vehicle, chances are pretty good that you'll lose control of your vehicle and risk hitting one of us.  With a seat belt, you benefit from a greater ability to remain in the drivers seat and in a position - literally - to maintain control of your car.  Your passengers also won't be flying into you, risking even further loss of control.

Should we need a law to mandate something as logical as seat belt usage?  No, we shouldn't need one; but our society's need for such a law came about because too many people were selfish in their decisions not to wear them.  Now that enough drivers proved they couldn't be trusted to make a logical commitment on their own, the government felt it had to step in.  After all, protection is one of the fundamental roles of government.

Or consider another dangerous driving habit - talking and texting on cell phones.  Let's face it: it doesn't matter if you have a hand-held phone or a headset, using mobile phones is distracting in the best of circumstances.  Don't tell me you can multi-task when you drive; why should I have to be the guinea pig of your own myopic experiment?  Why should I take your word for it?  Would you trust me implicitly if I told you I could drive 70 mph headed towards you on a road, texting away about where to have dinner?  Yet many people continue to insist on engaging in dangerously distracting behavior while behind the wheel.  So, to protect people like me from people displaying morally reprehensible behavior, laws continue to be drafted about cell phone usage while driving.

Is Government the Only One to Blame?

Add up all these innocuous little laws, and pretty soon, our society appears to be drowning in the effluent of nanny state drivel.  People like Stossel get their knickers in a twist accusing the government of being greedy for power over mundane aspects of everyday life.  But it's those mundane aspects of everyday life that too many people have abused which have created the need for legislation to protect the rest of us.  How much can we really blame on the government?

Even Stossel himself claims that he's been hit by a cab in New York City as he was jaywalking.  And maybe he wonders why there are laws against jaywalking in America's most populous and pedestrian-oriented city!  Granted, taxi drivers aren't the world's most gracious road warriors, but if he's ever complained about the fares he pays to ride them, doesn't he realize that a tiny fraction of that fare includes the liability insurance all cabbies pay because of people like him who willingly jaywalk?  Sure; his one little incident is a drop in the insurance premium bucket, but multiply that by the millions of people who live in and visit New York, and you can see how jaywalking could become a serious problem.

Perhaps you and Stossel would prefer paying higher cab fares to cover damages caused by jaywalkers and simply chalk up the extra expense as part of the cost of living in a society full of selfish people.  But selfishness is really only a character trait we find admirable when it's we who are being selfish.  We rarely value selfishness when displayed by other people.  So what does that say about our society that more and more laws get crafted to counteract the selfishness of too many people in our community?

Have you ever heard of anomie?  It's a sociological term to describe the disconnect participants in a particular environment can develop as personal relationships remain scarce or tepid. The famous 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese in Queens sparked a widespread recognition of the phenomenon of people who, although crowded together in a confined neighborhood, could hear the guttural screams of a woman being stabbed to death and shrug it off as somebody else's problem.  Nobody called the police during the entire half-hour it took her murderer to commit his heinous crime, because even people who paid any concern to the screams they heard assumed somebody else would get involved.

The Disconnect From Being Disconnected

Now, even most critics of our nanny state would agree that outlawing murder constitutes a basic government prerogative.  But isn't it interesting that even though I can't compare the Kitty Genovese murder to not wearing a seatbelt, the same indifference lies behind both scenarios, doesn't it?  We're almost always the ones who should be able to ignore what we want to ignore and do what we want to do.  Our worlds almost always revolve around ourselves and our spheres of influence.  We forget that we're part of a greater community of drivers on a freeway, neighbors on a residential block, parents of kids in an elementary school, and any other group of people who share the many slices of life that make up the American experience.

I'm not preaching the virtues of hounding everybody into suffocating conformity, or forcing us all to march in straight lines of precise activity.  But if we thought about how our actions - or inactions - affected other people before we did - or didn't - do them, we'd probably have a lot fewer laws on the books. That's not to say that every law currently on the books has a valid reason for being there.  But I suspect the number that are valid is higher than people like Stossel would care to admit.

