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Author: Daniel

Advent: Lighting the darkness, one dim bulb at a time

Advent-Light2The first week of December, as I sat on my couch untangling Christmas lights, I saw the breaking TV news of two active shooters in San Bernardino.

It was terrible. My first reaction was shock. I saw the confusion, the horror.

But as the news unfolded, my second reaction was dread—dread of what I knew would follow. And sure enough, instead of a focus on compassion and support for the victims, their families, and the first responders, immediately there sprang up arguments about how to fix it.

As the victims bled, pundits began talking on every network, while ordinary folks started blowing up the Internet. All were commenting from comfy remote locations; none were in the path of danger, surrounded by death and destruction or risking life and limb to help. Yet—while police cleared the site, helped the injured, and searched for the shooters—these people who weren’t there, who didn’t hear the screams or see the blood or feel the bullets, promoted sure-fire solutions on TV and shouted each other down in social media.

I kept wishing we could take a moment to feel the shock and truly grieve together, before we started destroying each other with zingers and blame.

Then it got worse. The next day, the cover of the New York Daily News blared, “GOD ISN’T FIXING THIS.” In other words: Screw God; either he doesn’t exist, or he doesn’t care. We must fix this ourselves.

The problem is, we can’t.

As the aftermath played out in San Bernardino, my growing frustration was that we truly don’t have a solution to the terror. No matter how many laws we pass or therapists we hire, determined criminals and mentally ill people will still make deadly choices. From the moment Cain killed Abel, violence has been and will always be a tragic part of human nature.

And I feel helpless to stop it.

Deep down, I think we all do. In the big picture, we know there are no permanent, failsafe solutions that will end all violence and killing – so, instead of letting ourselves feel deep sadness and grief, we immediately jump to anger, frustration, and debate.

However, in my own small way, there is something I can do. And, no matter how trivial it may sound amid mass killings (and believe me, there is nothing trivial about that), it is a symbolic gift to the world.

I can hang Christmas lights.

Jesus told his followers:

“You ar­­e the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:14-16, NIV)

My house is not “built on a hill.” In fact, it is hard to see—it’s off the street, behind other buildings. But it does have two stories. So I climb up there and hang the lights as high as I can, where they can be seen over the other rooftops. My lights are mostly the standard ropes and icicles –but at the very top, I hang a silhouette of the star and the Holy Family to shine out in the dark, watching over the neighborhood.

Compared to other light displays I have seen, mine is nothing extravagant—in fact, it’s quite modest—but in the darkness of a long December night, it shines very brightly. Its light can be seen from far away throughout Advent.

It’s no mistake that Advent occurs during the darkest time of all. In the northern hemisphere, late December has the least light and the shortest days of the whole year. For many, the lack of light is most depressing. But Advent means “coming.” So Advent is a time of hope, anticipation, and waiting in the darkness—a time which reminds us just how helpless we are. The world is broken and, contrary to humanistic Enlightenment thinking, there are some things humans just can’t fix. So, in our darkness, we groan and cry out for God to step in and save us.

In my neighborhood, there isn’t much light. Instead, there is brokenness, abuse, and addiction behind covered windows. Very few homes sparkle with Christmas cheer. Although there are many good people here, there is also a lot of darkness.

Yet it is only in the dark that light has value. Christmas lights can barely be seen in the brightness of day. They only dazzle in darkness. And the deeper the darkness, the more the smallest pinpoint of light attracts the eye. Likewise, in the darkness of our world, I am called to be a pinpoint of light that will draw eyes to my Savior.

Advent-Light3So, as I untangled my light strings and crawled out on my roof with a staple gun, thinking of San Bernardino, I realized that although I can’t undo that tragedy, I can add light to this messed-up world—both literally and figuratively. My Christmas lights may be somewhat dim and crooked with a few bulbs missing, yet they still shine through the dark to all who pass by. In the same way, my reflection of Christ may be flawed and spotty, but to the best of my ability, I can still shine his light into this dark world.

No one can fix everything. In fact, most of us can’t fix much of anything.

But each of us can do something. We can light the darkness. Individually and in our faith communities, we can engage with the needs all around us. Feed the hungry. Befriend the lonely. Clothe the threadbare. Comfort the broken.

And above all, we can pray. There is power in prayer and, despite headlines to the contrary, prayer is the primary action we should take before anything else.

During Advent, as God’s people have always done, we groan and cry out for our Savior to enter our darkness.

Our greatest need is not political solutions.

Our greatest need is Jesus.

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Walking through the valley of terror … then and now

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The Eiffel Tower. Photo by Daniel Hochhalter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last—and only—time I visited Paris was in the summer of 2005.

I was studying in England over the summer, and had taken the Eurostar to Paris to meet my wife and sister-in-law for a wonderful couple of weeks exploring Paris, Normandy, Mont Saint Michel, and the Loire Valley. We had a glorious time—a dream vacation.

On July 7, I dropped off my family at Charles de Gaulle airport, then returned to Paris and boarded the Eurostar to go back to England.

But during the train’s stop at Calais—the last town before crossing into England—the doors opened and the PA system announced an unexpected delay, followed by the strange recommendation that everyone deboard and be transported back to Paris, free of charge. The announcer gave no explanation, nor any estimation of the length of the delay.

That was odd, but I didn’t think much of it. Since I didn’t know what was happening and didn’t speak a lick of French, I decided not to return to Paris but to stay on the train and wait it out.

The delay lasted about forty-five minutes; then the doors closed and the train headed under the English Channel.

However, when we reached Ashford on the British side, again the train stopped and the doors opened. This time there was another train next to us, pointing back toward France. The PA system announced another delay, along with an even stronger recommendation that we should board the train beside us and return to Paris.

Something was happening in London.

At this point, cell phones started going off and conversations became hushed. Straining to overhear, I gathered that there was an emergency of some sort. London had suffered an explosion, or a series of explosions. Initially, it sounded like a power transformer problem or something like that. I desperately hoped it was—but I suspected it was not, because why would a power failure warrant a recommendation to return to Paris?

A silent fear crept through me. My body constricted and my throat grew dry as I researched my maps of London, trying to find the various locations I heard people mentioning. I felt some relief as I concluded that these locations did not seem to be near my intended destinations: Waterloo and then Euston Station.

But I was wrong. When the train pulled into London, crowds had gathered to watch TV broadcasts showing an unraveling situation. Three bombs had gone off in different areas of the Tube—London’s subway system—and a fourth on a double-decker bus; terrorism was suspected.

I was standing just a couple of miles from where these bombs had detonated.

At the ticket counter, I asked about rescheduling my ticket out of Euston Station since the delays had caused me to miss my connecting train. The ticket agent replied bluntly, “Euston is closed.” Euston was just three blocks from where the bus bomb had gone off.

