Resolutions: my recent discovery becomes everyone's universal moral imperative

For four-plus decades I did not make much of New Year's Eve. After all, it's just a tick on a manmade calendar. To massage the cliche, every night is a new year's eve, every morning is the first day of the rest of... well, you know.

But as I neared the half-century mark, the drive to make something of my life (still unsatisfied) italicized the days on the calendar. I knew my fiftieth birthday had the potential for being traumatic, as I shared with my family. Each day heightens the likelihood that more calendar-marks lie behind me than before me, in this earthly pilgrimage. Wanting to be pro-active and ease the trauma as much as possible, with my wife's very sweet encouragement, I took an overnighter last year to try to come up with some kind of an agenda for 2005.

It's a way of reaching for the wisdom behind Moses' prayer in Psalm 90:12 -- "So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom."

It's easy enough to look at what others are doing with their marriages, their "free" time, their careers, their relationships, and to wonder, "This is your plan? This is the only time the Lord gives you in which to serve Him on the battlefield -- and this is what you're doing with it? You're going to go before God and say, 'Here's how I spent the life You gave me'?"

And I'm not even talking primarily about squandering one's life with "trivia" such as keeping one's marriage vows, being a devoted and godly parent, being a faithful employee, when you could be ______ (insert lofty goal here). I'm talking about not glorifying God by thinking and living Biblically: not keeping vows, not investing in children, not serving in church, for starters; then, on top of that, not having any transcendent, larger, organizing life-goal that is centered not around self-exaltation but the glorification of Christ.

If that isn't the central goal that enflames our hearts -- not grabbing all the gusto we can as happy worldlings, but pressing on for the goal of bringing glory to Jesus by what He has made and given us (1 Corinthians 10:31; Philippians 3:7-14) -- then we have a serious heart-problem. That sounds more like those whose "god is their stomach [i.e., I take it, fleshly drives]," whose "glory is in their shame," who "are focused on earthly things" (Philippans 3:19 HCSB). If any of that singes us even a little, we should take ourselves to the Lord immediately, get our hearts put in the right place by His grace and word.

But as I say, it can be easy enough to do that for others, to see how shamefully they may be wasting their lives enthralled to the flesh. Perspective is always easiest in the second- and third-person. It's the first-person that's hard.

So that's why I've taken to doing this. Prayerfully I seek to step out of myself, get some perspective, do some retrospection and proactive thinking. For some reason, it's hard for me to do that within a mile or two of my home, so I have to get some little bit of distance.

Perhaps I got the general idea from John Piper, who in Future Grace relates that he utilizes midnight of 12/31 as a dress-rehearsal for his death. He reviews his life as it would be assessed by God, were he to die. The nice thing about that, he observes, is that he usually gets a do-over starting the next day. One day, he won't; nor will I.

So while the title of this post is of course a joke, I would encourage you to do something other than just go to bed, or watch Twilight Zone reruns. Take a moment, an hour, more, and take a Biblical assessment of what you're doing with the stewardship of your marriage (or singleness), your parenting (and/or friendships), your churchmanship -- your life.

Email what you do to me, or blog it and tell me, and with your permission perhaps I'll add your ideas as updates.

M'man Spurgeon on Christmas (-- Is it Popish? Is it pagan? What should Christians do?)

From Joy Born at Bethlehem, preached December 24, 1871:

WE HAVE NO superstitious regard for times and seasons. Certainly we do not believe in the present ecclesiastical arrangement called Christmas: first, because we do not believe in the mass at all, but abhor it, whether it be said or sung in Latin or in English; and, secondly, because we find no Scriptural warrant whatever for observing any day as the birthday of the Saviour; and, consequently, its observance is a superstition, because not of divine authority. Superstition has fixed most positively the day of our Saviour's birth, although there is no possibility of discovering when it occurred. Fabricius gives a catalogue of 136 different learned opinions upon the matter; and various divines invent weighty arguments for advocating a date in every month in the year. It was not till the middle of the third century that any part of the church celebrated the nativity of our Lord; and it was not till very long after the Western church had set the example, that the Eastern adopted it. Because the day is not known, therefore superstition has fixed it; while, since the day of the death of our Saviour might be determined with much certainty, therefore superstition shifts the date of its observance every year. Where is the method in the madness of the superstitious? Probably the fact is that the holy days were arranged to fit in with heathen festivals. We venture to assert, that if there be any day in the year, of which we may be pretty sure that it was not the day on which the Saviour was born, it is the twenty-fifth of December. Nevertheless since, the current of men's thoughts is led this way just now, and I see no evil in the current itself, I shall launch the bark of our discourse upon that stream, and make use of the fact, which I shall neither justify nor condemn, by endeavoring to lead your thoughts in the same direction. Since it is lawful, and even laudable, to meditate upon the incarnation of the Lord upon any day in the year, it cannot be in the power of other men's superstitions to render such a meditation improper for to-day. Regarding not the day, let us, nevertheless, give God thanks for the gift of his dear son.