It sounds real American to say that we're individuals and we should have the right to do what we want when we want. But you don't have the right to compromise my safety. Your right to swing your fist stops at my nose.

If we policed ourselves better, and held ourselves to a greater standard of accountability and responsibility, then our nanny state would become redundant.

But until we all get a lot more selfless, unfortunately, we're going to need to have our diapers changed a whole lot more than we like.
_____

Bike Path of Least Resistance

DAY 22 OF 46





New York Magazine has called it urban America's "newest culture war."

But unlike many culture wars, this one didn't start in New York.  And it certainly didn't start in car-crazy Los Angeles!

No, the war over bike lanes probably started in the politically liberal bastion of Portland, Oregon.  But it wasn't so much of a war there as it was a revolt against fossil-fuel-burning beasts.  Those evil contraptions the rest of us know as "cars."

Portland boasts that up to 9% of people who commute in its city commute by bike.  If you're as underwhelmed by that statistic as I am, you can see why plenty of people across the country aren't as crazy about bike lanes as Oregonians.  And that nine percent even benefits from a program which gives poor people a free bike including all of the requisite safety equipment.

Good luck getting a free bike in New York City, the latest North American town to be torn asunder by the zeitgeist of reducing traffic lanes to increase bike lanes.  It may be the welfare capital of the country, but the only people cheering for bike lanes in Gotham are folks who pay more for their carbon-fiber bicycles than some motorcyclists do for their machines which stomp out a carbon footprint. And something tells me that if all those kids from the Projects started wheeling through the green-painted bike lanes in Brownstone Brooklyn or Manhattan, plenty of New York's cycling elite would have second thoughts about bike lanes themselves.

Bike Lanes in Truck-Happy Texas

But, thankfully, New York's problems are New York's.  Even, ironically, the lawsuit over one bike lane near Brooklyn's verdant Prospect Park, which is sponsored in part by the wife of New York's Democratic senior Senator. It seems that even some liberals can't stand bike lanes. Which makes for a particularly complex battle being fought by the Republican mayor, Michael Bloomberg, who's using federal funds to pay for his city's newest fad.

Here in Arlington, Texas, the bike lane wars have started heating up, too. Even though our summertime heat will probably fry the bike lanes city staffers have proposed to overlay on our street grid. As if being the largest city in the United States without mass transit didn't create enough private car congestion, a small but noisy pro-bike lobby has been pushing for some city streets to be designated exclusively for bikes.

Now, something tells me that in a city as temperate as Portland, if only 9% of commuters ride bikes, that figure will be far less here in Arlington, where more than half the population commutes daily to jobs in other cities. In weather that ranges from sub-freezing sleet in the winter to months of high-90's heat in the summer. And believe me, it's not always a dry heat.

Personally, I wonder how adding even more bikes to our streets prowled by behemoth SUV's and pickup trucks - this is Texas, after all - will increase anybody's safety.  Which, after all, is what bike advocates claim is one of the big attractions of bike lanes.  They also claim bike lanes will reduce traffic accidents because motorized vehicles will have to travel slower, due to the decrease in lanes they'll be allotted.  But nobody's been able to explain how making cars move more slowly helps reduce traffic congestion.

At a local citizens meeting on the issue last night, things got a little animated at times, such as when one man claimed bike lanes were the city's subversive way of maneuvering for a massive land grab to widen streets in the future.  Plenty of skinny bike advocates showed up wearing yellow shirts, but giving precious little credible evidence that bike lanes will do anything other than help an athletic subset of the population enjoy their weekends a bit more.

Of course, me being me, I felt compelled to grace the occasion with my own wisdom and insight, which included concerns about increased vehicular traffic congestion and pollution.  I also wondered about all of the tourists Arlington draws every year to our various entertainment venues: drivers coming to town from places without bike lanes might not know what they are or how to accommodate them.

How About a Compromise?