Now I understood the effects of terrorism first hand: the unsettling fear that perhaps the attacks were not over; the determination to remain stoic on the outside while reeling on the inside; the inability to wrap one’s mind around what is happening; the growing confusion and panic over not knowing what to do next.

Everything was shut down. The only sound seemed to be the screaming sirens of emergency vehicles. I thought I would be stranded in a foreign city with no place to go. Worse, the authorities believed more attacks could be planned.

In an instant, all plans went up in flames. I could only explore my next step; it was impossible to look any further.

The ticket agent gave me a new itinerary that would take me through various locations and eventually to Birmingham—only about 90 miles away—while reminding me things could change any minute as events unraveled around the city. I was okay with that—just taking one thing at a time. That was all I could do.

Eventually I completed my twisted path back Birmingham—late, tired, and greatly relieved.

But the tension continued. The next day, I went into the city centre for supplies. When I returned to my room, an email from the U.S. was waiting for me, asking if I was okay. It turned out the city centre had just been evacuated due to a suspicious package on a bus. It turned out to be nothing, but the uncertainty was nerve-wracking and illustrated how much I, and everyone else, was on edge. Nerves were frayed.

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The entrance to the Russell Square Tube, closed due to the bombing investigation. I was staying at the Russell Square Hotel, the darkest building on the far left.
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The impromptu memorial in Russell Square, across from my hotel. The second (failed) attack occurred the day before this photo was taken. DH

Then, two weeks later, I was in London, staying in a hotel over the Russell Street entrance to the Tube, near where one of the bombs had gone off. The entrance was still closed due to the ongoing investigation. An impromptu memorial was set up in the square across the street. And just as things seemed to be getting back to normal, terrorists attempted to detonate more bombs. Thankfully, all of the detonators failed. But the true damage of terrorism was done: everyone believed another attack was imminent. Life had changed. This was the new normal: navigating life as best we could, while trying to keep our unsettling fears in check.

When the events unfolded in Paris last Friday, I found myself once again deeply engaged as new and scattered details emerged on the television screen. I felt the same fear I had felt in 2005—the uncertainty, the sorrow, the horror. The mostly blank expressions of Parisians, trying to hide their shock while exiting the stadium or standing on the sidewalks, seemed very familiar. Hearing the TV news anchors report sketchy details of yet another attack touched a raw, horrifying uncertainty that I had buried beneath ten years of “normal” life. I relived the feelings of those living in a city under attack – walking through train stations and wondering what to do, as sirens wailed past in the streets.

During that time I wished for normalcy, but instead I had to will myself to live each abnormal day as normally as I could.

Life is beyond our control; we must function on bits and pieces of information without knowing the whole story. And evil does exist. I don’t pretend to understand the complexities of cultures or current events, but last Friday I saw evil on my TV screen—and though I was thousands of miles away, I clung to Jesus as if I were back in London, living through old emotions from long ago.

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At such times I do feel like a sheep, hearing the growls of a predator just beyond the reaches of darkness. I cannot see him but I know he sees me. I am helpless; I am frightened. I don’t know exactly who the predator is, or why I am being targeted. At this moment, I just want to run to my Shepherd and stand as close to him as possible.

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The gift of “angry eyes” on Halloween

I love fall, and that includes the guilty pleasure of Halloween.

When I was a kid, Halloween was a great community event. I have fond memories of trick-or-treating on crisp, windy nights in a town where every home was filled with light and candy, ready to greet small visitors whose costumes were mostly covered by winter coats to block the Montana chill. The coats weren’t in character, but then again, neither were shivering zombies.

So, a few years ago, I decided to get in the spirit: I turned our house into a “monster house,” with two angry eyes to watch over the neighborhood at night.

Our house has two upstairs dormer windows, so I illuminate each one with an orange outline, a red iris, and a scowling purple eyebrow. This year I also outlined the garage door below them in a clumsy attempt to make a mouth. Then I replaced our two white porch lights with red ones, right about where the dimples should be. (Do monsters have dimples?) The resulting monster face is crude and unrefined, but I enjoy it and so do the trick-or-treaters.

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Here’s my best photo, as an amateur photog, of our Monster House. 🙂 The reflections below the eyes are unintentional.

However, this year the project turned into a headache. I was swamped by other household chores and business matters, and frustrated because my well of possible blog topics had run dry. The last thing I wanted to do was to feel the October sun beating down on the rapidly-expanding bald spot on the back of my head as I crawled around on my roof with cords and tools, wrangling strings of lights and screwing them into place.

And on top of that, this year the process did not go well. I had forgotten the cardinal rule of plugging in and checking the lights before attaching them to the roof. After I got them all up and plugged in, I saw that one eyebrow and half of one iris wouldn’t light. So I took them down again, only discover the problem: I had not plugged them in correctly. After fixing that problem, I put them up for a second time and everything was fine – until I learned we had to caulk all of the windows and doors before winter. Once again, the lights had to be taken down and then put up for a third time.

I really was not thrilled about my Halloween decorations this year. And every time I had to crawl out onto the roof yet again, my grumbling about it became more and more pronounced.

So why do it? What’s the point? Aren’t there better things I could be doing?

I never asked that question until this year. And this year I asked it many, many times – each time with more, shall we say, gusto than the last.

I didn’t have an answer until I finished the job for the third time, all sweaty and cranky and sore.

I called my wife outside to look.

As we stood in the dark, looking up at that silly, cartoonish monster face, she commended me for choosing to put it up three times and then said, “You’ve brought a gift to the neighborhood.”

That’s when it suddenly made sense why I went through all the trouble.

You see, we live in one of the many neighborhoods, more and more common these days, which has earned the nickname “Felony Flats.”

Far from the hip, trendy parts of Portland, this neighborhood is dotted with junk cars, drug houses, shouting matches, and occasional police raids. In fact, shortly after we moved in, just after Halloween and before we got an alarm system, our own house was robbed of whatever the robbers could carry, including that year’s leftover Halloween candy. Ironically, though, I don’t feel unsafe here – partly because the drug dealers (whom we greet by name as we get the mail or take out the trash, and who may or may not know that we have observed their drug dealing) try to keep the neighborhood crime and disturbances to a minimum since they don’t want the cops coming around.

So Halloween is different here than it was where I grew up. Here, most houses remain dark and unwelcoming, with the occupants turning in early or going elsewhere to avoid the constant doorknocks. Yet despite my dream of living someplace less crowded, noisy, and stressful, I am coming to the conclusion that—at least for now—this is where God wants me. And when I get beyond my own selfishness, it is not hard to understand why: Jesus loves the people here. He died for them. He is the light in their dark world.