My summary: the word "Christmas" (Christ's mass) and the festival are Popish in origin, and that's bad -- but preaching about the Incarnation of Christ is good any day of the week, so let's go for it!

It may well be, as Gene Veith argues, that the origin of Christmas had nothing to do with paganism. However, with Spurgeon's reservations about saying, in effect "Christ's Mass," I agree. For this reason, I keep nudging around the idea that maybe I should take up the habit of saying "Merry Nativity" instead of "Merry Christmas." Isn't it ironic that the Hispanic culture, historically so permeated with Romanism, should use the greeting "Feliz Navidad" ("Happy Nativity"), instead of any version of what we say?

Either way, Christ is born, and today's a wonderful opportunity to talk Him up and celebrate the Incarnation. So, with Spurgeon, I say we go for it!

Merry Nativity!

(See also To Tell the Truth, Virginia...)

"Virgin birth" vs. "virgin conception"

In recent years I've noticed a trend towards referring to Christ's "virgin conception," rather than His "virgin birth." I headed the same way, myself.

My preference for the former expression grew out of a desire to emphasize the Biblical affirmation that life does not begin at birth, but at conception. So Christ's human life did not begin at birth, but at His conception.

But as I was recently preparing a sermon on Matthew 1:18-25, something occurred to me. It can be put very simply.

Theoretically, one could have a virgin conception, but not a virgin birth.

However, if there is a virgin birth, there was, by necessity, a virgin conception.

And since the Bible equally insists on both (Matthew 1:18, 20, 23, 25), the latter phrase is the better one, inasmuch as it alone necessarily affirms both truths.

(If my reasoning is unclear to you, perhaps your mother could fill in the details.)

Merry Christmas!

Brian Setzer Orchestra Christmas concert: a mini-review

Hoping to blast any persistent images of stodginess, I share with you that my wife's and my Christmas present to each other was tickets to the Brian Setzer Orchestra's Christmas concert at the Jackson Casino in Jackson, California.

In a word, it was fabulous. Setzer is a master musician and a terrific showman. I dabble enough with a guitar to know that what he makes look so effortless is, in fact, impossible for normal mortals to do. When it comes to guitar artistry, Setzer is definitely "a man skilled in his work."

The allusion to Proverbs 22:29 is deliberate, because Setzer's skill demonstrates a Biblical principle praising hard, disciplined work. The word translated "skilled" in this verse could also be rendered "fast." The idea is that skill is evident when one has worked so hard and diligently at something that he makes it look easy, he can whirl through it with apparent ease belying the hundreds of hours of practice and study.

Setzer does everything he does with this silly grin, which broadcasts that he's having the time of his life, and that enthusiasm is infectious and uplifting. The atmosphere was electrified when he took the stage.

I have mixed feelings about his playlist. As a rule, and to put it mildly, I don't love Christless Christmas songs, and Setzer's are full of Santa and other myths and periphera. But then again, given his personna, do I really want him singing about a Lord in whom, as far as I know, he makes no profession of belief? One song mentioned Christ ("Angels We Have Heard on High"), and it was sung very well by his two female backup singers. They're known as the Vixens -- which kind of makes my point. On the other hand (is this the third hand?), I myself was pre-evangelized by carols about Jesus Christ, who is the real meaning of Christmas....

That aside, here's the main reason for even posting on Setzer. He "gets" what I think Laura Ingraham is saying in Shut Up and Sing. He said nothing about the economy. He said nothing about elections or politics, or the war in Iraq. (When he had a message board, I read one comment by him: that he gets on his knees every night and prays for the troops' safety, and for their soon return home.) Nobody bought a ticket to hear what Brian Setzer thinks about abortion or homosexual marriage. We paid money to see him do what he does like nobody else -- and he did it. That, and no more. He gave full money's worth, and beyond.