The more I listened to people last night, however, the more I began to see how a compromise might be unfolding from what both the bike lane opponents and proponents were saying.  For lack of a better term, I've dubbed it "lane share."

Instead of taking away vehicle lanes and turning them into underused bike lanes, why can't we simply encourage a better road-share environment between drivers and bicyclists? After all, like several speakers pointed out last night, bikes already have a legal right to the same roadways as cars. Why not capitalize on that, and encourage lane share? That way, entire lanes won't be taken away from vehicles during periods of high demand, visitors to the city won't have to figure out a new set of street rules, and no matter what street bicyclists decide to use, they will know motorists have been given fair warning to keep the streets safe for them.

It will be a lot cheaper, because it won't require extra maintenance, construction, restriping, or resurfacing. Preliminary estimates put the cost of converting existing traffic lanes into bike lanes at nearly $1 million over several years, plus maintenance after the program is in place.  In tough budget times like these, that amount of money seems like a lot to spend on something that will benefit only a handful of residents while inconveniencing everybody else.

Lane share would also be a much easier sell to the general populace, since no infrastructure work will threaten the status-quo or cost a lot.  Plus, promoting lane share might even make bike riding safer for bicyclists riding on streets that wouldn't otherwise have designated bike lanes.  After all, with designated bike lanes, might motorists be encouraged to become complacent in tolerating bikes on streets without bike lanes?  Understanding the need to accommodate bikes on any city road could make Arlington's drivers that much more cautious wherever they drive.  Right now, however, I'm not sure many drivers know about how existing bike laws affect them.

Indeed, the city has already admitted it's going to have to run an aggressive re-education and information campaign with its proposed bike lanes.  Instead, the city could publicize the lane share initiative with far less resistance by sending out inserts in water bills, running announcements on its cable station and website, and attaching colorful reminder signs to existing street sign poles.  Marketing language could encourage residents that drivers are saving money - literally - by sharing streets with bikes. Maybe our local school district could come up with a catchy way for schoolkids to promote lane share safety. Bike lane promoters could put up temporary lawn signs promoting lane share to remind motorists plying the streets. And the traffic fines involving motor vehicles and bicycles could be increased as an additional incentive for drivers - and bicyclists - to watch out for each other.

After all, isn't that the basic intent of bike lanes anyway?  Getting drivers to respect the rights bicyclists have to be sharing the same road surface?  Will giving traffic lanes to bike riders automatically make drivers more accommodating to them?  It may confuse or enrage drivers, and remind them that a small minority of people have been able to co-opt a major congestion-inducing change on them against their will. 

How much better would it be for bicycle advocates to embrace the path of least resistance?  And in this case, the path would be shared by cars, only with a pronounced campaign for road safety, civility, and even harmony.  Attributes that will only hold us in better stead as a community anyway.

After all, signs at the state line already say, "Drive friendly, the Texas Way!"

Some of them also say, "Don't mess with Texas."
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FYI:  I am aware that there is an illegal maneuver practiced by some motorcyclists called "lane sharing." This is when motorcyclists travel between lines of cars stuck in traffic.  So I'm not committed to calling my idea lane share if it will invite confusion with what motorcyclists already do - against the law.

When It's OK to Take Another's Word

DAY 21 OF 46





It can be one of the weakest defenses anybody can raise:

"You can't say anything negative until you experience it for yourself."

Variations of this popular argument range among the following:

• "Well, did you read it?"
• "Have you seen it for yourself?"
• "If you haven't heard that song, you can't judge it."

Funny - nobody challenges somebody with these misnomers when the opinions being expressed are positive!

We Can Learn From What Others Live

Sometimes, of course, it doesn't really hurt to go ahead and read the book or see the movie for yourself.  But other times, aren't we better off taking somebody else's word for it?

For example, we don't have to go to Japan and wander around the Fukushima Daiichi plant to know that we'll likely contract radiation sickness.