And that is why I climb up on the roof every year to hang the lights. Despite my constant  complaining, even in past blogs, about living in this neighborhood, I choose—in a moment of spiritual enlightenment—to be a gift to our neighborhood. The local kids don’t have much, but our house is one of the few which deliberately invites them in. Families escort their children from blocks away to trick-or-treat here. Under the glow of the eyes, they waddle up our driveway in a long, comical parade. The rule is, no candy until after they show us their costumes, so we can “ooh” and “ahh” over them, and ask them to tell us their names and where they live. After many smiles and much laughter, they and their parents grab handfuls of chocolate eyeballs and other body parts from our big candy bowl, and go happily on their way.

We’ve been told that visiting the “monster house” is an eagerly anticipated event, for kids and parents alike.

In the entire scheme of things, decorating my house doesn’t seem like much. Some people do much greater things to serve others. However, in God’s kingdom, any gift to others – no matter how small – can be used.

When my wife reminded me that this effort is a gift to the neighborhood, I realized that it is an act of love. Jesus wants us to be a gift to our neighbors

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Is Daniel an exception to the “loser” rule?

It was a great question from someone on Facebook.

In my book, Losers Like Us, I illustrated how – excluding Jesus – everyone in the Bible had faults and sins just like ours, and therefore they were all losers like us.

Then came that Facebook question: What about Daniel? Was he an exception?

I had to think about that one.

Daniel_in_the_lions_den_by_Wincent_Leopold_SlendzinskiThe book of Daniel is set during Israel’s captivity in Babylon (in the 500s BC)—yet it mentions elements of Greek culture which did not exist at that time, and it is written partly in Hebrew and partly in Aramaic (a later language). For these and other reasons, many scholars believe that someone else wrote Daniel’s story long after his death, just as Moses wrote the patriarchs’ stories long after their deaths. Also, some scholars believe Daniel was not a real person and the book of Daniel is just an allegory which was written to encourage the Jews, perhaps during the oppressive reign of Antiochus Epiphanes IV (about 165 BC).

I can’t say exactly when or by whom the book was written, but I do believe Daniel was a real person because Jesus calls him “the prophet Daniel” (Matthew 24:15).

From the beginning, Scripture presents Daniel as a man of great character, and never accuses him of a single flaw. As a captive in Babylon, he walks a fine line: with great humility he submits to his captors, yet with great courage he refuses to obey their pagan demands. When Darius, the Babylonian king, decrees that those who pray to anyone other than him will be fed to the lions (Daniel 6:7-9), Daniel continues praying to Yahweh every day, in front of his window, just as he always has (a respectful “neener neener”). His trust in God is complete. And when he is thrown to the lions, God shuts their mouths (Daniel 6:22) to save his life.

With a bio like that, it’s hard to find fault with Daniel. So the question about whether he still qualifies as a loser gave me pause.

Yet I conclude that, yes, Daniel was a loser. I say this not because I feel superior to, or critical of, Daniel – but because he was human, and therefore a loser in the sense of being a sinner. Thus he is not an exception to the rule.

As I mentioned in an earlier blog (2015/06/17), “Can we be sinners but not losers?”, only Jesus lived a sinless life; all the rest of us, including Daniel, have been sinners and therefore losers. And as long as we live on this earth, sin is with us even though we have received grace and salvation (I John 1:5-10).

But there is another, more personal indication that Daniel was a sinner / loser: his response to the presence of holiness.

In Daniel 10, a man appears before Daniel. But this is no ordinary man. This man is ablaze with fire, shining like polished brass or bronze (v. 5)—just like the man seen by Ezekiel (Ezekiel 1:27) and John (Revelation 1:13-17). John identifies this man as the risen Christ (Revelation 1:11, 13, 17).

Yet Daniel, Ezekiel, and John all respond to this man in the same way: they fall to the ground (Dan. 10:9, Ezekiel 1:28, Rev. 1:17).

Why?

Because unholiness cannot coexist with holiness – just as darkness cannot coexist with light. In the presence of God’s perfect holiness, I believe Daniel falls to the ground because of his own sins and impurities, even though they are not specified by name.

Yet Daniel lived a life full of faith and power, whether he was defying a maniacal king or facing down a den of hungry lions. He was both a sinner and a saint—at the same time.

All of us, including Daniel, are sinners and therefore losers. Only when we acknowledge our guilt and brokenness can we begin to understand the healing power and significance of grace.

As the life of Daniel shows us, following Jesus is not about totally conquering all imperfection, all of the time; instead, it is about surrendering our imperfection to God, while he builds his kingdom in the middle of it.

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The New American Pharisee

When we think of a modern-day Pharisee, most of us immediately think of a stereotypical “us vs. them, holier-than-thou” legalist, pointing a judgmental finger at others and trying to force his or her narrow religious views on all of society. But lately I see a new kind of Pharisees emerging within the body of Christ, and though their fingers point back at that stereotype, they are every bit as judgmental.

Recently I saw a disturbing Facebook exchange about the scandal involving AshleyMadison.com (tagline: “Life is short. Have an affair”). Sadly, the breach of this hookup website for married people exposed many subscribers who were Christians—even well-known pastors and other spiritual leaders.

Yet the Facebook posts which so bothered me contained not sadness but celebration. One poster crowed, “Folks: Evangelical celebrities are bankrupt…how many more examples do we need?” Another expressed his disdain for a famous preacher, and his hopes that this preacher also would be on the list of exposed subscribers.

I was horrified by the vitriolic glee of these self-identified Christians over the downfall of other Christians. These posters not only rejoiced over those who had fallen; they even hoped more would fall. (Note that I am not saying everyone should just “forgive and forget” about sin, nor am I saying we should sweep it under the rug to protect Jesus’ name from further scandal. Instead, I believe in a church-led healing process of reconciliation, accountability, and restoration. And I believe this healing process is exactly that—a process.)

Yet there was more to come.

Days later, I came across a social media video in which several young adults each proclaim, “I’m a Christian, but I’m not…” and then they fill in the blank with such words as: a hypocrite; homophobic; uneducated; judgmental; closed-minded; unaccepting.

Newpharisee2One person says that just because Christians subscribe to “a faith that has terrible people in it, does not mean that we’re all terrible.” Another adds, “A lot of people think Christianity ruins people, but to me, I think it’s people that are ruining Christianity. You never really see the good that happens; you only see the hypocrites that put themselves on a higher pedestal.” A third claims that he is not perfect—with two underlying implications: first, that he thinks some “other” Christians believe they are perfect; and second, conversely, that he expects them to be. In other words, even though he himself makes mistakes, those “other” Christians had better not make any—especially not the mistake of being judgmental, according to his own judgment.

None of these people seem to see that putting themselves “on a higher pedestal,” which they denounce in others, is exactly what they are doing.

