Buon Giorno, Principessa! (or...Beautiful Headship)

(This music is just the right aesthetic for beautiful headship. Enjoy as you read.)

Headship is an incredible thing because God's design for the sexes is an incredible thing. When it is done badly, it is scarring. But when it is done Biblically, it is beautiful.

When our oldest child graduated from high school, Brett and I wanted to give him something meaningful, a memento he could take with him into adulthood which would remind him of who he is and where he came from and simultaneously encourage and sober him about where he was heading. We thought briefly about a purity ring, but that wasn't quite what we were after. We wanted something to remind him of who he is in Christ, and purity is merely one sub-category of maturity in Christ.

With that in mind, Brett came up with the idea of a headship ring. The concept behind this was that it would be something that would remind Zach that, no matter where he went,...
He is a sheep, and he is to be inspectable;
He will one day shepherd a household, and his job will be to inspect;
A fool spurns the covering of the local church, and a wise man treasures it;
Every choice he makes, he makes as a subject of the Great King.

When our daughter graduated, we got her a headship ring, as well. For our daughters, the concept of headship is only slightly altered.
She is a sheep, and her job is to be inspectable;
She will one day shepherd her children, even as she is shepherded by her husband;
A fool spurns the covering of her husband, and a wise woman treasures it;
Every choice she makes, she makes as a subject of the Great King.

Our third child got his ring when he graduated, too, and we hope to continue that tradition eight more times.

But something happened this summer that absolutely moved me. Brett and I were out on a date one evening, when he lamented that he did not have a headship ring. Why did that bother him? Because he didn't want his children to think that spiritual authority, inspectableness, subjection to Christ was just kid stuff...
that he, as the head of his household, was also to be under authority himself. 

That's beautiful headship.

Beautiful headship loves the local church.
He's not doing some ill-advised home-church thingy, avoiding accountability and the preaching of God's word and simply feeding his emotional, relational needs.
He shuns bad doctrine that says the church is simply where two or more believers are gathered.
He knows he is a sheep first, with failings and struggles and natural bents which dilute his impact in his family and in the kingdom.
Beautiful headship makes himself vulnerable and inspectable via human, spiritual authority. He craves the oversight of the local church and the growth it brings him.
Beautiful headship has this starting point: I am a sinner saved by grace.

Beautiful headship loves his sheep.
He invests the time it takes--and it takes a lot of time--to look at his sheep, to apply the rod and staff of God's Word. He eagerly speaks truth, coupled with a humble mercy that says, "I struggle, too" into his children's lives.
Sometimes, it looks like a conversation in the driveway after a men's meeting with the 22 year old.
Sometimes it looks like an hours-long, one-on-one dinner with the 19 year old.
Sometimes it looks like sitting on the grass by the garden with the 10 year old, instructing with plants.
Sometimes it looks like he and the 4 year old, wearing matching Crocodile Dundee hats, sitting on the back porch, and talking of the wonders of the coming baby.
Or sometimes, it looks like a stern, "You will not address my wife that way."
Or, "Go think about how loving your sister would look."
Or, "I'm taking this privilege away from you because it is dangerous for you."

Beautiful headship loves his wife and knows she is the weaker vessel.
He is not threatened by her input; he welcomes it.
He views her as his partner, not his project.
He sees her sin; he knows her back story. He exhorts her to resist responding to the imbalance of her past with imbalance in the present. And he lives with her in an understanding way.
He loves her when she is not lovable and washes her with the water of the Word.
It usually looks like, "Did I tell you I love you today?"

My favorite movie is Life is Beautiful. To me, it is the perfect illustration of beautiful headship. When a Jewish-Italian family is divided by the horror of the Holocaust, one heroic father struggles to keep them together. He protects his son, not from the Nazis, but from hating the Nazis, by hiding their hatred with a game. How interesting that the most important thing to this father was not that his son be spared evil, but that his son not return evil for evil. But he worries about his wife, who is separated from him in the women's barracks.

Then he stumbles upon a Victrola and a copy of their song. Risking Nazi retribution, he plays the song over the concentration camp loud speaker after greeting her with "Buon giorno, Principessa!" It is at once an intimate and public declaration of his commitment to his beloved. And from the women's barracks, his beloved hears and heeds his shepherding cry.

