Knowledge Is Good (October 24, 2004)
Learn things.
God built into our nature the thirst of inquiry and the joy of discovery. These instincts are generally to be encouraged - though, like any instinct, they can be indulged wrongly. Eve wanted to know what it would be like if she ate the wrong fruit, and Saul wanted to get military advice from a dead man's spirit. Those forays into forbidden knowledge were disasters. But the general rule remains: ask, seek, and knock, and you will receive, find out, and walk through open doors.
I believe that God deliberately created an insanely complex universe so that we could never get to the bottom of interesting things. We are his guppies, his goldfish, and I suppose he could have poured us into a featureless glass bowl with no place to go and not much to look at. But he dumped us in an ocean - an endless expanse of scientific, historical, philosophical and spiritual complexities that beckon us to swim around in them and marvel.
I confess I sometimes wish things were simpler. I wish there were an elegant formula that produced all and only the prime numbers. I wish I knew why head injuries affect morals. I'm so flummoxed by an exegetical/spiritual issue that I toyed with calling Pastor Cole on WMBI's Open Line this week (but what if people who know me recognized my voice? It would be so embarrassing).
Things aren't simple, and everywhere the mind looks it finds problems to wrestle with and puzzles to wrangle over. The good news is, some things are actually comprehendible. The search for wisdom does in fact yields results. In Luke 11, where Jesus is condemning people who have clogged their brains with hostility, he pauses to commemorate the example of Sheba, "Queen of the South," who came from the ends of the earth to learn from Solomon. 1 Kings 10 tells how she tested Solomon with hard questions, and came away saying (I paraphrase), "Wow! You're smart!" She made the effort to learn, and was rewarded.
Preachers have always liked pointing out that St. Paul, who knew he was about to die (see 2 Timothy 4:6) still asked Timothy to bring him his scrolls, especially the parchments (2 Timothy 4:13). The aged missionary on his deathbed still wanted to study!
You're busy, I know, but take time to learn stuff. Researchers are telling us that active learning can stave off the effects of age-induced senility, and they may be right. (You can't be sure because they seem to keep coming out with new studies that contradict the old ones.) Learn good stuff. As I tell my boys, it does not count if you can expertly recite the dialogue of a 1000 edgy cartoons. It does count if you can quote C. S. Lewis on a 1000 subjects because you've read everything he's written at least twice.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Brain-Damaged Believer (October 17, 2004)
Sam Kinison may have helped me solve a problem I've always had with Phineas Gage.
Kinison was a preacher-turned-comedian who flourished in the 1980s and was killed in a car accident in 1991. If you ever heard one of his stand-up routines, you would not believe that he had once been a minister. He was the most profane, vulgar, blasphemous comic of his (or maybe any) generation. He also drank, did drugs and cheated on his wife - deeds which all became grist for his comedy.
Until last week that was all I knew about Kinison. He was a creep (though a funny one) who fled the Lord and did ungodly things with manic energy. But then I saw a documentary which brought out some facts that made his life story very interesting. In the year before he died, Kinison started cleaning up his life, quitting the drugs and drinking and carrying on. A week before he died, he said to his best friend, Carl LaBove, "I don't know why I'm supposed to tell you this, but I feel I should tell you - get things right with God." LaBove answered, "Sam, if anybody needs to get it right with God, you do!" He agreed.
LaBove and Kinison's brother Bill were following Sam's car a few days later when it was involved in the head-on collision that took his life. When they raced to where Sam lay they heard him saying, "I don't want to die! Why now? Why? Why?" And he kept repeating, "Why? Why now?" Then, as Labove held him in his arms, Sam looked up and spoke as though to someone unseen. He said, "Oh. O.K...O.K...O.K," and, appearing to accept his fate peacefully, passed away. His brother said, "I don't think anybody could be there and not believe in an afterlife - not believe that he wasn't communicating with somebody." LaBove said, "Somebody said the right thing, and Sam heard it, and he left with them."