The people in the video, along with the Facebook gloaters, sound an awful lot like a new American version of the Pharisee in Jesus’s parable (Luke 18:9-14, NIV), who prayed: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.” But Jesus condemned that prayer, and praised instead the prayer of the tax collector—the lowest, most despised rung of Jewish society: “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Origins of Jewish Pharisaism

In the Gospels, Jesus clearly condemns the Pharisees; yet originally, their movement had noble roots.

After centuries of sin and idolatry, the Jews fell under God’s judgment and, as a result, were conquered and carried away in exile. Decades later, when they finally returned to their homeland, they understood at a deep level that the exile had been their own fault, brought on by their disregard of God and his commandments. So, to prevent a repeat of that hard lesson, they vowed absolute obedience to the Law of Moses.

Sounds great, right? But then they went further. To be sure they didn’t disobey the Law, they began to create “buffer” rules—a kind of padding around the Law to make sure no one came even close to breaking it. For example, the Law of Moses forbade work on the Sabbath, so the Pharisees’ new rules spelled out things like exactly which tasks people could do, or even how far they could walk, on the Sabbath before work was being done. Anyone breaking these “buffer” rules was censured before they could break the Law itself.

In this way, the Pharisees became protectors and arbiters of both the Law and the new rules, trying to make sure everyone toed the line so the Jews would never again experience God’s punishment.

But all of these new rules were extremely intricate and hard to understand, or even to remember, much less to obey. So the Pharisees worked very hard at trying to track and follow them all. In fact, they tried so hard to stay pure and holy that eventually they came to see themselves as spiritually superior to everyone else. They became so proud of their own hard-won “righteousness” that by the time Jesus came, he had to directly challenge their arrogant, legalistic ways.

A brief history of American Pharisaism

A couple of thousand years later, on the other side of the world from the original Pharisees, a small group of Christians fled religious persecution in Europe to establish Christian colonies in the New World—but in the area of Salem, Massachusetts, some of those colonists soon began executing others on the mere suspicion of witchcraft. The persecuted had become the persecutors. Even the passing of two millenia and the crossing of an ocean couldn’t root out pharisaism.

In the early twentieth century, many American Christians believed liberal modernism was infiltrating the church, diluting Scripture and diverting attention from the person and work of Jesus. In response to this threat, a group of theologians wrote The Fundamentals: A Testimony to the Truth—a multi-volume series of essays which spelled out Christian beliefs and their differences from the beliefs of the surrounding culture. This movement came to be called fundamentalism. But eventually it splintered into factions, each one claiming to have the only true doctrine—pharisaism at its best.

In the mid-twentieth century, discomfort with fundamentalist separatism gave rise to evangelicalism, which tried to maintain a Christian identity while engaging the secular culture instead of avoiding or condemning it—but again, in some ways, traces of pharisaism crept in. Then, in response to the free-wheeling 1960s-70s, the 1980s-90s birthed Christian moralism. Like every other attempt to define and protect true Christian belief and practice, this movement was not necessarily wrong in itself—yet like all the others, it contained pharisaical pitfalls.

 The new American Pharisee

And now, as mentioned above, a new American Pharisee is emerging. I believe that those in this group, like their predecessors, sincerely desire to obey God’s commandments to “love the Lord your God…” and “…love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:30-31, NIV).

Still, though it seems nearly impossible to bring legalism into this commandment, these new Pharisees found a way to do so. Like every human, they too fall into the “us vs. them, holier-than-thou” trap. By claiming not to be judgmental, they judge those “other” believers who they think are – especially believers whose convictions are “unhip” and countercultural, even though Jesus himself was countercultural.

And if one of those “other” believers is caught in sin, they symbolically stone him or her—in order to prove to the world that they are, in fact, loving Christians.

Jesus’s solution

Let’s be honest: we are all Pharisees in one way or another. Jesus calls his followers to unite the church and heal its wounded; but Pharisees, no matter how well-intentioned, always end up dividing the church and executing its wounded.

Pharisees1 copyHowever, in the Luke 18 parable, Jesus shows us the solution to our own pharisaical ways.

What if those Facebook posters were to express sorrow over each exposed Ashley Madison subscriber and say, “I disagree with this guy on a lot of things, but he and his family really need our prayers”? What if they humbly admitted that they themselves are just as capable of committing terrible sins?

What if those video makers were to proclaim: “I am a Christian, and I am a hypocrite, and I am judgmental, and I am closed-minded, and I am unaccepting—especially of other Christians!… and I am in need of a Savior”?

What if we Pharisees, both old and new, were to abandon our attitude of spiritual superiority and cry out, like the lowly tax collector, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!”?

Because Jesus said the tax collector, not the Pharisee, “went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (Luke 18:14, NIV).

Jesus made it clear: the penitent tax collector had a better understanding of sin and grace than the proud Pharisee beside him ever could.

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Imago dei … even when I don’t want to

Jesus said the first and most important commandment is to “love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30) – and coming in at second is to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31).

The first one is pretty easy—at least, it is pretty easy to make an appearance of loving God. Whether it is real or not, only God knows.

The second commandment, however, is a little harder to fake. Merely saying I love my neighbor doesn’t mean much; I have to live it out. Jesus didn’t just say “I love you” to humanity; he put himself on a cross to show it.

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Last weekend, my dodge of this second commandment was painfully exposed. My church participates in “Love Portland” – a Saturday in August when we prepare local schools for the students’ return. The work involves mostly simple tasks like trimming, weeding, and painting, which these under-resourced schools don’t have the staffing or funding to do; If we don’t do it, the campuses simply remain untrimmed, unweeded, unpainted.

The purpose of this event is put hands and feet to loving our neighbors, expecting nothing in return. The underlying desire of the organizers and participants is give a gift of service to our community.

In my case, however, my underlying desire was to avoid giving that gift. I had my reasons, some of them legitimate. First, I work graveyard on weekends, and big events like this tend to get me stirred up so that I have a hard time sleeping to prepare for work. Second, the temperature was supposed to hover in the upper 90s that day, and I turn into a real crab-bucket at anything over 80. Third, the wind was full of smoke from raging forest fires some miles away, and the news kept warning everyone to stay inside and avoid breathing it. Fourth, I have a bad back, so I always try to avoid activities that might tweak it.

Unfortunately, beneath all of those reasons—or excuses—for not loving my neighbor hid the truth: I just didn’t want to.

Once again, Jesus’ command to “love my neighbor” came down to an ultimate cage-match between my spirit and my flesh (sin nature). I didn’t want to be inconvenienced. I didn’t want to leave my comfort zone. I didn’t want to share another’s burden. To which Jesus responds: “Love your neighbor.” And then, as if to seal the deal, he adds: “as yourself.”