It'd be nice if others in the entertainment media would get the message too, and just shut up and sing.

UPDATE: James Taylor does not get the message.

"The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe": movie review

I first ran into C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series when I was just a little pagan, a lover of fantasy and ghost stories. In retrospect, I think that the one I read was The Magician's Nephew. Years later, as a converted Christian, I read the entire seven-volume set, loved it, and have re-read it many times, both to myself and to my family.

The first book in the series, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, was made into a cartoon, followed by a rather unsatisfying BBC production.

As I discussed earlier, I had concerns about this adaptation, when I learned that Andrew Adamson had been tapped to write and direct. Nonetheless, both the trailers and all the "buzz" had me greatly looking forward to this movie. And now I've seen it, with my wife and three of my children (ages 6, 10, and 22).

What did I think? Let me give you a spoiler-free and a spoilerific version. In both, I'll assume you know the basic story, and don't want me re-hashing it for you. If that isn't the case, consult 95% of the other reviews.

SPOILER-FREE Comments

In short, I thought it was terrific. See it, now, in the theater -- if you care at all to see other such movies made, and made so well.

What was perfect: The two actors who carried the greatest weight, portraying Lucy and Edmund. Lucy Pevensie (ten-year-old Georgie Henley) is arguably the human heart of the story, and she is brought to life with perfect measures of wonder, innocence, warmth, and vulnerability. I cannot imagine a better performance. And as her counter, her brother Edmund must be a bit glum, peevish, and self-involved; and so he is, as fourteen-year-old Skandar Keynes realizes him.

What was very good: Overall, the movie adaptation is almost startlingly faithful to the book, even to those aspects which one might not have expected a director/screenwriter even to try to bring across.

As a decades-long lover of the Narnia books, I can say there was no point at which I was jolted with that sense of "Whoa! that's not right! Where did that come from?", as I was with Peter Jackson's mishandling of the characters of Faramir, Denethor and Treebeard in The Lord of the Rings. I daresay anyone who loved the book can go in, relax, and expect to enjoy the ride without any nasty bumps.

Aslan looks majestic, yet personal, and lionlike. The centaurs are as arresting as they should be, and Mr. Tumnus the faun couldn't be better; then there are minotaurs, vampires, and other creatures for which I have no name. The visualization of the spirits of the trees is an absolute delight of creativity.

The battle scenes, touched on relatively briefly in the book, are envisioned here in a satisfying way that is a legitimate extension of what Lewis only suggested. I don't know that I've ever seen such a clearly violent and crushing battle done in a way kids could watch.

What was wretchedly jarring, unforgivable, and gratuitous: Nothing. Not one darned thing. Given the director's involvement with Shrek, I was concerned. I'm delighted to report that, while my concerns were justified (see below), my darker fears were never realized. It wasn't Disney-fied.

Kid-friendly? Absolutely, unless your children are extremely sensitive. There are a couple of startling scenes, but the startlement passes quickly. There is an extended battle sequence in which the adult viewer gets the impression that a great deal of violence is being done, but the editing passes over it very lightly, nothing lingering except a couple of scenes that are also soon made right.

Not only kid-friendly, but kid-positive. The values of the story, and the depiction of Christ through Aslan, is exactly the sort of thing I want my kids seeing.

SPOILERIFIC Comments

You really should see the movie before you read this. Form your own views, then compare them with mine.

What could hardly have been better. As I've said, the children were wonderful, and the movie overall was terrifically faithful to the book -- with some regrettable exceptions. But I was delighted to recognize so many personal favorites, both subtle and not ("The Macready!" "Spare Oom").

For instance, at the first mention of the name "Aslan," Lewis writes (pp. 64-65):

And now, a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. ...At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in his inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer.

You'd think no director would try to bring this across in a movie -- and yet Adamson does, and does it well. It was a delightfully deft touch.