One more detail: when he was three years old Kinison had nearly been killed in another accident. A truck hit him, causing severe head trauma. He went into a coma and experienced grand mal seizures. His brother said that when they brought Sam home from the hospital, his personality had changed so much that he thought it was a different kid. Quiet, peaceful Sam suddenly became aggressive, impulsive and uncontrollable. He pretty much stayed that way for 35 years.
Why do I connect Kinison with Phineas Gage? Because Gage is the world's best known head-injury case. He was working as a railroad foreman in 1848 when a tamping iron, nearly 4 feet long and over an inch in diameter, shot right through his head. It entered below his left cheekbone, came out the top of his skull and landed 25 yards away, having blasted out a chunk of his brain. Amazingly, he remained conscious and alert. He rested a few weeks and went back to work.
But, in the words of his coworkers, he was "no longer Gage." Though still strong and intelligent, his personality degraded. His doctor wrote, "He is fitful, irreverent, indulging in the grossest profanity (which was not previously his custom), manifesting but little deference for his fellows, impatient of restraint or advice when it conflicts with his desires."
So - a good man lost a piece of his brain and turned bad. What does my Christian faith have to say about that? I'll admit that this problem has long nagged at me. I'd prefer to think that any man's kind and steady disposition is due to the moral choices he makes, or, if he is a Christian, to the presence of the Holy Spirit within him. But doesn't Phineas Gage (and others like him) give the lie to spiritual explanations of goodness? Do responsible behavior and calm temper turn out to be nothing more than the products of a well-ordered brain? I myself do not cuss, cheat, make lewd comments or rage out of control. But hit me hard enough in the head and it looks like I might do just that for the rest of my life. I cannot deny that the thought unsettles me.
But Sam Kinison's story may shed a little light. Because I'd like to think that, for all Sam's iniquities, and whatever their source, God had mercy on his soul. God knew more precisely than we ever could what percentage of Sam's immoral behavior came from his choices and what came from a truck-battered cerebrum. I think God kept working with Sam. His brother said that even through all the years of careening profanely through life, Sam still considered himself a Christian. If God abandoned Sam, then why toward the end of his life did Sam come stumbling back to God as well as his warped and impulsive nature would permit him? And if Sam were irredeemably reprobate, why would the Lord comfort him during his final breaths? (Assuming we accept his friend's and brother's interpretation of what happened in those final moments. I do.)
The Bible says that God "knows how we are formed. He remembers that we are dust."(Psalm 103:14). I'm thankful for that. I will assume that God's perfect justice takes into account all the blows that pound and buffet the dust we are made of. At the same time, I'll not forget that some us are made of perfectly serviceable dust, and suffer no great hindrance to choosing good. In my case, I can't say that I'm aware of any bone chip pressing against my brain that inclines me toward evil. It would be nice to have that excuse, but I don't. So I would do well to remember that the same Bible that assures us of God's understanding and mercy also warns, "To whom much is given, much will be required." (Luke 12:48).
Sam Kinison may have helped me solve a problem I've always had with Phineas Gage.
Kinison was a preacher-turned-comedian who flourished in the 1980s and was killed in a car accident in 1991. If you ever heard one of his stand-up routines, you would not believe that he had once been a minister. He was the most profane, vulgar, blasphemous comic of his (or maybe any) generation. He also drank, did drugs and cheated on his wife - deeds which all became grist for his comedy.
Until last week that was all I knew about Kinison. He was a creep (though a funny one) who fled the Lord and did ungodly things with manic energy. But then I saw a documentary which brought out some facts that made his life story very interesting. In the year before he died, Kinison started cleaning up his life, quitting the drugs and drinking and carrying on. A week before he died, he said to his best friend, Carl LaBove, "I don't know why I'm supposed to tell you this, but I feel I should tell you - get things right with God." LaBove answered, "Sam, if anybody needs to get it right with God, you do!" He agreed.
