And eye for an eye . . . until the whole world is blind.
It is Clear to Me . . .
. . . that Mankind’s oldest and bitterest enemy is keenly interested in dividing people along racial (tribal) lines. It’s his oldest, tiredest, and yet still most effective trick.
Tribalism has been the spawning ground of murderous hate ever since the very first farmer grew resentful of the very first rancher back in the Garden.
In a 100-day period back in 1994, somewhere between 500,000 and a million Tutsis were killed by Hutus—most of them hacked to death with machetes—because . . . tribes. Us and Them.
Here in America, tribalism now goes by the more sophisticated name of identity politics. We call our tribes “communities.” The enemy of our souls doesn’t really care who you hate, just as long as you pick a side and let the news and social media fuel your tribal fire.
The devil is a sadistic, twisted kid nudging two hungry dogs toward each in hopes they’ll fight to the death over a scrap of food. I’ll pass.
As a citizen of a kingdom in which race and sex are meaningless concepts (Gal. 3:28), I have only one side to take. The side of love.
Some Random Strung-Together Independence Day Thoughts
Captive people long to be free.
After several generations of freedom, free people start longing to be taken care of:
- To be insulated from risk.
- To be immune from the consequences of their own bad choices.
- To have somone else look after their neighbor so they don’t have to.
- To be generous with other peoples’ money instead of their own.
A people can never be both free and taken care of.
Free people gradually trade their freedom for false promises of security and comfort.
The impulse to craft a governmental solution to every human ill is a religious impulse. It’s messianic at the root.
Big government is a false messiah. It promises utopia, heaven on earth, but can never deliver on those promises.
Freedom means equality of opportunity, not equality of outcome.
Real freedom means freedom to fail, pick yourself up, and start again.
Offered with Little Comment
Found these two headlines in close proximity on Bloomberg.com today.
Giving Honor Where Honor is Due
I attended a funeral service in the old hometown in Oklahoma yesterday. Dr. J. N. Baker was of one of the finest Christian men it has ever been my privilege to know. He was 96 when he passed into heaven last week and was buried with full military honors yesterday.
At my house growing up he was a respected and beloved family friend, and very much a surrogate grandfather to my younger sisters. For many who knew him as the former Dean of Students at OSU and then the president of Eastern Oklahoma State College where my parents were on the faculty — he was always “Dr. Baker.”
For the thousands of fighting men who served under him in both World War II and the Korean conflict, he eventually became “General Baker.”
He was born in 1919 in rural southeastern Oklahoma but was orphaned before he was old enough to begin attending the one-room school nearby. One of his daughters noted at his service that he liked to observe: “My parents came to Oklahoma in a covered wagon, yet I’ve lived to see men walk on the moon and to hold a powerful computer in the palm of my hand.”
In the 1930s he joined the Oklahoma National Guard while still in high school. (Apparently that was possible back then.) For the next three decades he was an integral part of the Oklahoma’s 45th Infantry Division—the Thunderbirds—established in 1920. The 45th was one of the very first guard units called up when the U.S. entered World War II in 1941.
In 1943 the Thunderbirds were part of the tip of the spear in the invasion of Italy, beginning with the amphibious assault on Sicily and then the intense fighting at Anzio and Monte Casino.
This was followed by an amphibious invasion of southern France at Dragoon, then the push across France and into Germany. Ultimately it would be the 45th that liberated the infamous German concentration camp at Dachau.
Their work finally done, the division got to come home in 1945. Five short years later Cold War hostilities erupted on the Korean peninsula. At that point, only 20% of the men of the 45th had fought in WWII, but Dr. Baker was one of them.
Eventually, he became the Thunderbird’s final commanding General, serving from 1964 to 1968.
Three surviving World War II veterans who served with him were there at the funeral to pay their respects yesterday. Yes, members of ” the Greatest Generation” were in the house — but we’re losing them rapidly. Soon the last of them will be gone.
However, it wasn’t the military man my family knew and loved—although his perfect posture and a meticulous, squared-away approach he brought to every project and enterprise hinted at his training. Otherwise, you might never have guessed his background and rank.
He wasn’t the course, gravely George Patton stereotype. Quite the opposite. He was soft-spoken, humble, gentle, immensely thoughtful, and carried a deep, abiding faith in God.
He a was regular guest at my parent’s Sunday table for lunch after his cherished Helen, his wife of 64 years, died after a long illness that left her blind in her final years.