That is beautiful headship.
It is risky. It is vulnerable.
It is humbly serving and confidently leading.
It is intimate, and it is public.
It says, "I love the Lord too much, and I love you too much to not lead."

This Father's Day, we presented Brett with his own headship ring, one that looks just like the ones we give our sons. As they presented it, my 12 year old read this to him:

Dear Dad,
All of our lives, it has been made abundantly clear to us, your children, that we are always held accountable for our actions. Ideas have consequences: good ideas have good consequences and bad ideas have bad consequences. You have shown us that when we do something wrong, you are quick to discipline but then quick to forgive. Likewise, when we do something well, you are quick to encourage.
Headship is a firmly established office in our house. It is apparent to us, your children, that you model Christ well, representing His character with distinct clarity. Due to this, by training us to trust that you will do what you say, you have taught us to trust that God, our heavenly Father, will carry out what He says He will do, and this is what a good earthly father will do.
Matthew 8:1-10 declares the faith of the Roman centurion. A typical centurion is responsible for the care of anywhere from 80 to 1,000 men. He was a high-ranking official, with men who had to answer to him; however, he understood that he himself was not without accountability. He had to learn to trust that the official he answered to would take care of him and would take that responsibility seriously.  He had no choice other than to put his faith in such a man. Matthew 8:10 says, "When Jesus heard this, he marveled and said to those who followed him, 'Truly, I tell you, with no one in Israel have I found such faith.' "
Dad, you have shown us the meaning of headship and what it looks like. You have shown us that you are going to take care of us, looking out for both our physical and spiritual needs.
Because of your exemplary representation of God the Father in our lives, we present to you your own headship ring as a reminder to both you and us, your children, of the One who we all really answer to.

I live in the house where Beautiful Headship lives.
The same man who cries "Buon giorno, Principessa!" over the loud speaker that everyone hears is the same man who whispers, "Did I tell you I love you today?" while I'm cooking dinner.
This is the man who told me, after he had his ring for a few days, "Man, this ring is heavy!"
"Does it bother you?" I asked.
He said, "The weight reminds me of this awesome responsibility I have to God and to my family. It is a heavy thing."

It is a heavy thing; I don't envy his responsibility.
That is the stuff of headship.
And soberly embracing that weight is beautiful headship.

Oh, that all women and children could know a headship that is beautiful.

But the centurion replied, "Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I, too, am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. And I say to one, 'Go,' and he goes and to another, 'Come,' and he comes and to my servant, 'Do this,' and he does it." When Jesus heard this, He marveled and said to those who followed him, "Truly, I tell you, with no one in Israel have I found such faith" Matthew 8:8-10 

Choosy Mothers Choose the Gospel

I know I have a history of giving the Roman Catholic religion some grief here and there. And it probably comes off as foolish, one woman picking a fight with one of the largest religions in the world. But this is not an academic or hypothetical debate. Not to me. This is personal.

I've stood on this cliff. I come from a long line of people who have stood on it. And you better believe I'm going to point out the cliff to my kids.
And while I'm no professionally trained theologian, these are errors so large that I can see them from my armchair.
Choosy mothers choose the gospel.

Observation #1: I was baptized into this tradition as an infant. But I utterly reject its validity. Not to my knowledge was there one believer in the entire place. It wasn't until I was three years old--when my parents both became believers--that I was finally a member of a covenant household. A covenant is an agreement, initiated by God, between Himself and another party. Baptism is a sign of the covenant. (I am not arguing in any way against paedobaptism; I fully support it.) But while omnipresent God was at this little shindig of mine, there was no other believing party, rendering my 'baptism' nothing more than a baby shower.

Observation #2: Growing up, one of my family members was plagued by guilt. And the reason? According to her, all the blame could be placed squarely at the feet of the nuns who taught her first eight years of school. Guilt? Whatever happened to grace? What about penance teaches grace? What about penance has anything what.so.ever to do with the finished work of Jesus? WHAT?!?!

At bedtime, we have a routine that fights this kind of nonsense. As we tuck our younger children in bed, after songs and prayers, it goes like this:
Are you my favorite 4/6/8/etc year old? (Yes.)
Do I love you when you're good? (Yes.)
Do I love you when you're bad? (Yes.)
Why do I love you? (Because I'm your boy/girl.)