We don't have to read every Playboy magazine that comes out to know that its content is sexually immoral and demeaning to women - and men.

We don't have to be shot to know bullet wounds can be painful.

Shucks, we don't even have to read the Bible in order to receive God's gift of salvation. It certainly becomes crucial to our spiritual walk as we seek to honor God with our lives, but how many Christians ever read through the whole Bible?

Reading Above the Lines

The other day, Al Mohler posted an essay refuting the controversial Rob Bell book, Love Wins, and was inevitably blasted by people wondering if Mohler had even read the book.

If you've never heard of Rob Bell, or his new book, or even Al Mohler, then don't worry: they're actually ancillary to the point I'm trying to make. Which is that people can still speak with integrity about something without sullying themselves by experiencing the material they oppose.

For example, when John Eldridge's book, Wild at Heart, came out, people didn't need to read the book to dispute his claim that God takes risks. Some tried to challenge my negative assessment of its theme by asking if I'd read the book, and I was baffled by that logic. Reading the book or not reading the book doesn't change the fact that Eldridge thinks God takes risks. Nor does it change the fact that God absolutely does not take any risks, because He's eternally sovereign and omniscient. Why should I pay good money to buy a book which espouses a viewpoint I don't believe?

I got my facts about the book from hearing and reading the reviews and impressions of friends and leaders in the evangelical community who actually did read Eldredge's book. When the evidence from one source was corroborated by another, and then another, should I have seen the need to refute their reactions to the book with my own personal experience?

Now, in the Rob Bell case, Al Mohler actually wrote a book review, so it's rather silly of people to ask him if he ever read the book. But still - its a moot point. Mohler isn't the only evangelical who's troubled by the contents of Bell's book. Enough material has reached the public sphere for the rest of us - who have no interest in buying a book which defames Christ - to know what's inside.

Truth Isn't Always Learned in the First Person

Granted, if nobody on the planet ever bothered to read Wild at Heart of Love Wins, then no, we wouldn't know the unBiblical content of these books. If nobody on the planet knew what Playboy was, we wouldn't know its content was immoral. But one of the interesting facets of modern society is that as consumers, we have access to a lot of information about the stuff available for consumption. And we've been given a brain with logic functions in order to determine what is profitable from what is unprofitable.

Obviously, when it comes to personal taste, aesthetics, and other negligibles, your opinion probably won't be valid without personal experience with the subject. For example, if you say you would never eat at a certain restaurant because the food is bad, but you'd never eaten there yourself, then how much is your opinion worth? Why even bother making such a nonsensical statement?

If it seems like I'm splitting hairs, then consider the penchant many of us have to try things out for ourselves, even after we've been told they're not beneficial, wholesome, or true. Sometimes, the harm we might subject ourselves to is little more than a miserable-tasting meal or a boring movie. But do we really need to be cluttering our minds with a lot of the drivel being shilled in the marketplace of ideas these days?

Discernment and the ability to evaluate the viewpoints of trusted advisers has an important place in a world full of messages, advertisements, and persuasion. Doubting Thomas didn't exactly set a stellar example by refusing to believe the Lord had risen until he could put his hands in Christ's wounds.

Sometimes is good to take somebody else's word for it.
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Appreciating Winter's Last Hurrah

DAY 16 OF 46





Bright sunshine, about 75 degrees, and just the slightest touch of a light breeze.

Sound wonderful? It has been, at least here in the Dallas area today.

But as I surf the Internet, listen to the news, and read posts on FaceBook, I realize that many people across the United States continue to suffer through what seems to be an interminable winter of snow, freezing rain, and biting wind.

So, instead of rubbing salt into the wound by going on and on about our great Spring weather here in North Texas, how about some classic, laugh-out-loud winter humor from the greatest comic strip of all time, Calvin and Hobbes?

Besides, come August, the weather down here will be absolutely nothing to brag about.

So, without any further ado, in Bill Waterson's own inimitable style, I hope you enjoy this sampling from the outrageous Snowman Series, featuring the irascible talents of one incredibly precocious little boy:




For the complete series, click here.