Jesus’ words launch an inescapable circle of reasoning inside my head. I do love God, I insist. Then show it, he says. How? I hedge. Well, he repeats, by loving others exactly the same way that you love yourself.

Every day, I expend an ocean of effort to get my own needs met, look out for myself in the name of self-preservation, and pump up my Facebook profile to impress everyone else. And that ocean is the amount of love I am called to pour out on others.

Wynants_Jan-ZZZ-Parable_of_the_Good_SamaritanIn other words, as much as I don’t want to be inconvenienced—that is how much I am to love my neighbor. As much as I don’t want to leave my comfort zone—that is how much I am to serve others. As much as I don’t want to share another’s burden—that is how much I am to come alongside the needs of my community.

Just because God—who I say I love—commands it. And loving God is loving my neighbor.

Suddenly, as all my selfish excuses fall flat, these two commands combine to trigger another spirit-versus-flesh battle within. I think Jesus intends it to be that way. These are not commands with which to impress others; they are internal. They create a struggle between the self-centered desires of my flesh and the God-centered desires of my spirit.

This struggle between my flesh and my spirit went on for an entire week before the service day. But two things helped my spirit win out.

Self-awareness. We must be aware that we consist of flesh and spirit. After we put our trust in God, our spirit desires to please him, but our flesh still wants to please itself. So ignoring our flesh, and pretending it isn’t there, gives it the advantage of stealth: we never see it coming. Instead of engaging us in a full-frontal assault, it can sidle up next to us and woo us with sly arguments. I believe this lack of self-awareness is how I can rationalize away bad choices and even sin.
Last Saturday, I was completely aware of the source of my resistance. I knew full well that it was my flesh which was copping the attitude. And the Holy Spirit used this awareness to show me just how self-centered I was being.

Accountability. In my case, accountability came through my wife. She encouraged me to join her in serving the schools, but she also allowed me to talk through my objections, helping me get to the bottom of my resistance. She even gave me the freedom to back out. All of this processing helped turn my heart away from selfishness and toward loving my neighbor.

It’s no secret that Jesus called his followers to be in community with one another. We need close friends who will challenge us to fight against our own flesh, give us the freedom to reach our own conclusions, and pick us up during those times when our flesh wins the day.

Fortunately, on that hot, smoky Saturday last week, my spirit won out: I did participate in the event. My flesh kept screaming its displeasure even as I walked into the school; but my spirit fought back and did what was right.

But how about the next time I am confronted with the opportunity to carry out the second greatest commandment? Will my flesh gain the upper hand or will my spirit win? The battle between flesh and spirit will continue as long as I live. Starving the flesh and feeding the spirit is an ongoing process. I will take the wins whenever I can get them.

For now, I will be grateful that this time, Jesus helped me choose to love my neighbor. In his name.

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Hearing the prophets: What could they possibly say to us today?

9d43523b09f7b5f24a22d3e6f4dbcc39Every so often in my personal devotions, I decide to read the Bible cover to cover. Starting with Genesis 1, I work my way through, reading three chapters a day and five on Sunday. That’s no magical, spiritual formula, just a tip I got from one of my college professors for how to get through the Bible in about a year. When I do a read-through like this, I do so without any commentary or teacher holding my hand. I simply want to allow God’s word to speak into my story right now.

Often a verse leaps out at me, and I post it on my Facebook page. I include no added thoughts, no set-up, no discussion questions. I just let God’s word stand on its own, as it is more than capable of doing. Frequently, individuals respond with a simple “Amen,” which speaks volumes. Sometimes, people share more.

Currently I am working through the Hebrew prophets, which use rich poetry and imagery to illustrate God’s loving relationship with his people—and also, in some cases, with the surrounding nations. These writings are bold and fascinating – a joy to read. But reading these ancient Middle Eastern prophets from my little corner of the twenty-first century America makes me wonder: What could they possibly say to me today?

The context of the prophets is one of judgment. Israel and Judah—respectively, the northern and southern kingdoms of the Hebrew nation—have not simply ignored the teachings of Yahweh but have openly rebelled against them (think in terms of God’s chosen people giving God the finger). During this time, in a remarkable act of grace, God raises up a group of prophets to reveal truth. All of these prophets expose sin, warn of judgment, offer a way out through repentance, and preach the abundance of God’s lovingkindness and forgiveness. But, typical of human nature, his people don’t listen—in some cases even beating up these messengers of God’s mercy (ironic!). Finally, just as they predicted, God’s righteous judgment comes:

-First, Assyria invades and destroys the northern kingdom, dispersing its people (later referred to as the ten “lost tribes” of Israel).

-Eventually Babylon invades the southern kingdom and its capital city of Jerusalem, carrying the remaining tribes (of Judah) into exile.

So in ancient times, God’s purpose in sending the prophets was to warn his people to repent of sin, in order to avoid judgment and be restored to relationship with him.

Nowadays, however, Christians seem to read something different into these Old Testament books of prophecy. First, some use them to try to “decode” the future and God’s plan for the “end times.” These folks interpret all Old Testament books of prophecy as predictive of things yet to come: they believe the prophets spell out God’s plan for the future, and it is our job—our duty—to unlock the secrets. While I agree that the prophets do contain many prophecies about the future, particularly messianic ones, I think these books are meant for more than mere eschatological (end-times) proof-texting.

Second, some use the prophets to claim that God’s wrath is coming against unbelievers, or even against believers with whom they disagree. This approach may have a bit more validity since the prophets are obviously writing about God’s judgments, specifically against Israel, Judah, and the surrounding nations. But using the prophets to deflect blame onto others seems a little self-serving.

So how do we read the Hebrew prophets? Do we just ignore them—like, say, Leviticus? My answer is that I don’t think we should ignore any part of the Bible (including Leviticus!). Besides, many sections in these prophetic writings start with phrases like, “The word of the Lord says…”, indicating the importance of what comes next. For these reasons, along with others, we should read the prophets and meditate upon them.

But what do they mean to us today?

I don’t pretend to be Dr. Hebrew Scholar; I know these writings have deep layers of meaning, and I always enjoy reading the many scholars who know more about them than I. At the same time, I don’t think a degree is necessarily required to mediate on any part of God’s word.

So as I read the prophets, I try to focus on two simple questions: What was the purpose of the prophets’ message in their own time? And what is the purpose of their message today?

What was the purpose of the prophets’ message in their own time? Like all of the books in the Bible, the writings of the prophets were originally written for a certain group of people in a certain historical context. In other words, each prophet’s message had a clear meaning for his contemporaries – not just a cryptic message to be decoded centuries later, woven in and out of today’s headlines. It is always important to reflect on who the recipients were. What were they doing to warrant such strong words of warning? One need not be a Bible scholar or commentator to find out. The time during which the prophets spoke occurred primarily during the books of 1 and 2 Kings. In fact, the Jews have always considered 1 and 2 Kings as one book, and they list it not as a history book but with the prophets. So reading 1 and 2 Kings provides a good overview of people’s behavior during the time of the prophets, and of the context in which God was speaking.