What could -- and should -- have been better. Let me enumerate, in no particular order:

1. To start with a small point, Edmund is apologized to, but doesn't apologize. After Edmund's treachery, and his nearly costing his siblings' lives, Lewis writes this: "Edmund shook hands with each of the others and said to each of them in turn, 'I'm sorry,' and everyone said 'That's all right" (p. 136). In the movie, however, Edmund may look regretful, but he's about to go off with nary an apology -- and it is his would-be victims who go out of the way to make sure he doesn't feel bad about it. Peter is depicted as almost more the wrongdoer than Edmund is, which is a change for which I see no sense.
2. Far more significantly, in the book, when Lucy asks the Beavers (in their first conversation about Aslan) whether Aslan is a man, Mr. Beaver replies thus, on pages 75-76:

"Aslan a man!" said Mr. Beaver sternly. "Certainly not. I tell you, he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea...."

"Ooh!" said Susan, "I'd thought he was a man. Is he--quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."

"That you will, dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver, "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver. "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."

Virtually all such dialogue is cut, apart from a coda in which Tumnus says Aslan isn't a tame lion, and Lucy says he's good. Aslan is never called anyone's son, nor is there any reference to the Emperor. I think this is a significant omission, and likely to be an instance of the imposition of Adamson's "anyone can interpret it however he wants" post-modern approach to Lewis. Aslan is robbed of his full majesty, part of which is in his person, and part of which is in his relationship to the Emperor.

3. And so, Aslan's awe and respect for the Emperor's law is missing, as represented by parts of such exchanges as these -- in the book, not in the movie (pp. 138-139):

"Have you forgotten the Deep Magic?" asked the Witch.

"Let us say I have forgotten it," answered Aslan gravely. "Tell us of this Deep Magic."

"Tell you?" said the Witch, her voice growing suddenly shriller. "Tell you what is written on that very Table of Stone which stands beside us? Tell you what is written as deep as a spear is long on the trunk of the World Ash Tree? Tell you what is engraved on the sceptre of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea? You at least know the magic which the Emperor put into Narnia at the very beginning. You know that every traitor belongs to me as my lawful prey and that for every treachery I have a right to a kill."

And so also, this is missing (pp. 139-140):

"Oh, Aslan!" whispered Susan in the Lion's ear, "can't we--I mean, you won't, will you? Can't we do something about the Deep Magic? Isn't there something you can work against it?"

"Work against the Emperor's magic?" said Aslan turning to her with something like a frown on his face. And nobody every made that suggestion to him again.

With that element gone, gone too is much of the weight, substance, and drama that inexorably builds to the crescendo of the Stone Table. In the movie, that event is a necessity; but it is not the tremendous, inescapable reality it is in the book.

4. On a somewhat more emotional level, the deep and special connection between the girls and Aslan is missing, particularly in the scene leading up to the Stone Table. Lewis builds the feeling of dread from pp. 142-148, with forebodings, foreshadowings, and dialogue between Lucy and Susan revealing their sense of something dreadful hanging over their heads. But Adamson brushes past this briefly. The girls more or less just happen to see Aslan, and walk with him. Then, with no particular expression, Aslan says "Thank you" to each, then "Farewell," and saunters off. Movie-Aslan may seem a bit glum, but he isn't as burdened, as dragging as Lewis' Aslan, who stumbles and lets out a moan as he approaches the Stone Table. Movie-Aslan reveals no particular dread of what is to come. From their grief-stricken response to his death, it is clear that Lucy and Susan have grown attached to Aslan -- but we don't ever really see it happening. Adamson rather whisks past it.

   It would be as if a movie of the life of Christ devoted two hours to miracles, a few brief remarks, some clowny scenes of the apostles, and then five minutes on the Crucifixion and Resurrection, with apostles sobbing heartbrokenly in between these events, we aren't sure why. The Gospel records themselves devote greatly disproportionate space to Christ's last week. To be true to their unique and authoritative voice, any depiction would have to make the same emphasis.

   This passage of the book is clearly more important to Lewis than to Adamson, who (I think) doesn't really "get" what the story is about. His Aslan is something of a super-hero; he isn't savior, nor Lord. He certainly isn't fully Lewis' Aslan, and that is a shame.

   I am hearing a great many people, Christians as well as non-Christians, say that the movie is about the battle between good and evil. The hope, I think, is to appeal to more non-Christians and the universal love for a rollicking good fight.

   But that isn't really accurate. It would be truer to say that Lewis' idea is about how the battle between good and evil is decisively won -- not, in the first place, by a battle, but by Aslan's person, and by his substitutionary self-sacrifice. Then it is the resurrected Aslan himself, in person, who decisively finishes the battle.