Whenever someone would remark admiringly about the tender, extraordinary efforts he was expending in caring for her in those years of heartbreaking decline, he would smile and brush them off. “She took care of me for sixty years. It’s my privilege to take care of her now.”
Whenever any of us was home for a weekend visit, it was our privilege to participate in those lunches with him. As the elder statesman at the table, the honor of blessing the meal frequently fell to him.
I remember being deeply impacted by one of those Sunday lunch prayers a few years ago. I can honestly say it changed me.
As we prepared to dive into mom’s pot roast, it wasn’t his prayer’s eloquence or profundity that marked my soul that day. It was the genuine gratitude that welled up out of his heart and flowed from his lips.
“Heavenly Father, you’ve been so very good to us. (long pause) . . Thank you. (longer pause) Thank you, thank you, thank you . . . “
This was no perfunctory, religious saying of “grace” over a meal. Those repeated thank yous were an offering.
Thank you, Dr. Baker.
I’m grateful to have had the example of a life so well-lived. Strength in kindness. Confidence in servanthood. Gratitude in selflessness. Cheer in hardship. This was the gold standard of Christian manhood.
Now he has joined that great cloud of witnesses who waits to see how we’ll run the balance of our races.
You’ll have to excuse me now . . . I’m suddenly feeling the need to lay aside some weights.
On the Patience of God
Martin Luther once wrote:
“God will not be able to bear this wicked world much longer, but will come, with the dreadful day, and chastise the scorners of His Word.”
Luther died in 1546. God is still bearing this wicked world. And the spirit that moved immature disciples to want to call down fire on those who rejected them still lives, as well.
The Road Not Taken
I recall noticing back in the late ’70s that Michael Jackson, Prince, and I were all roughly the same age.
As the only remaining survivor if this trio, I now view my choice not to become a fabulously wealthy, eccentric, global pop icon as the correct move.
One Final Word on Trump and This Greek Tragedy of an Election
In a climactic moment in the movie Armageddon, a team of drilling experts valiantly attempting to save planet earth from complete annihilation has everything that can possibly go wrong, do so.
When it seemingly becomes clear that the entire universe is conspiring against the success of their noble efforts to save the world, the team member played by Steve Buscemi looks in awestruck wonder at the FUBAR-ity of it all, and the enormity of the tragedy they’re about to witness, and mutters:
“It’s a g#######d Greek tragedy.”
That profane line of dialogue has come to mind on numerous occasions as this election year has rolled along.
What a difference a year makes. A year ago I was optimistic that after eight long, heartbreaking years of watching a great nation intentionally weakened; her standing in the world diminished; and her blood-bought liberties eroded; we had our best opportunity in decades to put a conservative statesman in the White House. (It’s been since 1980 since we had one of those.)
On one hand, the Democrats were set to put forth the weakest, most flawed, most beatable group of candidates since 1968. Old, tired, corrupt, extreme, unlikable and white.
On the other hand, the Republicans boasted one of the most impressive crops of candidates in living memory. Young, intelligent, articulate, proven and ethnically diverse.
Then came Trump. And everything instantly went to hell.
Early on I dashed off a few thoughts in posts titled, “On Donald Trump,” and “Deconstructing the Appeal of Donald Trump.” This will be my final post on him.
It now seems clear that one of two scenarios is inevitable:
- Donald Trump wins the Republican nomination and loses to Hillary Clinton in the general election.
- Or some sort of brokered convention snatches the nomination from Trump with the result of alienating a significant swath of vital Republican voters.
Either outcome puts Hillary Clinton in the White House for eight more years of calamity for America. The only wildcard that might avert this Trump-caused catastrophe is a multi-count federal indictment of Hillary between now and November. Not likely (although appropriate.)
The Enigma of Evangelical Attraction to Trump
In a non-Armageddon-like universe, Ted Cruz would have owned the Evangelical vote. But here in Bizzaro world, he hasn’t. Instead, large numbers of Christians have cast their vote for a profane casino-owning huckster who boasts about the proportions of his genitalia in televised presidential debates.
Christian leaders like Jerry Falwell, Jr., FBC Dallas pastor Robert Jeffress, Beni Johnson (wife of Bethel’s Bill Johnson), and numerous others are vocally endorsing and defending a man who thinks personal insults like “loser” and “clown” are an adequate substitute for cogent policy arguments.
He has not once given objective listeners a reason to believe has has thought deeply or read seriously about a single issue important to Christians or conservatives.