LaBove and Kinison's brother Bill were following Sam's car a few days later when it was involved in the head-on collision that took his life. When they raced to where Sam lay they heard him saying, "I don't want to die! Why now? Why? Why?" And he kept repeating, "Why? Why now?" Then, as Labove held him in his arms, Sam looked up and spoke as though to someone unseen. He said, "Oh. O.K...O.K...O.K," and, appearing to accept his fate peacefully, passed away. His brother said, "I don't think anybody could be there and not believe in an afterlife - not believe that he wasn't communicating with somebody." LaBove said, "Somebody said the right thing, and Sam heard it, and he left with them."
One more detail: when he was three years old Kinison had nearly been killed in another accident. A truck hit him, causing severe head trauma. He went into a coma and experienced grand mal seizures. His brother said that when they brought Sam home from the hospital, his personality had changed so much that he thought it was a different kid. Quiet, peaceful Sam suddenly became aggressive, impulsive and uncontrollable. He pretty much stayed that way for 35 years.
Why do I connect Kinison with Phineas Gage? Because Gage is the world's best known head-injury case. He was working as a railroad foreman in 1848 when a tamping iron, nearly 4 feet long and over an inch in diameter, shot right through his head. It entered below his left cheekbone, came out the top of his skull and landed 25 yards away, having blasted out a chunk of his brain. Amazingly, he remained conscious and alert. He rested a few weeks and went back to work.
But, in the words of his coworkers, he was "no longer Gage." Though still strong and intelligent, his personality degraded. His doctor wrote, "He is fitful, irreverent, indulging in the grossest profanity (which was not previously his custom), manifesting but little deference for his fellows, impatient of restraint or advice when it conflicts with his desires."
So - a good man lost a piece of his brain and turned bad. What does my Christian faith have to say about that? I'll admit that this problem has long nagged at me. I'd prefer to think that any man's kind and steady disposition is due to the moral choices he makes, or, if he is a Christian, to the presence of the Holy Spirit within him. But doesn't Phineas Gage (and others like him) give the lie to spiritual explanations of goodness? Do responsible behavior and calm temper turn out to be nothing more than the products of a well-ordered brain? I myself do not cuss, cheat, make lewd comments or rage out of control. But hit me hard enough in the head and it looks like I might do just that for the rest of my life. I cannot deny that the thought unsettles me.
But Sam Kinison's story may shed a little light. Because I'd like to think that, for all Sam's iniquities, and whatever their source, God had mercy on his soul. God knew more precisely than we ever could what percentage of Sam's immoral behavior came from his choices and what came from a truck-battered cerebrum. I think God kept working with Sam. His brother said that even through all the years of careening profanely through life, Sam still considered himself a Christian. If God abandoned Sam, then why toward the end of his life did Sam come stumbling back to God as well as his warped and impulsive nature would permit him? And if Sam were irredeemably reprobate, why would the Lord comfort him during his final breaths? (Assuming we accept his friend's and brother's interpretation of what happened in those final moments. I do.)
The Bible says that God "knows how we are formed. He remembers that we are dust."(Psalm 103:14). I'm thankful for that. I will assume that God's perfect justice takes into account all the blows that pound and buffet the dust we are made of. At the same time, I'll not forget that some us are made of perfectly serviceable dust, and suffer no great hindrance to choosing good. In my case, I can't say that I'm aware of any bone chip pressing against my brain that inclines me toward evil. It would be nice to have that excuse, but I don't. So I would do well to remember that the same Bible that assures us of God's understanding and mercy also warns, "To whom much is given, much will be required." (Luke 12:48).
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Humility And Success (October 10, 2004)
To fulfill a noble purpose you must first kill pride.
As I read Shelby Foote's classic history of the Civil War, I am amazed at how often grown men squabbled over petty differences as their nation teetered on the brink of ruin. With thousands of lives at stake, generals and statesmen (on the same side!) snapped at each other over insults and snubs and the issue of who would get glory or whose career would be advanced.