   Adamson could have cut the chase scenes by ten minutes, and let Aslan be Aslan, applying his considerable talents to portraying him as Lewis did. He could have shown Aslan's majestic character through what the characters say about him, and to him, as well as by more of his own words and deeds. Or better still, leave the chases in, and just let the movie be ten, twenty minutes longer. Lewis' Aslan isn't just another interchangeable superhero, but Adamson's handling of him moves him regrettably in that direction.

How does this movie compare to the Lord of the Rings? I'd say the movies compare as the books do. The way I'd express the comparison is likely to offend evanjellybeans and others... and, while not my goal, that's not necessarily bad.

Here it is: they vary about in the way you'd expect the expressions of a Roman Catholic and a Christian heart to vary.

Tolkien's story is fascinating, rich and wonderful. His world is ornate, obsessively thoroughly-constructed, laden with backstories, languages, poems and songs. His characters are fulsome and grand, and the plot is a wonderment.

Lewis' story is less so, but nonetheless it is more, and it is better. It is indeed a wondrous story with engaging characters with whom the readers connect, and the plots are very satisfying... but Tolkien's story is about his story and his make-believe world. Lewis' story is about Jesus, and real life, through the lens of fantasy.

The "values" and "messages" of Tolkien are subtle almost to the point of invisibility, because he didn't care all that much about them, per se. (This is why folks who write on Christian elements in the Lord of the Rings have to work so hard to find them there.) Tolkien wanted to create a mythology, and he did a bang-up job of it. He didn't want to talk about Jesus, or God, or life... so he really didn't do any of those things in LOTR. What values are present in the story are there because they were part of his Roman Catholic mental furniture.

To Lewis, as a Christian, all is ultimately anchored in the person of Jesus Christ. So all of Narnia and its wonderful stories and adventures and characters in varying ways lead to and center about Aslan, his Christ-figure, because that is how Lewis saw life. As a Christian, he couldn't create a world in which God was a distant and virtually irrelevant CEO, reached mostly through countless intermediaries. Tolkien's Roman Catholicism let him do that; Lewis' Christian faith didn't.

And, as I recall, Tolkien didn't think much of Lewis' creation, which I've always found rather telling.

Sum of the matter: Adamson did about as splendid a job of bringing Lewis' tale to the screen as one could hope for, given that he does not share Lewis' faith. Adamson's artistry, and even his respect for what he understood of the material, is evident, and the movie is not to be missed. It is this excellence which leaves one all the more wistful. One wonders what might have been, had Adamson himself bowed the knee to the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the King, to whose glory and service C. S. Lewis employed his own astonishing -- and superior -- gifts. Perhaps the excellence of Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia will lead Adamson and others to read his Mere Christianity, and consider the compelling reasons for believing in the Lord Jesus Christ.

[Quotations are from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, by C. S. Lewis (Macmillan: 1950, 1970).]

N. T. Wright: still undoing the Reformation... and the Gospel

Arguably, scholar/theologian N. T. Wright joins Pat Robertson as yet another unpaid bill of the professing Christian church -- albeit of a starkly different sort (h-t Justin Taylor).

None other than the prestigious Wall Street Journal features a glowing article about Wright by John Wilson, editor of Books & Culture. Wilson doesn't engage the issues -- and certainly not the Scriptures -- so much as point at Wright's contentions, and burble about how "exciting" he finds the prospect of undoing the Gospel, hosing away all the blood shed by Rome to suppress Gospel preaching, and effectively reversing the Reformation.

At least Wilson does mention some of the leading critics, John Piper and Ligon Duncan (monergism.com links to many resources and critiques here). But I find his tone distressing, the upshot distressing, the whole thing distressing.

Here is Bishop and Dr. N. T. Wright, a man who in effect denies that the Gospel is about how sinners can be "justified [forensically declared righteous] by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, 25 whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith" (Romans 3:24-25a) -- and he's still highly-regarded as a Christian scholar. (Is it true that J. I. Packer has publicly praised him? Email me, I'll edit or update.)

Oh, sticklebats -- it's even worse than that. Wilson calls Wright "(t)he most influential biblical scholar in American evangelical circles." I'm getting dizzy here. What does "evangelical" mean, anymore? Etymologically, mustn't it at least indicate someone who believes in the Evangel, the Gospel? But if I'm understanding Wright (and this article) correctly, Wright denies the Gospel. How, then, is he an "evangelical," let alone "the most influential biblical scholar in American evangelical circles"?