Penance.Schmenance.

Observation #3: I spent a month every summer with my Catholic grandparents, who went to Mass (and took me along) every Saturday evening. It was there that I noticed the irony. I know--I know--I was the only believer on my pew every summer. Yet I was the only one barred from the Lord's Supper. What kind of church bars the qualified and qualifies those who should be barred?

It's what you call ironic.

Observation #4: I was about twenty-four when a dear, elderly relative passed away. And I grieved over her eternity. She was an excellent Catholic; she demonstrated very little evidence that she was a Christian.

Observation #5: When I was about twenty-eight, something really wonderful, really miraculous happened. My grandfather got saved. It was a fluke, but one weekend, he skipped Mass and attended church. He heard the gospel--and all the angels in heaven were rejoicing. (Actually, it wasn't a fluke. My parents had been praying for over twenty-five years for him.)

A baptism that wasn't.
A woman needlessly plagued by guilt.
A Christian denied communion and non-Christians admitted to it.
A lifelong Catholic who was never saved.
A lifelong Catholic who lived his first eight decades before hearing and accepting the gospel.
What is wrong with this picture???

I'm not talking about the salvific nature of rites (despite scriptural teaching to the contrary).
I'm not talking about praying to dead people (or praying for dead people).
I'm not talking about dividing believers into saints and non-saints.
I'm not talking about dividing people into priests and non-priests or the suspicious specter of a 'vicar of Christ.' (Never mind that a mouthpiece for God is always subject to judgment by scripture. And while we have not seen a Leo X in many years, consider the present pontiff, Francis. The dear old soul wants to give moral atheists a way to heaven--a way around the Way, the Truth, and the Life--and he's willing to give time off in Purgatory if you tweet him. Does this really sound like the counsel of a true believer? )

I'm willing to call all of these the non-essentials. As really weird as they all strike me, I'm willing to agree to disagree on these things, despite the fact that I am fully convinced of their error.

I am, however, talking about the way the essentials of the  gospel get diluted by the Catholic religion.

Mary the mother of God? No. Mary the mother of our Lord. Words matter. And those words alter the nature of God and the nature of Mary, a mere human like the rest of us. This cult-like adoration of Mary gives me the willies. And it changes the gospel.
Immaculate conception? Wrong. Jesus was fully God and fully man. The Second Adam got his fully human DNA from his mama, who descended from the first Adam with all of Adam's sin nature intact.
Seven deadly sins? Uh, no. One deadly sin nature? Absolutely. The wages of sin is death.
Purgatory? Rosaries? Indulgences? Heck, no. It is finished.
Adding our own merit to Christ's? Nuh uh. It is by grace we are saved, and that not of ourselves.

False gospel?
Look to God's Word.
You tell me.

I'll say it again.
Choosy mothers choose the gospel.

I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting Him who called you in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel--not that there is another one but there are some who trouble you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the one we preached to you, let him be accursed. Galatians 1:6-8

Theological and Aesthetic Ponderings on the Music of Road Tripping

A road trip to Nashville yesterday found the thirteen Adams' in one Blue Whale for fourteen hours with four revolving drivers. And I'd say it was a success.

I was the first driver up. The rule is that he who holds the keys controls the music. But our cd player is not working, so that left us with Pandora options. Brett ran through his list of options for me.
Guns and Roses? Pff. Yeah, right.
Journey? Yes!
Synthesizers, driving guitars, me bobbing my head to the music, Brett laughing.
Separate Ways.
Oh yeah. And we were off.

So, while the rest of the family lightly snoozed around the Blue Whale, I listened to Journey, Heart, Kansas, Bon Jovi, Toto, and lots of others.  And having the solitude of the wheel, it gave me time to ponder what I was hearing.

I've decided that .38 Special has written my anthem for parenting adults in Hold On Loosely:
Hold on loosely.
But don't let go.
If you cling too tightly,
You're gonna lose control.
You're baby needs Someone to believe in,
And a whole lotta space to breathe in.
So hold on loosely.
But don't let go. 