In recent weeks, Mr. Trump has doubled down on his promise to “force Mexico to pay for a border wall.” (He can’t. Of course, he knows that. He’s just betting that you and I don’t.)
He has suggested that as President he’d make China assassinate North Korea’s Kim Jong Un. (Uh, again, no.)
He talks about the presidency the same way liberals and children do, as if the office conveys god-like power. Again, he doesn’t really believe any of this. It’s marketing.
In an email to his subscribers, liberal comedian Louis C.K. recently had a word of warning and advice for conservatives. “He is not one of you. He is one of him . . . He is playing you.”
It’s true. And it’s disappointing to find a significant number of my fellow evangelicals either blissfully unaware of that fact, or bafflingly indifferent to it.
It feels like a tragedy. A Greek tragedy.
Deep Thoughts About Deep Space
I’ve been meaning to throw this out there for my fellow sci-fi nerds of a certain age who, like me:
- grew up on Star Trek reruns;
- have followed the various iterations of the franchise through the decades;
- and who invariably notice the political philosophies and ideas that undergird TV series and movies.
Trust me, all dramas have a political viewpoint and an agenda. We storytellers are always either teaching or preaching.
The original Star Trek series was optimistic, idealistic and infused with a confidence that the guiding principles of Western Civilization, although flawed in execution, were unambiguously good.
How the political philosophy of Star Trek evolved (or actually devolved) over the last 50 years was the subject of a long but fascinating essay by Timothy Sandefur in an issue of the Claremont Review of Books last year, titled “The Politics of Star Trek.”
As the insightful piece pointed out, these changes in underlying ideology track perfectly with the U.S. dominant culture’s descent into Postmodern self-hatred and relativism. (Today, the only thing that can safely be condemned as immoral is moral certitude.)
The original network run of the original Star Trek series unfolded when I was ages six to nine. I was aware of the series but it aired past my bedtime.
I do dimly recall, however, being roughly six or seven and working with a friend to convert a discarded cardboard refrigerator box into our own personal Starship Enterprise, complete with NCC-1701 scrawled on the side with crayon. It was subsequently converted, through some clever feats of retrofitting engineering, into a Batmobile.
Even so, like most fans of my generation, I became a devoted follower only after the series entered syndication and became ubiquitous in reruns for decades.
In 1987 Star Trek: The Next Generation revived and reinvigorated the franchise. That was the year I got marred and my new bride and I faithfully watched the new series each week and became invested in the characters.
Even so, the distinct shift in worldview within the franchise and its spinoffs stuck out to me from the beginning. Sandefur’s essay explores this shift in fascinating detail.
The latest reboot of the franchise, crafted by master scifi-fantasy storyteller J.J. Abrams, has once again remade the moral framework within which the familiar characters think and act.
Referring to Abram’s second Star Trek film, Into Darkness, a reinterpretation of the movie Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Sanderfur notes, “By the time Khan reappears under Abrams’s direction, the fixed moral stars by which the franchise once steered have been almost entirely obscured . . . Having lost their principles, the show’s heroes cannot really explain, or understand, what differentiates them from their enemies, and so are rendered vulnerable to the very forces they once opposed.”
This clearly isn’t for everyone. But if you have consumed all the various iterations of Star Trek through the decades and enjoy smart discussions of big ideas (Hi Ted! Hi Jed!), then you will find this essay well worth your time.
Political Parties Die
Abraham Lincoln was originally a member of the Whig Party. The Whigs saw four members elected President before collapsing and dissolving in 1854.
The Whigs were replaced on the national stage by a new party—the Republicans.
Yes, political parties can and do die. We may be witnessing the death of one in our time. Which reminds me . . .
Here in Texas, powerful thunderstorms can roll through in the late spring and early summer fronted by intense, straight-line winds. Occasionally after such a storm, you’ll see a huge, ancient tree blown over with the roots pulled right up out of the ground.
It’s easy to look at the huge girth such a tree and marvel that mere wind could take it down after centuries of life and vitality. But take a closer look and you’ll often see that the roots are diseased and shriveled. Such trees are all showy top and no anchoring base.
If the Republican Party rapidly collapses in the aftermath of this election it would not surprise me in the least. And the real cause will have been the disdain for the conservative roots by the bloated establishment elites in Washington and Wall Street; the open borders advocates at the Wall Street Journal and the U.S. Chamber of Commerce.
Donald Trump will merely have been the wind that knocked it over.
Millard Fillmore was the last Whig president. Perhaps Donald Trump will be the last Republican one.