Much of Abraham Lincoln's greatness can be found in his ability to keep above that fray. One November night in 1861 he went to visit General George McClellan at his home in Washington. Informed by a servant that McClellan was at a wedding, Lincoln, along with Secretary of State William Seward and undersecretary John Hay, waited for him to get back. When the general returned, the servant told him that Lincoln was there to see him. McClellan walked right past the room where Lincoln and his associates sat. A half hour later, wondering about the delay, they sent the servant to fetch him and were told that he had gone to bed!
As the three trudged back to the White House, Hay angrily denounced McClellan's rudeness. But Lincoln, Foote writes, "quietly remarked that this was no time for concern over points of etiquette and personal dignity. 'I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success,' he said soon afterward."
You could almost say that Lincoln won the war right there. Lincoln had his priorities right. What mattered was winning, not worrying about little things like whether people treated him with respect. In
wartime, a leader must dismiss insults like an athlete dismissing minor injuries during a game. Stuff your ego. Take the pain. Play on.
(As it turns out, Lincoln was dead wrong about McClellan, whose ineptitude soon revealed him as maybe the worst general in the history of the United States. The vain fool couldn't win a game of tiddlywinks against children, much less secure victory for the Union. But no one knew that in 1861.)
In today's Chicago Tribune, I read that Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers, famed double-play infielders for the World Champion 1908 Chicago Cubs, hated each other. They had some falling out and didn't even speak to each other until the 1930s. But, as baseball historian Gabriel Schechter writes, "Their overriding desire to win overcame any personal problems." That “overriding desire to win” is exactly what basketball teammates Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant did not have this past season. The two best players in the game went down to defeat because neither could squelch personal pride for the sake of a higher purpose: another NBA championship.
Pastor Rick Warren has been reminding us all in recent years of the need to lead "purpose-driven" lives. Grab hold of a good purpose, like the glory of God, the evangelization of the lost, the edification of the church, or the pursuit of holiness - and don't let pride screw up your attainment of it. Be prepared, like Lincoln, to march right through the slings and arrows of outrageous offenses to your dignity. Don't let such piddly things deter you. You're big enough (that is, humble enough) to take it.
To fulfill a noble purpose you must first kill pride.
As I read Shelby Foote's classic history of the Civil War, I am amazed at how often grown men squabbled over petty differences as their nation teetered on the brink of ruin. With thousands of lives at stake, generals and statesmen (on the same side!) snapped at each other over insults and snubs and the issue of who would get glory or whose career would be advanced.
Much of Abraham Lincoln's greatness can be found in his ability to keep above that fray. One November night in 1861 he went to visit General George McClellan at his home in Washington. Informed by a servant that McClellan was at a wedding, Lincoln, along with Secretary of State William Seward and undersecretary John Hay, waited for him to get back. When the general returned, the servant told him that Lincoln was there to see him. McClellan walked right past the room where Lincoln and his associates sat. A half hour later, wondering about the delay, they sent the servant to fetch him and were told that he had gone to bed!
As the three trudged back to the White House, Hay angrily denounced McClellan's rudeness. But Lincoln, Foote writes, "quietly remarked that this was no time for concern over points of etiquette and personal dignity. 'I will hold McClellan's horse if he will only bring us success,' he said soon afterward."
You could almost say that Lincoln won the war right there. Lincoln had his priorities right. What mattered was winning, not worrying about little things like whether people treated him with respect. In
wartime, a leader must dismiss insults like an athlete dismissing minor injuries during a game. Stuff your ego. Take the pain. Play on.
(As it turns out, Lincoln was dead wrong about McClellan, whose ineptitude soon revealed him as maybe the worst general in the history of the United States. The vain fool couldn't win a game of tiddlywinks against children, much less secure victory for the Union. But no one knew that in 1861.)
In today's Chicago Tribune, I read that Joe Tinker and Johnny Evers, famed double-play infielders for the World Champion 1908 Chicago Cubs, hated each other. They had some falling out and didn't even speak to each other until the 1930s. But, as baseball historian Gabriel Schechter writes, "Their overriding desire to win overcame any personal problems." That “overriding desire to win” is exactly what basketball teammates Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant did not have this past season. The two best players in the game went down to defeat because neither could squelch personal pride for the sake of a higher purpose: another NBA championship.