By showing how messed up the people were and how they continually chose sin over God, the prophets clearly explain the justification of God’s judgment. However, in doing so, they also reveal the extent of God’s love.

-First, according to the prophets, God is offering his people a lifeline: Judgment will fall—but not without a clear and concise warning, and not without the chance to escape it through repentance.

-Second, amidst all of this judgment is a promise of redemption and restoration: the people’s defeat and exile would be severe, but also temporary, after which they would return home and rebuild the temple—God’s symbolic dwelling-place, and thus a symbol that he would come and live among them again.

What is the purpose of the prophets’ message today? After a quick run-through of the headlines from any typical news source, I always feel like society has “jumped the shark,” so to speak. I can hardly wrap my mind around what’s happening around me. It seems everyone’s gone crazy, and every day brings news that is crazier than the day before. Just as in the days of the prophets, people seem determined to come up with new ways to rebel against God, each one with a darker, more perverse twist than the last. The world is so screwed up, I tell myself, and so richly deserving of God’s wrath that no one should be surprised when it comes.

So it’s tempting to pull out a verse about God’s judgment and launch it against other people or groups.

For example, consider Ezekiel 24:14 (NIV):

“‘I the Lord have spoken. The time has come for me to act. I will not hold back; I will not have pity, nor will I relent. You will be judged according to your conduct and your actions, declares the Sovereign Lord.’”

Hooya! I could post that on Facebook, with my own little social commentary: “Ha ha! See, America? See, people I disagree with? See, sinners who aren’t me? That’s what happens when you kick God out of the culture! You really have it coming!”

But to do so is to remove myself from the equation. If I delight in the thought that God will judge others’ sins, I’d better be ready for him to judge mine too. So, instead of reading the prophets as a brilliant spotlight of judgment to flash into the eyes of others, I should reflect on my own life first.

The truth is, reading the prophets for ammo to attack the sins of others is the wrong motivation. The Bible has this incredible rhetorical ability to circle back to my own sin whenever I try to point it out in others.

So, just as the prophets had a two-fold message for their contemporaries, they have a two-fold message for us today. It’s a message of repentance and redemption.

-First, repentance: How is God convicting me personally through the prophets? How am I worshipping idols of pride and greed, like Israel and Judah (Ezekiel 23:30)? Where am I ignoring the poor, the sick and the helpless, as they did (Amos 5:11-12)?

-Second, redemption: In my brokenness and rebellion, how is God’s judgment redeeming me? How is he leading me through repentance and back toward restoration?

So this is the message of the prophets: They were relevant in their time, and they are still relevant in ours. They reveal the depths of human sin and rebellion, but also of God’s never-ending love and pursuit of sinners. They communicate the overall message of God’s relationship with his people, which is that we continually fail, but God redeems. He is always present to convict, to judge, and to restore those who will listen to him.

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Five reasons I hate debate on social media

 

Recently, I broke my cardinal rule to avoid joining political debates, especially in social media. Just before heading out to see a movie with a friend—like a real, actual human in the flesh—I went online and checked my Twitter account.

And there it was: A provocative political comment at the top of my feed, beckoning me to respond. Such comments are my kryptonite, my greatest danger. They often come across as punchy and irrefutable to those who agree, but shallow and half-baked to those who don’t – and they tempt me to respond with some quick, off-the-cuff remark which I immediately regret. So I am constantly on the alert to ignore them. But this comment was especially hard to ignore; it was one of those that seemed ripe for a ready-made zinger.

Usually, I type out my zinger and then delete it when my  better judgement convinces me to let it go. But this time, my better judgement was late to the party and I clicked send. True to form, immediately I regretted it and tried to delete my reply, but the poster had already seen it and had sent me a direct question.

Like an idiot, I took a shot at an answer. The next thing I knew, we were locked in a pointless spiral of “thrust and parry” which went on for at least an hour. Fortunately, I came to my senses and bowed out. But I still felt like crap the rest of the day.

DebateBelieve me, I have opinions on culture and politics. They’re pretty strong and can be uttered with great—I daresay uncontrollablepassion (see the “Zealot” chapter in my book, Losers Like Us). But experience has taught me two things about getting myself into any debate on political topics: 1) Nothing good ever comes out of it, and 2) I feel incredibly icky afterward.

I have yet to come across an exception.

Thus, my cardinal rule to avoid such debates.

My original reason for making this rule was not simply to stick my head in the sand, away from the stresses of politics (although that is a wonderful side benefit), but to keep my relationships peaceful. As a broken person who has experienced the need for healing myself, I want to spend my time healing others, not debating them. I want to listen and help, instead of trading jabs which diminish and divide us.

But diminishment and division is exactly what happened in my ill-advised Twitter debate.

The truth is, our society has changed. In the age of social media, debate isn’t what it used to be.

So below, I share my rationale for seeking to remain as apolitical as possible, especially in online forums,

Social media has changed the goal of debate. There was a time when debate was used as a tool to change hearts and minds regarding worthy causes. For example, after the Revolutionary War, robust debate was used at America’s Constitutional Convention to persuade adamantly opposed conventioneers that the new nation needed a Constitution. The persuasion was successful, and the Constitution was adopted. Similarly, in England, William Wilberforce used tireless debate to convince adamantly opposed parliamentarians to end slavery. Again, the effort was successful.

But in social media, the goal is for the poster to shout down all opponents with brute insults, just to get “likes” or “retweets” from those who already agree with him or her. Changing hearts and minds is the least-considered objective.

Wallistweet copySocial media has also changed the strategy of debate. The strategy of official competitive debate is to start with a stated premise and examine its legitimacies and fallacies with critical thinking. But in social media, the strategy is simply to throw out an inflammatory statement, fishing for a response. When someone takes the bait and challenges that statement, the initial poster often asks a question. This is a good strategy; however, in social media it’s used not to understand others, but to sideswipe them. Asking a question casts the poster into the role of superior, nuanced teacher, and the responder into the role of defensive, inferior student who must try to give a complex answer in a short sentence or two. (Note – if you can’t think of a question, a good default is “What do you mean by ________?”)

Social media limits our words, and therefore our thinking. Great thinkers have written volumes of books debating complex political issues—yet in social media, somehow we think we can reduce these issues to 140 characters on Twitter. That’s about the length of the sentence you just read. And Facebook and other forums aren’t much better. Everything is abbreviated. No matter how hard we try, social media can never capture the essence of a person’s knowledge and experience, or the contextual nuances of her perspective.

politcaltweetSo we shoot back a reply based on one sentence, launching a quibble-fest that devolves into simplistic arguments and ridiculous name-calling until one or both parties grows tired and leaves the discussion. No one wins; yet each side typically claims victory.