And REO Speedwagon has put the book of Hosea to rock in Keep On Lovin' You:
You should have seen by the look in my eyes, baby,
There was something missin'.
You should known by the tone of my voice, maybe,
But you didn't listen.
You played dead; but you never bled.
Instead you lay still in the grass all coiled up and hissin'.
And though I know all about those men,
Still I don't remember.
'Cause it was us, baby, way before them, 
And we're still together. 
And I meant every word I said,
When I said that I love you, I meant that I love you forever. 
And I'm gonna keep on lovin' you, cause it's the only thing I wanna do.

I was having fun.

Brett was up next, when we listened to his Mark Knopfler station. I dozed, and, thank you, Lord, his shift was over before he had a chance to get to his Delta Blues station, at which point, we would have all been subjected to Muddy Waters and Mississippi Whatshisname. Phew.

Alex managed to keep it righteous with Lecrae and tunes from Sovereign Grace, although they were liberally sprinkled with country tunes by Tim McGraw, Alan Jackson, and Faith Hill. Zach, who admitted he can't take more than two country tunes at one time,  finally gave up and put on his headphones.

The last three hour leg was taken by Zach. And suddenly, Mr. Classical (because that's what he keeps his truck radio and his bedroom radio permanently tuned to) morphed into a metalhead. We started with AC DC's tribute to Rob in Hell's Bells. His occasional hard rock tune had me gaping incredulously at him. Who are you? Not to mention the tortuously bad Land Down Under by Men at Work. While I gagged, everyone else in the car, even the younger ones, were tapping their toes. But his bad choices were punctuated with good stuff by Genesis or Foreigner, and all of us were singing when Peter Gabriel's Sledge Hammer came on. Brett was even doing a little be-bop from the second bench.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeaaaaaaaah.

Zach's playlist included one blow-me-away country song by Eric Church called Sinners Like Me. I had never heard it before, but it made me smile:
I was fifteen when my daddy's old man
Caught me halfway through my first beer.
He laughed so hard when my face turned green,
He said, "You come from a long line of sinners like me."

Oh, if our own parenting could always be laced with Grace like that!!!

Every TULIP begins with T, and this little song more than ably addressed sin and the quilted layer of grace that God lays on top. What? Sinning? Yeah, you 'n' me both, kiddo.

And as we made our way up the old gravel road that led to my parents' property, the synthesizers and the driving guitars started. Why, lookee there. He's just like his mama.
Separate Ways.

We're here. We're safe. We're enjoying some Tennessee quiet.
And we'll have fourteen hours on the return trip to do some more musing on the music of Road Trips.

I love my family. I love the unity that fellowship in the Holy Spirit brings. But I'm also thankful for the individuality in one Blue Whale.

Peace.

Choice Lessons from the Threshold of Hell

I woke up that morning humming "May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of my heart, bless Your name, bless Your name, Jesus." Seems God was gently reminding me, before I put my foot in my mouth, to watch my tongue.

After all, we were getting ready to enter the threshold of Hell.

It wasn't quite Gandalf's warning to Merry: In fact, it would be best if you just said nothing at all. But I know lots of people were thinking it about me. Heck, they might even have been praying it.

When we got there, Liza grabbed Life Tape--red duct tape with "Life" written on it--and handed me a piece.  I just looked at her.
I am disinclined to acquiesce. Means 'no.'
Mother!
No. If there's an opportunity to speak, I'm gonna speak. And that's that.
Liza looked a little worried.
I think Life Tape sends a very powerful message from a lot of pro-lifers to a lot of pro-aborts. But it's not for me. And it's not a rule. I stuck in on my shirt.

But I'm getting ahead of myself...
Liza and I boarded the metrorail for downtown, and as we took our seats, I saw the reserved seating that said, These seats must be vacated for seniors and the disabled.
And I was being transported back to my thirteen years of misery in South Florida, where we were invaded every winter by 'snow birds', a euphemism for loud, rude, penny-pinching, obnoxious old people from New York. I hated every minute of it. They have absolutely no concept of an indoor voice, and they make Oscar the Grouch look like Pollyanna. They don't even need us goyim to get going. They just have at it with each other. My mother-in-law, who shares a bit of their, uh, ethnicity, thought I was overreacting and was concerned by my prejudice.