Now, don't the last gasps of winter seem a little less depressing?
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DISCLAIMER: Since Bill Waterson's own site featuring his comic strip has been shut down, and I'm not sure who owns the digital rights to these images, I don't know how to get official permission to use them. As far as I've been able to research, his Calvin and Hobbes books are now out of print. At least I'm not making any money off of their use here.

Japanese Morality's Shame Factor

DAY 8 OF 46




Have you noticed it?

A sense of panic and disorder that's conspicuous by its absence.

The long, silent, lines. Full of utterly patient Japanese. In the train stations, waiting for blackouts to end so their trains will run again. At supermarkets, waiting to buy basic supplies and food. At gas stations, waiting to refuel their cars.

The live broadcast feeds via the Internet from Japanese television, with anchors obediently wearing goofy-looking hardhats, their voices barely betraying any anxiety or fear.

The clusters of loved ones, usually standing under makeshift tents, waiting patiently for news as rescuers scurry around piles of debris that used to be somebody's home.

The anecdotal tales of shopkeepers actually lowering prices after the earthquake. Restaurants serving free hot soup. And hardly any looting.

What - are all these people strung out on Xanax? In America, we'd be seeing fistfights among shoppers and people cutting in line all over the place.

Glaring Differences

At first, upon looking at the empty grocery store shelves, one foreign reporter thought that the Japanese were hoarding supplies after the quake. Then she realized that the empty shelves were the simple result of too many customers for not enough food. Japanese shoppers had left groceries for other people to buy, but demand soon outstripped supply.

And the crime! What's so wild about the crime is the utter lack of it. No thugs smashing windows and looting stores in downtown Tokyo during blackouts. No brazen muggings, carjackings, arson, murders, or general mayhem. Think New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina in reverse, and you've got Japan after a trifeca of earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear emergency.

America's finest moments don't always follow a disaster. In New York City, after 9/11, rescue workers looted a luxury jewelry store in the mall below crumpled remains of the World Trade Center. A friend of mine witnessed firemen breaking into a bank in the lobby of his powerless apartment building in Battery Park City and smashing open an ATM. After hurricanes in Florida, people camp out in their damaged homes with shotguns to ward off criminals. Here in Texas, police have to patrol neighborhoods damaged by tornadoes. And I've already mentioned the atrocity which was Katrina.

Japanese prisons are notoriously harsh. The United Nation's Human Rights Watch claims that prisoners there regularly experience excessive restrictions and brutal treatment. Perhaps this helps serve as an incentive for would-be criminals to think twice before breaking the law.

But this can't explain the pervasive dignity and stoicism exhibited by so many Japanese as they inscrutably process the catastrophe which has hit their country. Sure, their emperor made an unprecedented television appearance today, encouraging his countrymen to remain hopeful. But even he couldn't pass up the chance to acknowledge how world leaders have commented to him about how civic-minded and socially courteous the Japanese are being.

Flashes of anger appear to be flickering from some city officials in parts of the country that have been the hardest-hit. In particular, administrators of the prefecture around the crippled Fukushima Daiichi plant are growing impatient at the government's slow response to their requests for supplies. But even these expressions of exasperation seem unusually sedate, considering how animated most officials in American cities would be acting at such a time.

Trying to Explain it

Some people have tried to explain away this national serenity as an intrinsic component of the ancient Japanese culture. It's been pointed out that even though Japan is a technologically-advanced, first-world country, it's society has remained remarkably homogeneous, which has helped preserve an almost militant nationalistic fervor. Others attribute this national serenity to the dispassionate natures of Buddhism and Shinto, the country's two main religions. Perhaps even the Japanese love of rules and conformity, combined with their remarkable trust in their government, play crucial roles in maintaining order in the face of calamity.