Social media eliminates face-to-face contact, and thus a bit of our humanity. Online, we are reduced to little more than avatars, making it easy for us to stereotype one another. But we forget that behind every avatar and every zinger is a real human being for whom Christ died. And if that human being believes in Christ, we will be sharing the Great Feast in heaven, no matter how much we disagree here on earth.

Occasionally, a poster will try to sound more humane by calling the opposition something like,  “my progressive friends” or “my conservative friends” – but this phrase usually masks subtle mockery of, rather than true respect for, that opposing group. If the insulting stance is called out, the poster generally feigns innocence, like Miss Piggy: “Who—moi?” The truth is, when people are face-to-face, most would be too ashamed—and rightly so—to use the scathing language which is commonly used online.

Political debate tends to divide the body of Christ. Last week, when a shooter killed nine prayer warriors at the historic Emanuel AME (“Mother Emanuel”) church in Charleston, South Carolina, believers glorified Jesus in a very dark situation. Supported in spirit by the body of Christ across the country (see onechurchliturgy.com), the victims’ families faced the killer and told him they forgave him. From those saints and from the solidarity of churches nationwide, I learned more about forgiveness and grace that week than in all of my years at seminary. In social media, some have tried to divide the body by politicizing the shooting—but such efforts have largely fallen flat due to the unity of the churches.

thebodyofChristThe kingdom of God is about showing Christ’s light. It is about his followers caring for the poor, the sick, and the oppressed (instead of trying to get the government to do it for us—that’s just laziness). We have the resources to represent God’s kingdom on earth, but we cannot do it unless factions of believers stop bashing each other and recognize that we are part of his kingdom first, even though we may disagree on some issues.

Debate is healthy. It stimulates thought and drives the democratic process. But we are Christ-followers first. Our mission is to lift up Jesus, not a political party, candidate, or referendum. None of these can perfectly embody the kingdom of God. Cramming God’s kingdom into a political party (as if we could) makes the kingdom subservient to the party.

John 3:17 (NIV) says: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” If you are a Christ-follower who feels called into the area of politics or political debate on some level, then prayerfully follow that call. But no Christian is called to mudslinging. Instead, we are called to reflect Christ’s salvation throughout cyberspace and to the ends of the earth.

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Can we be sinners but not losers?

Since the release of my book, Losers Like Us, I have argued that the Bible does nothing to hide the sins, flaws, and blemishes of the people within. They are too clueless, too full of themselves, and too ordinary to be considered spiritual giants. So I have used the term “losers” to describe them—and also to describe all the rest of us who, each in our own stumbling way, try to follow the Lord just as they tried.

But many people have objected to the “loser” label by saying: “Yes, I am a sinner—but not a loser!”

Loser-Sinner1This response shows just how much people hate being labeled as “losers.” I think they mean that in Christ, we are winners, and I agree with that. Yet I see the sinner/loser distinction differently.

I began studying the Bible characters when I went through a time of darkness and failure in my own life, because I was desperate to see how God could or would use a failure like me for his kingdom. As I studied them, they became more to me than the flat, one-dimensional flannel-graph characters I remembered from Sunday School; they became real, fallible people – just like me. So I began to use the term “losers” to describe them, because their failures and ordinariness gave me hope. I figured that if God could use them in his kingdom, maybe he could use a loser like me too.

I know the word “loser” can sound like an insult, but it is not; it is simply an observation.

Allow me to explain.

 To me, except in the case of Jesus, “loser” and “sinner” are synonymous.

The word “sinner” and the word “loser” have similar definitions. Both mean someone who comes up short, misses the mark, fails to fulfill the standard of perfection. In this sense, only Jesus was not a loser. He alone lived a perfect, sinless life, and compared to him, everyone else is indeed a loser (Isaiah 53:6, Heb. 4:15). After all, there can be only one “winner.” In the real world, not everybody gets a trophy.

This truth is affirmed throughout the Bible. Quoting the Old Testament (Ps. 14:1-3, Ps. 53:1-3, Ecclesiastes 7:20), Paul writes in the New:

“There is no one righteous, not even one;
there is no one who understands;
there is no one who seeks God.
All have turned away,
they have together become worthless;
there is no one who does good,
not even one….

for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

(Romans 3:10-12, 23)

So according to scripture, every person except Jesus is a sinner—and therefore, to me, a loser too.

 If “loser” and “sinner” are not synonyms, I’d rather be the first one.

Saying “I’m a sinner, but not a loser!” implies that being a loser is worse. 

But I see things the other way around. I think being a sinner is worse, because “loser” is just a human value judgment. “Sinner,” on the other hand, is a heart issue that keeps us from the presence of God.

However, neither sinners nor losers are beyond God’s grace; both are fully redeemable by him. 

And on the subject of grace…

The wonderful mystery of grace makes each of us a sinner and a saint at the same time.  We Christ-followers often misinterpret grace in binary terms, with sinners on one side, Christ’s grace in the middle, and saints (saved people) on the other side. We believe that once we move from sin through grace to salvation, we are no longer sinners.

But in truth, even after we are saved by grace, we still sin sometimes. For example, even David—“a man after God’s own heart” (I Sam. 13:14)—is shown to be a deceiver (I Sam. 21:13); polygamist (I Sam. 25:42-44, 2 Sam. 3:2); adulterer (2 Sam. 11:2-4); and cold-blooded killer (2 Sam. 12:9)—and all of these sins were committed after David’s life was dedicated to God. In fact, even in the New Testament, after receiving the Holy Spirit, Peter sinned by fearing the opinion of men more than the opinion of God—and Paul had to call him out (Gal. 2:11-21).

So even though we are forgiven and redeemed, sin is still with us.

Salvation is an ongoing process. Jesus works every day to chisel away our faults and sins as we submit to him, because following Christ is not about achieving perfection; it is about admitting our brokenness, and then being as obedient as we can so that God can build his kingdom through us anyway.

That’s why I argue that we are all sinners, and by default, losers. I can see why some might say that in Christ we are “winners”—but I say that Christ is the only winner. Compared to him, everyone else comes in dead last.

What is so amazing is that Jesus invites us into the winner’s circle to celebrate, party, and identity with him. 