Then we took her to the movies.
It took about fifteen minutes in line with 'them' for her to turn to me in shocked disbelief.
You thought I was making this up, nu? I smiled smugly.
You want to send me to Hell? Send me to Century Village. I'm not kidding.
My time in South Florida permanently obliterated the myth of the 'sweet old lady.'

I wish I knew then what I know now.
Rise in the presence of the aged.
I always thought implicit in all the honor commands was the assumption that the honored were honorable.
Wrong.
We don't honor anyone because they are honorable. We honor them because that's how we honor God.
So as I sat there on the metrorail and all these thoughts swirled in my head, it hit me.
We all have trouble honoring. Thirteen years of South Florida living means I must make a conscious choice to honor the aged, a demographic my experience tells me is often not honorable.

On the other hand, the pro-aborts don't honor pre-born humans. That's their demographic. And we pro-lifers tend to romanticize the babies we're trying to save. But let's be honest. Some of those babies will grow up to wear orange shirts and shake their fists at God. Some of those babies will become the twelve-year old neighbor who bullies your kid and teaches him some new vocabulary. Some of those babies will grow up to become Osamas and Adolfs and Rob Bells. Yet they all bear the image of their Creator. And that's why we honor the pre-born...
because honoring the pre-born is the way we honor God.
Lesson #1: I choose to honor God by honoring the aged and the pre-born.

We got off the train and headed for the  Capitol grounds. As we closed in, it was quite obvious that 100 or so of us pro-lifers were going to be seriously outnumbered by 2,000 orange pro-aborts. "Welcome to the threshold of Hell," I whispered to Eliza.

The first thing we did was attend a prayer meeting. And I was overcome with a need to pray for orange. "Lord, let those women in orange today have an encounter with the Living God. Even as their mouths say one thing, let their hearts be pierced by the truth of the Gospel." Where did that come from?

Then we assembled for a press conference in which women who had had abortions shared their experiences. And they were heartbreaking. But two stories stand out to me. "Toni" shared how her boyfriend pressured her to abort. When she attempted to leave the clinic, she was held down--HELD DOWN--by the nurse and injected with something. When she woke up, her baby was gone. That's not choice; that's China! I wonder who was there to defend Toni's choice.  "Maria" told her abortion story, and her words rang in my ears. "All they told me was that it was legal, but they didn't tell me what it was."

Wha....?
What do you mean? You didn't know what an abortion was??? Are you kidding me? And suddenly, I learned something. One of the biggest tools of pro-lifers is education. Show sonograms. Use diagrams. Explain the process in detail. But one of the biggest tools of the pro-aborts is ignorance. Restrict sonograms and take their money. One abortionist, according to "Julie's" story, shook his fistful of dollars at her and sneered, "I love stupid women!"

Oh my goodness. Ignorance had never occurred to me. All along, I've been thinking this was a level playing field, that they had the same information we did. But Maria said it herself. She only knew it was legal; she didn't know what it was. Not until the deed had been done.

There is a difference among the ranks of the Lost. And there is a difference in our response. There is a Psalm 15 commendation for the righteous man "in whose eyes a vile man is despised." But there is also a Jonah 4 compassion from the Lord for the sinful but ignorant: "And should I not pity Nineveh, that great city in which there are 120,000 persons who do not know their right hand from their left...?"

Did God excuse Nineveh because of their ignorance? No, Holy God did not excuse their sin. Rather, he brought them to repentance. That sea of hateful, vicious orange out there? Some of them are vile...but some of them don't know their right from their left. I began to pray for God's elect in the orange crowd, those who are His but are not yet regenerate. Lord, draw them out, and set them free.
Lesson #2: I choose to believe that some pro-aborts are just ignorant.

We entered the Capitol Rotunda next, where the shouting was beginning. Three levels up were ringed by a mixture of orange and blue, mostly orange. Behold, the wide path. I found myself standing next to an orange shirt. I was praying; she was holding a peace sign. As we looked down into the Rotunda, I felt impressed to focus on the woman next to me. So I began to pray. I prayed that she would think about this later. I prayed she would meet the Lord. The orange shirts took up a new chant. Pro-choice is not pro-death; pro-choice is not pro-death. Huh? three of us blurted out. How can they say ? A blue shirt two people over said, "Moron." Thank you, Lord, that was not me. I should pass her my Life Tape. She needed it more than I.