The thing about rules, though, is that we all know you can't legislate morality. Isn't it easier to abide by a moral code than a legal one? You can believe in morals and trust that they serve a purpose, even when no one else is watching. Morality keeps you honest when doing your taxes, not necessarily because you might get audited, but just because if you expect everyone to pay their fair share, you should too (with "fair share," obviously, up for debate, but you see what I mean).

On the other hand, laws are usually the minimum for what people can get away with, especially when no one else is watching. Kind of like waiting through a red light at an empty intersection at two in the morning. Morality might keep you at the light until it turns green, but if you've scanned the horizon for oncoming traffic and no cop is in sight, how many of us will impatiently drive through the red light?

After all, evangelical Christianity isn't the only religion in the world with a moral code. Perhaps one reason why Christian proselytization in Japan has been so slow and difficult comes from a Japanese assumption which considers their high standards of morality and Western religious behavior to be redundant.

Shame, Sin, and Salvation

Which brings us to sin and shame. In Japan, shame has become a powerful tool for subjugation and conformity. Knowing they were flying to their deaths, Kamikaze pilots willingly died for the glory of their country, in a desperate attempt to spare it from shame. It has been said that the reason the Japanese love American culture so much comes from the fact that the United States has been the only country to decisively defeat them in global combat. Children there are taught that it's shameful to display ostentation, and government officials have resigned in shame over issues we Westerners would simply chalk up to politicians being politicians.

Shame isn't all bad, however. After all, shame is what helps us recognize our need of a Savior. The laws God lays out for the Jews in the Bible are meant to help us realize our inferior state before the holy and righteous Creator of the universe. Shame is a natural byproduct of sin in the heart of people who operate with a moral compass. Since sin is what separates us from God, shame can be used by the Holy Spirit to convince us of that which we oftentimes cannot see in ourselves otherwise.

Yes, it would be good for our country if we Americans exhibited more shame once in a while. We make a lot of mistakes that we then try to either explain away, ignore, or rationalize. But when it comes to our individual relationships with God, we can't explain or rationalize anything away, and our shame becomes too heavy to ignore.

It is at this point where we fall on our face in contrition, confessing our sins, receiving God's forgiveness through the blood of His holy Son, and rejoicing in our new-found fellowship with our Heavenly Father. We then allow the Holy Spirit to begin the process of our being conformed to the image of Christ.

The Japanese may use both shame and conformity to achieve some admirable social qualities in the face of disaster, and doing so may indeed see them through their country's recovery. But all the morality in the world won't get any of them - or any of us - to Heaven.

As patient as they may be, the Japanese are like the rest of humanity when it comes to being saved from what truly plagues them. Both in this world, and the next.

Thanks be to God that He has given us the victory through our Lord, Jesus Christ!
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Requiem for a Murdered Preacher

DAY 1 OF 46 - ASH WEDNESDAY




Tall, dark, and handsome.

28 years old.  Married to a beautiful young woman whom he adored.

Star athlete in high school, chaplain of his fraternity, great sense of humor, voted best student preacher in 2008.  Beloved by his parents and in-laws. Paid his own way on missions trips to Guatemala. Had a burning desire to minister to the poor here in north Texas.

Murder victim.

In his own church.

Eulogies on a Theme of Young Servanthood

This morning, I attended the funeral of Rev. Clint Dobson, the Texas pastor who was killed last Thursday as his church was being robbed. I'd never met the man, attended his church, or even knew he existed until last Thursday evening, when news of the tragedy broke.

Two hours after the service began, as his casket draped with white flowers was slowly wheeled out of the packed sanctuary of Arlington's First Baptist Church, all of us in the congregation knew much more about this young preacher - who a convicted criminal smothered to death. One of the most touching eulogies came from Dobson's father-in-law, which in itself says something - when your wife's father can give a glowing yet grief-laced tribute of you at your funeral.

Indeed, all of the eulogies - there were five, plus a sermon - portrayed the most unlikely candidate for murder. Somebody who was selfless and giving, a man who made friends quickly and loved spending time in the company of others. A minister whose favorite position for praying for his congregation was stretched flat on the floor, face-down, in his office. Although nobody verbalized it, you'd think that if the robber knew anything about Dobson, he wouldn't have been able to kill him.