ItIsFinished

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Remembering D-Day: “The eyes of the world are upon you”

On June 6, 1944, on five French beaches—Omaha, Utah, Gold, Sword, and Juno—the U.S. and other Allies launched the largest military operation in history. Their objective was to establish a beach head, liberate France from the Nazis, and ultimately move on to Berlin to defeat Adolf Hitler and win World War II. And they succeeded. Today, seventy-one years later, we honor the 3,000[i] Allied heroes who died in that “D-Day” offensive which turned the tide of history.

landing-in-france d-day-d14a7c6587ea9286 AMERICAN%20TROOPS%20LANDING%20ON%20D-DAY%20OMAHA%20BEACH%20NORMANDY%20COAST%201944

 

Near the visitors’ center of the Omaha Beach Cemetery and Memorial, at Colleville-sur-Mer on the Normandy coast of France, there is a slab of pink granite with a time capsule, set to be opened on June 6, 2044—the 100th anniversary of the D-Day invasion. The plaque on the slab is emblazoned with the five-star seal of General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the Supreme Allied Commander of the European theatre during that invasion and later the President of the United States.2005 Paris-England 913

According to the plaque and nearby signage, the time capsule contains original news reports of D-Day and a personal message from Eisenhower.

I first became aware of, and photographed, this granite slab in 2005, when I had a chance to visit three of the beaches—Gold, Omaha, and Utah—which were invaded on D-Day. As a World War II history buff, I was deeply honored to stand on these beaches about which I had read so much.

2005 Paris-England 896But I wasn’t prepared for the experience.

Especially Omaha.

Bloody Omaha.

Of the five beaches involved, Omaha had the highest casualties. Unlike the other beaches, which include gift shops and recreation areas, Omaha is somber—even sacred. I saw no joggers, swimmers, or picnickers. Those who hiked down to the beach from the cemetery above talked quietly, reflected alone, knelt to touch the water and feel the sand that had soaked up the blood of three thousand men during the first hours of D-Day.

2005 Paris-England 854I had read books and seen movies about that day, but it didn’t really jolt me until I stood at the water’s edge and looked up at the now lush green hills which had once been filled with Nazi machine gun nests and concrete bunkers. In the silence, I could almost hear the screams of the dying amid relentless explosions and gunfire. Eventually, many would be buried above the beach in the cemetery, where thousands of white marble grave markers—both Christian crosses and Jewish stars—now line the grassy hilltop.

2005 Paris-England 922This week, as I’ve considered D-Day—the start of the Allied invasion of Europe and the beginning of the end for Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich—I’ve spent a lot of time thinking: In the context of those grave markers and the lush green memorial lawn overlooking the now-quiet beach, what message might be in that time capsule? What did Eisenhower want to say to future generations?

He couldn’t have fathomed the directions the world would take in the next seventy years. However, on D-Day, as he faced the Nazi holocaust of millions of Jews and other victims—an example of the absolute worst human nature has to offer—and issued his Order of the Day to stop it, I’m sure he understood firsthand that real evil exists. Further, I’m sure he understood that this invasion would not stop evil once and for all, but that a broken humanity would continue to spread brutality and terror well after his time.

But now, seven decades later, most of us were born after World War II. We weren’t there; we don’t know what it was like. We seem to have forgotten that sometimes there is such a thing as a fight against evil. It is not uncommon to hear military personnel derided as uneducated hicks, bloody murderers, or both;[ii] even in the city where I live, anti-military sentiment is endemic. Though many people do respect the bravery and sacrifice of the military, I am saddened and angered by the disrespect of those who don’t.

Americans are restless, continually reinventing ourselves. We lack the focus to sit still for any period of time. We ­­­make critical decisions based on a two-minute news story or a twenty-second soundbite. Our impulsive social media posts can turn events or change lives at the speed of light, for good or ill. In fact, the only characteristic that never changes in America is our quickness to forget—and our ability to remember selectively.

So I wonder, what might Eisenhower’s message be? ­­

I suspect it might be summarized in one word: remember.

When Eisenhower visited Orhdruf, the first of Hitler’s concentration camps to be liberated by American forces, he cabled George C. Marshall of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to request a visit from prominent editors and congressional leaders. One of Eisenhower’s concerns was that if they did not record proof of the mountains of desecrated bodies and other Nazi horrors, future generations would never believe it. [iii]

And that prediction proved accurate. Today, despite all the original photographs, film footage, eyewitness reports, and other verified documentation, it is becoming trendy to downplay or deny the Holocaust. In 2014, an eighth-grade teacher assigned her students an essay to decide whether or not the Holocaust was real.[iv] Even anti-Semitism is making a comeback, again on college campuses.[v]

It’s been just seventy years, yet already we have forgotten.

2005 Paris-England 925Remember.

Remember why the men on Omaha, Utah, Gold, Sword, and Juno beaches pressed forward against a wall of enemy gunfire. Remember that humanity is still broken and that people have an incredible ability to brutalize each other. Remember that evil is real; it is not simply a misunderstanding.

We are still twenty-nine years away from 2044, when we will open the time capsule and read the message Eisenhower prepared ­decades ago. I have no idea how the world will look at that time. But, given human nature, I am certain there will still be war, brutality, and terror. It’s a scary time. We are overwhelmed with all that is going on, and clearly, we have no idea how to stop it.

But the Allies did. At that time, in that place, there was almost universal agreement on who the enemy was and what needed to be done. And they did it.

So, through historical images and documentation, I remember D-Day. I remember the brave soldiers who pushed across every inch of that bloody beach, and their brave brothers who fell. I remember the stacks of Hitler’s dead victims in Ohrdruf and Auschwitz and Dauchau, and scores of other sites.

I remember so I won’t be apathetic.

I remember because, in the words of George Santayana, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”[vi]

d12_06010712 D-day-normandy-in-photos-2 d_day_11_lg

 

 

 

 

[i] Exact numbers are hard to verify, but reputable sources estimate total casualties (injuries) at about 8,000 to 10,000, and fatalities at about 3,000: http://warchronicle.com/numbers/WWII/ddaycasualtyest.htm

[ii] One representative example is a 2012 NBC news story about “anti-military vibes” and insults directed toward college students who formerly served in the military (http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/10/17/14469487-stray-anti-military-vibes-reverberate-as-thousands-of-veterans-head-to-college?lite).

[iii] See these original communications:
http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov/research/online_documents/holocaust/1945_04_19_DDE_to_Marshall.pdf;
http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov/research/online_documents/holocaust/1945_04_15_DDE_to_Marshall.pdf; http://www.eisenhower.archives.gov/research/online_documents/holocaust/1945_04_15_Patton_to_DDE.pdf.

[iv] http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2014/05/07/8th-grade-assignment-write-essay-about-whether-holocaust-was-real-or-made-up/

[v] For example, see http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/06/us/debate-on-a-jewish-student-at-ucla.html?_r=0 and http://www.sacbee.com/news/local/crime/article8865731.html

[vi] George Santayana, The Life of Reason: Reason in Common Sense. Scribner’s, 1905: 284.

 

 

 

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