Suddenly, the orange woman next to me turned and said,"Thank you. Thank you for coming and standing for what you believe. I know we're on opposite sides, but this is important."
Quick. Think of something sincere and truthful. I'm really not glad she's here to oppose a bill that will bring us closer to Life. Ummmm...
"The political process, you mean?" I asked.
She nodded.
"Mm hm. It's a good thing," I said. She smiled. And we returned to our silence.
Praying, praying, praying.
Finally, she stepped back and turned to her friend. "I gotta go." We both faced each other then.
"Well," she said, "thanks." I extended my hand and smiled. "It was nice to meet you."
She smiled back and shook mine. "It was nice to meet you, too. I'm Dixie."
"And I'm Noel."
We nodded to each other, and she was gone.
Maybe not much of a conversation. But a bridge was built that moment. While a battle raged in the heavenlies and in the Rotunda, we found a little bright spot across this ugly chasm. I came expecting to meet and make enemies. I left with a new burden for a new friend.
Lesson #3: I choose to go to the Throne for Dixie, the woman in orange.

A man was roaming the second floor looking for a debate. My eyes perked up. Liza put her hand on my arm.
Mother!
What? He wants to.
Be nice.
Who, me?
Mother.
He found someone to engage, and we slipped off to eavesdrop. It was a bunch of gobbledy gook, in which he confused spontaneous abortion with artificial abortion. I simply pointed that out. And a reporter was asking for my name and furiously taking notes. No lesson here; just a funny interaction.

The battle continues to rage tonight at the Capitol. The orange shirts have taken up "Hail Satan" as their chant, and they are literally circling the pro-lifers, two of whom are my amazing daughters.
I told you it was the Threshold of Hell.

But this morning, as I was mulling things over and getting choked up, I spent my whole prayer time on Dixie.  And this song came on that I thought was a good anthem for the duration of this evil battle. I'll need to choose everyday to love what God loves, to be most satisfied in Him, and to remember that the battle is the Lord's. And I'll be praying for Dixie.

Let me be in love with what You love. Let me be most satisfied in You.
Forsaking what this world has offered me, I choose to be in love with You.
I will choose to be in love with You.
Let me know the peace that's mine in You; let me know the joy my heart can sing.
For I have nothing, Lord, apart from You. I choose to call on Christ in me.
I will choose to call on Christ in me.
For in the fullness of who You are, I can rest in this place.
And giving over this, my journey, Lord, I see nothing but Your face.
Let me know that You have loved me first. Let me know the weight of my response.
For You have long pursued my wandering heart. I choose to glory in Your cross.
I will choose to glory in Your cross.
And I bow down; humbly, I bow down.
My beloved, here I am. I bow down to You.

Choose by Christy Nockels

Thank You Note for a Senator

Dear Senator Davis,

I want to give a hearty thank-you for your filibuster of the Texas omnibus pro-life bill, SB 5.

If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be able to burn my baby to death by saline injection.
If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be able to slice her out of my body piece by piece by D and C.
If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be able to crush her skull with forceps to remove her annoying little body from mine.

What kind of knuckle-dragging troglodyte would come between a woman and her right to kill? And what's their problem with Comfort Care? If the unfortunate little soul still happens to be alive after all the burning and dismemberment, she gets put on a steel cookie sheet and covered with a blanket until she has the decency to die. I think that's just precious!!!

But thanks to you, SB 5 failed to pass. Every time I saw your little blond head bobbing up and down and your big 'ol mouth droning on...and on...and on...well, it just made me proud to be a woman. Yes ma'am, way to keep the ultimate child predators safe and legal!!!

When I become a senator, I want to be a minion of the Powers of Darkness, too!
Just.like.you.