Yet here we were, at the funeral of a preacher who graduated from seminary only two years ago. Had only been a husband for two years. And with whom his former college roommate had discussed the current Rob Bell everybody-goes-to-Heaven controversy not long before he died.

So... I guess, according to Bell and his heresy about there being no literal Hell, even if the guy who killed Rev. Dobson never becomes a follower of Christ in his lifetime, he'll still end up spending eternity as a neighbor of the guy he killed in cold blood. Not a scenario Christ would endorse, I'm sure.

And, perhaps appropriately, nothing any of the speakers today felt compelled to address, either. No one discussed the crime by which Dobson died, or its perpetrator. After all, funerals for people of faith should be more celebration than wishful thinking or social commentary. Plus, it's possible the police asked eulogists to refrain from speaking about what remains an open and active criminal investigation. And certainly the family doesn't need to dwell on the specifics any more than they already surely have.

Grief, Hope, Life, and Eternity

Instead, today is a day to rejoice in the promise of eternal life in Christ for all who believe in His name. It's a day to commemorate the faithful service given by one of Christ's saints. And a day to remind ourselves of the temporal nature of this earthly existence.

Dr. Dennis Wiles, Senior Pastor of First Baptist Church Arlington, gave the sermon, and his text came from Hebrews 11 and 12, including passages such as the world not being worthy of all the saints who have given their lives for the sake of Christ's Gospel (11:38). And reminding us that these heroes of the faith listed in Hebrews died living as pilgrims on this planet (11:13).

Wiles said his theme needed to be for us to live. And live as pilgrims, on a journey. Live our lives of faith up until death. Up until the point at which our soul transitions from this plane to glory beyond the pale.

Oddly enough, little mention was made of the mission church Dobson had been brought to Arlington to lead. Nobody from that congregation in north Arlington, unimaginatively called NorthPointe, spoke at the service, nor was any mention made of Dobson's secretary, Judy Elliott, who was savagely beaten during the church attack and remains hospitalized in stable condition.

And, interestingly, a Muslim cleric arrived for the service at the same time I did, presumably as a professional courtesy to a fellow clergymember. After all, a lot of non-Baptists like me were likely in attendance. Wearing a white cape and cap, he stuck out boldly in the sea of black suits and dresses filling the sanctuary. Although plenty of seating still remained, he went to a part of the sanctuary that was already full, and momentarily, a woman got up, gave him her seat, and crossed the aisle to another seat. When the praise team began singing the first song, he got up and left, which, while I can't stand contemporary church music any more than he probably does, still seemed a little rude.

After the funeral, a private service at a cemetery had been scheduled.  Hopefully, family and close friends who have endured almost a week's worth of shock and grief will be able to make this day a turning point in their long road to recovery from this tragedy.

As Wiles pointed out, today is also Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. How appropriate to memorialize the short life of one of God's faithful servants, while also commemorating Christ's sacrificial death and burial for His people. And to look expectantly towards the life everlasting His resurrection represents for those of us who believe that Christ is indeed the Son of God.

"'Death has been swallowed up in victory.' 'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?' The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain." I Corinthians 15:54b-58
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Flat-Lining Through Mortality?

Without a trace of melancholy, Pastor Dow's widow gushed excitedly to my mother, "I want to know what he's doing!"

The minister who married my parents received his eternal reward just after Christmas, at the age of 85. He and his wife, Mim, had spent their ministry serving throughout New England, including the coastal Maine congregation in Sedgwick where my Mom was raised, in the stately white church overlooking the village.

He had been a preacher from the old school, Pastor Dow, who lived and breathed his pastoral calling. Always studying, always memorizing, always visiting, always with a smile on his face, quick to encourage and loathe to despair, seemingly insatiable in his thirst for knowledge, wisdom, and faithfulness in all things Godly.