I struggle to think of an analogy. Is there any doctrine that it sacrosanct among professing Christians anymore?

Suppose (God forbid) John Piper, R. C. Sproul, or John MacArthur were to write a book expressing doubts about the deity of Christ. Well, that's a bad analogy, because admirers of those brothers do so precisely because they regard Biblical truth highly. Response would be overwhelming, thunderous, univocal.

But what if Joel Osteen, Bill Hybels, or Pat Robertson were to write such a book? How would their defenders respond?

OK, I'm depressing myself, and that on (A) a Friday, on which (B) I'm looking forward to seeing The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I'll stop.

OK, so not all businesses ignore the birth of Christ

But is that always a good thing?

Gibson Birth of Christ tribute guitar

Disco's right...

...about The Christmas Wars, between the gutless, offensively inoffensive treacle of "Happy Holidays" and the specific greeting, "Merry Christmas." Read, think, remember, do.

Pearl Harbor Day: America at war, then and now

December 7 is a day of great infamy, treachery, tragedy. It also provides a benchmark in assessing America's cultural slide.

Though admittedly ancient (50), I'm not old enough to have experienced the attack on Pearl Harbor, nor World War II. But I am old enough to be able to mark one stark point of cultural difference, simply from growing up in the 50's and 60's.

That point of chasmic disconnect: Hollywood, and with it, the "mainstream" media (which, at the time, was pretty much the only-stream media).

As I grew up in the 50's and 60's, I saw endless movies with A-list actors, all supportive of the war effort and our troops. Today we regard many of them as classics. Cartoons and comic books even featured the conflict. Heck, when I was a kid, though he was long dead, we still derided Hitler and our enemies in little songs, poems, ditties, jokes.

All branches of the media were involved in our national effort: actors, singers, writers, directors, reporters, essayists, screenwriters.

Actors both American and British signed up voluntarily in the military, and several served with great distinction. Those who couldn't, did something to entertain the troops, encourage them, or otherwise support the war effort.

Hollywood served America and the world by uniting the nation in (1) identifying the enemy, and (2) focusing on working hard, together, for victory.

That was then. What about now?

Take this one-question test: name the ten best movies produced since 9/11 depicting that event, or positively featuring some aspect of the Global War on Terror.

Can't name ten? Then name five. Three? Two?

One?

How about cartoons, TV shows, comic books? To say it's "not easy" would be litotes.

I doubt you need me to recite the dreary dishonor-roll of leading figures who, so far from uniting and focusing the country, have done their damnedest to fragment and demoralize us. Actors, singers, screenwriters, directors, newsreaders, editorialists, columnists, cartoonists, comic-book artists -- the vast majority are using their high profile to fracture American unity, corrode American resolve, and redirect our focus from our national enemies to internal targets.

Given the Hollywood philosophy that any publicity is good publicity, I'll name no names. You know them. They have made themselves into The Usual Suspects.

When I was discussing this sad turn of affairs with local talk show host Eric Hogue -- about the only good thing Sacramento media have going -- he asked me "Why?" Why have the media become so corrupted? It was a great question, a huge question, and it momentarily stopped me dead. I will now try to phrase my answer better than I did on the air.

At the heart of it, "Where there is no prophetic vision the people cast off restraint, but blessed is he who keeps the law" (Proverbs 29:18). Since "the people" is singular/collective in Hebrew, I take "he" in the second stich as having the same referent -- i.e. the people who keep the law.

A corresponding thought is found in Proverbs 14:34 -- "Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people." This is by design a general principle, applicable in any political system. Ask Sodom. Ask Babylon. Ask Assyria. Ask Rome.

"Back in the day," respect for the Bible itself, and for Biblical morality, was pretty much an American default-setting. As a pagan American kid in a public grammar school, I sang Christmas carols about Jesus. Comic strips would respectfully doff the hat at the birth of Christ, editorials would mention Him with reverence. The apostasy at work in the pulpits had not yet metastasized to the pews, nor out into the streets. There was the remnant of a national consensus on core values, inherited from the Biblical worldview on which the Founding Fathers established our nation.