Hugs,
Ditzy Chick for Choice

----------

As I looked, thrones were placed, and the Ancient of Days took His seat.
His clothing was as white as snow, and the hair of His head was like pure wool;
His throne was fiery flames; its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued and came out from before Him.
A thousand thousands served Him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before Him;
The court sat in judgment, and the books were opened. Daniel 7:9-10

Philosophers and Fools

So I had this class back in college. I can't remember the title exactly, but it was something like "Communication Rhetoric." Being at that time only a twenty-year-old, future homeschooling mom, I wasn't familiar with the term 'rhetoric.' But it was a head-banging, frustrating study of modern 'philosophers' who poured all their energy into talking about precisely nothing. If it wasn't required for my major, I would have dropped it. As the only believer in the class, I just couldn't figure out what anyone else found so compelling in all this navel-gazing...

...which brings me to Sophie's World by Jostein Gaardner.
Well.
That was painful.

What I have a problem with is not the study of philosophy. That is a worthy pursuit for people who want to understand the course of our culture, who want to love God with all their mind. What I have a problem with is a study of philosophy which is not grounded by Truth.

But first, let me tell you about the other problems I have with Sophie's World. As a novel, it falls flat. The plot is so bizarre, it feels like something from the Twilight Zone. The characters are dislikable. Sophie is bratty, disrespectful, and rabidly feminist. Alberto is supposed to be mysterious, but he's just moody and strange, with a disturbing infatuation for the UN and one-world governments. Sophie's mother, the only authority figure, is daft and out of control of her household.

Alberto takes Sophie on a trip through history, highlighting major philosophers along the way. In fact, the book covers everyone from Democritus to Freud. (Just shoot me now.) He serves up every philosophy with equal respect, as if every philosophy has an equal shot at being Truth. I guess that's what one should expect from a book on philosophy written in a post-modern age.

This is ghastly stuff. And ghastly stuff needs the grounding of God's Word. Sophie's World has the wrong starting point. Don't get me wrong; there are a few bright spots in this history. Socrates gave us the Socratic discussion. Aristotle gave us classifications. The Reformation responded well to the humanist Renaissance. Descartes argued for an innate understanding of a Supreme Being. There's also Kant's Categorical Imperative. (But, um, I think Jesus got that one first.) Then we head downhill again with Hegel, Marx, Darwin, and Freud.

That's the story from the ground.
But from 10,000 feet and a God's-eye-view (thanks to the Scripture), we get another picture.

Man has always wrestled with the questions, "Who am I?" and "Why am I here?" But the answers are already there for us. We have the general revelation of Creation and Conscience; we have the special revelation of Scripture and the Holy Spirit. And the real 'lover of Wisdom' will go where the wisdom actually resides. Almost to a man, the philosophers in this book resisted real wisdom: beginning with the fear of the Lord. These men aren't lovers of wisdom; they are fools.

When Darwin tells us we all came from a common ancestor rather than a sovereign Creator, he denies Imago Dei. And we should understand that abortion and euthanasia are just Darwinism taken to its logical conclusion. When Hume says that we should let experience define reality for us, we should respond that the heart is deceptively wicked above all things. When Freud tells us to blame our environment rather than our depravity, we should remember that it was in a perfect Paradise that Adam fell, and the entire human race with him. When a man like Pablo Picasso paints a picture and culture calls it 'art,' we have the hopelessness of nihilism to thank.

How does one arrive at a place of understanding about who we are and why we are here if we don't acknowledge Him who is the First Cause and the Final End? We don't. And they didn't. Centuries of philosophy and they are no closer to Truth.

As ironic as it may sound, I'm more interested in my children learning to love Wisdom because, in the end, I don't care if they can identify a 'fragmented world view' nearly as much as if they can identify a fallen world, corrupted by sin, and redeemed by the Cross.

In the end, I'm looking to raise REAL philosophers, not fools.

"For the wrath of God is revealed from Heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness, suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For His invisible attributes, namely his eternal power and divine nature have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks to Him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools..." Romans 1:18-22
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*For a grounded study of philosophy, I recommend:
The Consequences of Ideas by RC Sproul and
Understanding the Times by David A. Noebel

Plumb

When Rob Bell commented recently that "I have gay friends who are serious followers of Jesus," I wasn't surprised at all. Bell, who masquerades as a Christian pastor, has always pushed the envelope when it comes to Truth, challenging orthodox Christianity on just about every important point. But his choice of words is very telling: 'followers of Jesus."

I hate that term; I really do.