Just getting by on a retired pastor's pension in suburban Boston, a part of the country whose cost of living has become outrageously expensive, hardly seemed grievous enough a cause to move away. Besides, even in retirement, their own pastor valued his contributions to the small but faithful flock. Helping in worship services, leading prayers, teaching the children's Bible lesson; it's debatable whether the Dows ever actually retired at all.

Being diagnosed with cancer didn't seem to perturb Pastor Dow either, or Mim. The disease and its treatments posed grave prospects, yet little cause for angst, since they trusted implicitly in God's sovereignty. When my mother talked to them about it on the phone, they treated his cancer as a nuisance at worst, and at best, a gateway for Heaven.

Just Inside the Eastern Gate

So even when he died just before the New Year, his wife and daughters hardly seemed capable of mustering the requisite distress to mourn his passing. Indeed, Pastor Dow himself had gotten in the habit of advising his loved ones that if he passed away before them, he'd meet them "just inside the Eastern Gate." As if we were all booked on an exclusive vacation package, but we didn't know the date our ticket had stamped on it. If you get to go first, or I do, here's where we'll meet up. Like you'd do at a tourist icon in Paris or London.

It was in this vein of expectancy, certainty, and inevitability, then, that Mim exclaimed to my mother recently her wonderment at what her husband must be doing up in Heaven.

"I want to know what he's doing!"

Is he greeting family members and loved ones who had gone on before him? Organizing reunions of the Saints Triumphant from churches he'd pastored through the years? Meeting those who, unbeknownst to him, came to Christ through his ministry?

Or might he still be at the feet of Jesus, even two months into his eternal reward, spellbound with awe at His indescribable majesty?

Whatever Pastor Dow is doing at this moment in Heaven, we know theoretically that it pales in comparison to what even he, with all the expectancy and anticipation he'd exhibited throughout his lifetime for eternity, could have imagined. And Mim knows this. Beyond the pale lies glorious reality that defies mortal description, yet her thirst for her own reward - an almost literal thirst - cannot be quenched. The energy and desire emoted in the way she asked her question told my Mom that the promise of Heaven is as real to her as it could possibly be. Maybe now even moreso.

Yet, how real is it to you and me?

I Want to Want to Know

Sure, when we're at a loss for words at the funeral of a saint we knew was bound for Heaven, sometimes we fall into a hollow, churchy hypothetical conversation, pondering about what they're doing now. But we do so more out of wistful remembrance of the dearly departed, instead of an insatiable desire to join with those who have reached the farthest shore.

We're still too tied down here on Earth, with our aspirations, and even our anxieties. For us, Heaven can wait. Twenty-first century America is what we know.

We've got money to earn, families to raise, new things to purchase, employers to impress, and even a yard to mow and laundry that needs to get washed. Our lives are lived by clocks and phone calls, text messages and flight schedules. We operate on a horizontal plane, with a few blips upward on Sundays or when a crisis strikes. If you're anything like me, we're mostly flat-lining our way through mortality.

Except Mim.

Not that she's decided to cloister herself off from humanity and bide her time alone in a room, so caught up in the heavenlies that she's no Earthly good. And not even that she doesn't miss her husband terribly, and reminisce about sweeter days in his company.

Instead, for the Dows, Heaven's glories have been a palatable, even pungent mirage, shimmering just above the desert heat of human travail, of which they've experienced their share. Yet for all of the complications and rationalizations we busy post-modern believers can make of theology, theirs has been an incessant, childlike trust in God.

But childlike isn't really an adjective we Christian adults like, is it? Who wants to have their faith described as "childlike?" Doesn't that sound too immature and uneducated? Unsophisticated, unproven, unbalanced, and irresponsible?

Sometimes I wonder, though, who the more immature Christian is.

The one who marginalizes the literal glory of our Heavenly Father, or the one who basks in its promise?

I don't know about you, but I want to want to know what Pastor Dow is doing.
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