But already the axe of moral relativism and what Schaeffer called "pan-everythingism," was hacking away at the branch on which America sat. Today their bastard stepchild, post-modernism, has produced a morally, spiritually, and intellectually bankrupt society. Not only can we no longer identify what is good and what is evil, but we no longer even accept the categories. My good may be your evil; your truth, my lie. Murderers of civilian men, women, and children may be brave warriors, if one looks at it a certain way. And on and on the dizzying descent goes.

I wish I could say that the pulpits of "evangelicalism" were fighting this trend. I wish that I could tell you that an army of Luthers, Calvins and Knoxes were applying the eternal, transcendent truths of God's Word to American society, training believers to think the Lord's thoughts after Him (Matthew 28:18-20; John 8:31-32).

But you'd know I was lying.

As I argued in a previous essay, a given society depends on the input of the godly remnant in the citizenry. So yes, systemic collapse of American culture between the 1940's and the 2000's is indeed an indictment of the ascendant anti-God glitterati.

But it is an even more blistering indictment of the professing church, as well.

Thinking straight about the likes of Tookie Williams

Let's start on a small scale. I'll assume you're a responsible parent. What if your child accidentally breaks a neighbor's window? What do you do? Do you apologize for your child, and leave it there? Of course not, that teaches your child nothing good. Do you make your child apologize, and leave it there? A step in a better direction, but still not enough.

Suppose your child offers to write a book about how it is wrong to break windows? Interesting... but not quite in the "ten-ring."

How about if you charged your neighbor for feeding, clothing and housing your child for a year or two, while you made him sit in the corner for a portion of each day? Stupid idea; we'd never even try it.

No, you want to teach your child personal responsibility, and justice. Both demand that the neighbor not be penalized for your child's actions. So you pay for the window, even though it was an accident.

Step it up a notch. Suppose your child did not do it accidentally? The penalties should be escalated.

Okay, now let's dial it up a bit further. Suppose someone steals $500. What would a just penalty be? Would justice be served if the perpetrator felt bad about the theft, and promised never to do it again? How about if he wrote books about how theft is bad? What if honest, hardworking citizens were billed to provide the thief with housing, medical care, schooling, and food for a few years?

Whatever you could say for or against all of that, you could never call any of it "justice." Justice would call for the perpetrator to repay the $500 to the victim -- with interest (Exodus 22:1). As long as the victim goes around $500 poorer, justice has not been served.

Now we come to murder, justice, and the death penalty.

The "mainstream" (i.e. lockstep anti-Christian) media is oppressively anti-death-penalty. Consider its breathless reporting on the thousandth execution since the reinstatement of the death penalty in 1977. Why is this newsworthy? One thousand executions in twenty-eight years amounts to an average of maybe thirty-six executions per year. Thirty-six. Three a month.

I don't have the exact numbers in my hands, but I'm pretty sure that more than three people a month are being murdered. Is that the media's point -- that far too few murderers are being executed? I haven't seen any such articles yet, so I'm thinking "No."

Now, contrast this pants-wetting coverage with with abortion. Last I heard, an average of four thousand children are miserably killed every single day, for no more serious a crime than being inconvenient or imperfect, or in a tiny fraction of cases for being the child of a criminal. But that is not deemed newsworthy. I have never seen a story on the four-thousandth child to die in any given day, nor the hundred-thousandth in any given month. Innocent children dying = not newsworthy.

But a convicted murderer being gently, lovingly seen off to eternal sleep -- big news.

Williams was convicted of murder, and his date with justice looms close. The usual suspects are out, trying to break that date.

The problem with the whole debate is the usual problem. A great deal of focus is paid to the wrong questions. Those arguing for Williams avoiding the needle argue that he's a changed man, he's written books, he steers children away from gangs, and so forth.

In response, many of those on the other side argue that the books aren't that great, they aren't sure he's reformed, he hasn't confessed to the murders, and the like. Take Bridget Johnson as an example, who highlights the devastation caused by gangs, and mentions that Williams may not really be remorseful.

My argument would be that none of these considerations should be remotely relevant.

Let's return to our earlier progression. We dealt with justice for stolen money and broken windows. What is justice for a stolen life? What is justice for the case of murder?