Pastor Rick Warren has been reminding us all in recent years of the need to lead "purpose-driven" lives. Grab hold of a good purpose, like the glory of God, the evangelization of the lost, the edification of the church, or the pursuit of holiness - and don't let pride screw up your attainment of it. Be prepared, like Lincoln, to march right through the slings and arrows of outrageous offenses to your dignity. Don't let such piddly things deter you. You're big enough (that is, humble enough) to take it.
Sunday, October 3, 2004
Heaven’s Citizen On Earth (October 3, 2004)
My sons' high school is in mourning today. A student, Roosevelt (Rosie) Jones, collapsed and died while playing a pickup basketball game Sunday evening.
I knew Rosie. Not well, but I had met him and talked with him a number of times while playing ball at the YMCA. I have been favorably impressed with all the Neuqua High players I've met over the past couple years - they’re really good kids - but none was more courteous,pleasant or joyful than Rosie. He was a 6'5" skinny black kid, simple-natured, with a huge smile and a high-five for everybody, even for a fat, 40-plus white guy like me who didn't belong on the same court. I remember his eyes widening with eagerness when he asked me, "You a coach?" No, just a fan - but, hey, thanks for thinking I might be a coach.
After talking basketball with him one time I came home and told my son Ben that Rosie was one of nicest kids I ever met. Ben confirmed that he was just the same way at school. I later found out that Rosie was so popular that, in blowout games where Neuqua's subs got to play, students in the stands would chant, "RoSIE, RoSIE" till the coach put him in.
What I didn't know was that Rosie was a Christian. This morning's Chicago Tribune says that Rosie's "passion for basketball was exceeded only by his Christian faith." He led the team prayers, was active in his church, and planned to go to a Christian college in order to be an evangelist some day. I'm not surprised.
May God grant that his example continue to speak to those who remember him. Rosie not only articulated his faith, he lived it. By age 17 he achieved what I have always longed for but stumbled short of attaining - the grace to project Christ through transcendent personality. The Apostle Paul calls it being the "fragrance of Christ" (2 Corinthians 2:15). An aroma like that can live in the memory, and I pray it will do just that for those who knew Rosie. May many of them be drawn to the Source of Rosie’s joy.
My sons' high school is in mourning today. A student, Roosevelt (Rosie) Jones, collapsed and died while playing a pickup basketball game Sunday evening.
I knew Rosie. Not well, but I had met him and talked with him a number of times while playing ball at the YMCA. I have been favorably impressed with all the Neuqua High players I've met over the past couple years - they’re really good kids - but none was more courteous,pleasant or joyful than Rosie. He was a 6'5" skinny black kid, simple-natured, with a huge smile and a high-five for everybody, even for a fat, 40-plus white guy like me who didn't belong on the same court. I remember his eyes widening with eagerness when he asked me, "You a coach?" No, just a fan - but, hey, thanks for thinking I might be a coach.
After talking basketball with him one time I came home and told my son Ben that Rosie was one of nicest kids I ever met. Ben confirmed that he was just the same way at school. I later found out that Rosie was so popular that, in blowout games where Neuqua's subs got to play, students in the stands would chant, "RoSIE, RoSIE" till the coach put him in.
What I didn't know was that Rosie was a Christian. This morning's Chicago Tribune says that Rosie's "passion for basketball was exceeded only by his Christian faith." He led the team prayers, was active in his church, and planned to go to a Christian college in order to be an evangelist some day. I'm not surprised.
May God grant that his example continue to speak to those who remember him. Rosie not only articulated his faith, he lived it. By age 17 he achieved what I have always longed for but stumbled short of attaining - the grace to project Christ through transcendent personality. The Apostle Paul calls it being the "fragrance of Christ" (2 Corinthians 2:15). An aroma like that can live in the memory, and I pray it will do just that for those who knew Rosie. May many of them be drawn to the Source of Rosie’s joy.
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