But "Christ-follower" has gained lots of traction in the past few years, mainly among the thirty-something set. And, for a large part, these are actually genuine converts who say this. (Set aside for a moment today's definition, which can be used in the context of 'following' someone on Facebook or Twitter or National Enquirer, meaning we find them interesting and like to keep up with their news--as if the Kardashian gals' latest boob job makes our world go 'round.) More than that, the unfortunate implication of being a follower is that it's optional. And I might opt out as painlessly as I opted in.

I prefer the term 'convert.' Convert implies change; obliteration of a former state; a complete and total transformation of heart, mind, and direction. Think of food entering your body and being converted to energy. Once acted on by the body's metabolic processes, the change is permanent. Today's beet juice is tomorrow's five-mile run. And there is no going back; it's a physical impossibility.

So there is no doubt in my mind that Rob Bell has gay friends who are serious followers of Jesus. What he'll never be able to say, though, is that he has gay friends who are converts. Never.

While I'm never surprised by Bell's religious games, I admit I was a bit taken aback by Pope Francis' May 22, 2013, claim that moral atheists will go to heaven...doh!...because I at least had a modicum of respect for the recent popes (very, very serious doctrinal questions aside) who have been rather staunch supporters of a Biblical morality. Then this latest pontiff makes this really dumb comment. And I am stunned. At least pretend to have some respect for the Gospel, will ya?

" 'I don't believe, Father. I am an atheist.' But do good; we will meet one another there." 

Then the Vatican spin doctors went to work.
But all God's people said, "Holy crap."
Because that is precisely what that was.

The standard does not change. The Bible is not a living, breathing document that bends with the times. And God put it in writing for a reason. So what's our job as believers, as citizens of Heaven who are submitted to this written, unyielding contract with the Truth?

It's simple, really. We point to the Plumb Line.
We listen to exegesis and sermons with a slightly critical ear. We observe behavior, our own and everyone else's, or read books and blogs with a slightly critical eye. And everything we hear or see, we hold up to the perfect Standard. We look carefully at the Level. If it's off plumb, we ditch it. No one gets a free pass. No one.

Warning! This Plumbing business has a cost. I know.
A number of years ago, I held up the Plumb Line. And all hell broke loose. I was a bad friend; I was a legalist; I was judgmental. And despite the fact that lots of time has since passed, I was still surprised when my husband came home from a meeting not long ago to report that there's a certain part of our community who still do not trust me--all because I pointed to Plumb during a crisis. I was shocked really, that this simple act could still be reverberating around me.

I stared at him blankly. Really??? People are talking about me???

He could see it in my eyes. "Noel," he gently interjected, "these women who are gossiping, since when is--"
"--their good opinion worth the earning?" I completed with him. "It's not," I assured him with a sideways smile.
"Right," he affirmed. "You did the right thing. You were the only one being the friend."

More recently, my older children have had to learn that lesson, as well. They have learned that yes-men coddle and validate and lie to each other, saying, "It's okay. God's not mad. He understands when you mess up."
The friend, meanwhile, points to Plumb and says to one he loves, "Beware! It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God!"
And the cost? The evan-jellyfish becomes the new inner circle, and the one who was the real friend rides off into the sunset alone.

Sad. But there's a valuable lesson to be learned here, and one to pass on to our children. We want to surround ourselves with those who will spur us on to love and good deeds. We want friends, and we want our children to have friends, who love Plumb, who live by it, who measure goodness by it. We want to shun fakes, be they pastors or popes or people we know, whose lips desire it but whose hearts disdain it.

Funny thing about living Plumb. It brings blessedness and happiness. Happiness is, after all, what we all want. Rob Bell wants his gay friends to be happy. The pope wants atheists to be happy. We all want our friends, even the prodigals, to be happy. Yet therein lies the contradiction. Dr. Martin Lloyd-Jones, in Studies on the Sermon on the Mount, says:

"Whenever you put happiness before righteousness, you will be doomed to misery. That is the great message of the Bible from beginning to end. They alone are truly happy who are seeking to be righteous.  Put happiness in the place of righteousness, and you will never get it."

Living Plumb is the thing, the only thing, that will bring happiness and blessing. It divides the sages from the fools.

Plumb.
It's the measure of maturity.
It's the stuff of friendship.
It's the sure foundation.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. Matthew 5:6