To answer those questions, we must ask another. We know the value of $500, and we can easily find out how much a new window costs. But what is the value of a human life? What would justice demand? Would justice be served by an apology, or by remorse? These are often the press' most breathless focus, as if it's all right for us if someone murders another, as long as he feels bad about it. (If this were a valid focus, I gather that neither has been evident in Williams' case.)

How about money? How much is a human being worth? If a murderer paid the state thirty-eight cents, would that cover it? Four dollars? Four hundred dollars? Four million dollars?

I would hope we all recoil from the thought of putting a dollar amount on our sons, daughters, brothers, neighbors.

So would justice be served by billing the victim's survivors to provide the murderer with housing, education, legal counsel, medical care, schooling, and food for seven, fourteen, twenty years?

How could that be justice? How does this level the balance, even the scales, in the case of the taking of a human life, with all its inestimable and inherent value?

God says it doesn't. From the very start, God said, "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image" (Genesis 9:6). This standard was never changed, and Paul affirmed that it was the duty of the state to see to it that it was enforced (Romans 13:4).

This is why a great many of the arguments of both sides are simply irrelevant. The job of the court is not to read Williams' mind nor assess his soul. It is neither its ability, nor its responsibility, to determine how bad he does or does not feel about committing murder, nor how he feels about murder today.

The court should consider two questions, and two questions only:

1. Did the accused commit murder? And, if the answer is "Yes" --
2. Was the murder deliberate?

If the answer to both questions is "Yes," then the accused becomes the convicted, and he should become a corpse, and he should do it as soon as possible. Only this outcome serves justice (Genesis 9:6), and the moral sanity of the nation (Ecclesiastes 8:11).

So, if Tookie Williams committed murder, he must be executed. Justice is satisfied by no less, no more, no other.

Solid-gold Spurgeon: sheep who shall never perish

As I enjoyed our church's men's fellowship this morning, something I read years ago in Spurgeon was brought to mind. Because I have had many struggles with assurance, Spurgeon's Biblical reasoning on the Scriptural doctrines of salvation have given me great comfort and encouragement. One particular passage in one particular sermon connected solidly with me, and has stayed with me and come to heart often. Perhaps this excerpt will do the same for you.

The sermon title was "The Security of Believers; Or, Sheep Who Shall Never Perish." It was preached at the Metropolitan Tabernacle on September 5, 1889. Here was the text:

"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. 28 I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. 29 My Father, who has given them to me,1 is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. 30 I and the Father are one."
(John 10:27-30)

Here is the part that vividly remains with me still, some 25-30 years after first reading it, with my personal highlights emphasized:

Now we must go a step farther. We have no time to urge these arguments at any great length. They are safe, next, by outer injuries being prevented. "Neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand." Many will pluck at them, but none shall pluck them away. The devil will give many a horrible pluck and pull, to get them away; but out of the great Shepherd’s hand he shall never take them. Their old companions, and the memory of their old sins will come, and pluck at them very hard, and very cunningly; but the Savior says, "None shall pluck them out of my hand." So, first, here is their security: they are in his hand; that is, in his possession, and he grasps them, as a man holds a thing in his hand, and says, "It is mine." Neither shall any take them away from being under his protection. Never shall they be plucked away from Christ. When he says this, he pledges his honor to preserve them, for if it could be that one were plucked out of his hand, then would the devils in hell rejoice, and say, "He could not keep them. He said that he would, but he could not. We have managed to pluck this one, or that one, out of the pierced hand of their Redeemer." But such a horrible exultation shall never be heard throughout the ages of eternity. "They shall never perish; neither shall any pluck them out of my hand."

Some one wickedly said, "They may get out of his hand themselves." But how can this be true, when the first sentence is, "They shall never perish"? Treat Scripture honestly and candidly, and you will admit that the promise "they shall never perish" shuts out the idea of perishing by going out of the Lord’s hand by their own act and deed. "They shall never perish; neither shall any pluck them out of my hand." Who is to loosen the clasp of that hand which was pierced with the nail for me? My Lord Jesus bought me too dearly ever to let me go. He loves me so well that his whole omnipotence will work with that hand, and unless there is something greater than Godhead, I cannot be plucked away from that dear, fastholding grip.

What glorious encouragement. I've found none who can improve on Spurgeon's way of crystallizing and expressing the Biblical truths he grasps -- and here he captures exactly the import of the Lord Jesus' words. I see no honest way around them, and I see everlasting comfort and grounds for hope in them.