But What About Eating Bacon?

It doesn't matter whether the subject is women's ordination or homosexuality or abortion.  Often, when a Christian brings up, "The Bible says ..." the rejoinder will be, "But the Bible has all these dietary rules.  And you eat bacon.  And you eat shrimp and crab.  See?  You don't really care what the Bible says."

And that's supposed to be the proof that everything scriptural can be jettisoned.

Well, for just a moment, let's set aside the lengthier discussions of moral law and natural law as over against dietary law.  Let's set aside the whole thing about Christ being the fulfillment of the law, and how the law shows us what love is, and why God made those rules about what the Jews were to avoid eating. 

For just a moment, let's look at Acts 11, where God Himself tells Peter in a vision to eat the unclean animals.  So God Himself gave the go-ahead to set aside the Old Testament's dietary laws.  We're eating bacon-wrapped lobster tail not because we decided to set aside those laws, but because God said to.


Footnote 1: Yes, I realize that's not the main point of Acts 11.
Footnote 2:  Wouldn't it be great to have a grocery budget that allowed for bacon-wrapped lobster tails periodically?  Mmmmm.

Measuring Cups

When all the contents of a house have to GO [due to down-sizing or moving to a nursing home or because of death] ... the stuff has to go someplace.  To grandkids?  To a resale shop?  To the dump? 

What about pictures and once-treasured possessions?  What happens when the next generations don't cherish the things I cherish?  What will become of those items?  And should it matter?

A bunch of stuff is finding its way into our home these days. I can't cherish everything that could arrive here from grandparents, parents, and in-laws.  What's odd is the things that I do enjoy.

For all my adult life, I have owned one set of measuring cups and one set of measuring spoons.  For someone who cooks and bakes from scratch, that's been a little inconvenient.  Now I have my mother-in-law's metal measuring cups and spoons.  If my 1-cup measure is floury from baking bread, I have another cup [gasp] to measure sugar for kombucha.  Whoa -- this is nice.

The Law Is the Final Word

At least, it is according to almost everybody in the whole wide world.

Other religions teach that works are how we please the god or how we gain heaven or nirvana or whatever.  Be good; get a reward.  When I was having a conversation with a Jehovah's Witness about eating turkey on Thanksgiving and celebrating birthdays, that's what it came down to: "follow the rules, get a blessing from god."

Other Christian denominations too teach the same thing.  Yes, they admit that the Lord (the eternal God of the promise of salvation, the God who is triune and whose nature is love) helps us be good.  And yes, they admit that the Lord forgives our screw-ups for when we're not good.  But the point of religion is still to Be Good.  That's essentially what the Roman Catholic's purgatory and the Eastern Orthodox's theosis end up being about.  (Of course, most of them would deny it.)   And it's what most Protestants teach.  (And I'm sure they too would deny it.  And that's a good thing; it means their rational minds are conflicted against the saving faith worked in them by the Holy Spirit.)

It's even a controversy among Lutherans.  While no Lutheran would disagree with the necessity for good works, and while no Lutheran would disagree with the truth that we are saved by God's grace in Christ through no merit of our own, there are still many who (somehow) come off sounding like the point of the Gospel/forgiveness is to make us able to do a better job of following the Law.



In Bible class last Sunday we were discussing Luke 5.  The Pharisees and teachers of the law had come from all over the place, from Galilee, but also from way down in Judea and from Jerusalem.  They wanted to check out this Jesus dude and the stories they'd been hearing.  And when he forgave the sins of the paralyzed man, they were hacked off.  "Who can forgive sins but God alone?"

Pastor had other points to make, but for the most part, I got lost, thinking and thinking about why the legalists were there and why they were perturbed.  We live in a [ahem] diverse society today.  Everybody thinks they should be able to do whatever they want.  Everybody should be able to think whatever they want.  Children grow up and reject what was imparted to them.

SO ... what does it hurt anybody for Christians to believe in grace? 

Why do people fuss about it?

Okay, okay, IF we purportedly believe in grace and then live in sin that hurts other people, then I can understand people saying, "Whoa, hold up!  Your so-called freedom in the Gospel is damaging me."  And that would be valid.  But if the law is being preached rightly, and the gospel is forgiving sinners, then licentiousness can result only through rejection of true doctrine.

So why the objection to people trusting in grace?

Atheists object.  People of other religions object.  And even Christians want to convert other Christians to a belief that they have to Do SOMEthing to be real Christians.

If you don't want to trust only in God's grace in Jesus' blood shed to save you, if you want to depend to some extent on your own works, I can't change your heart.  But what skin is it off your nose if I believe that?

I don't understand.

Who's Hiding in the Closet?

So a gay basketball player comes out of the closet and is lauded for it.  In the wake of the announcement, a sports analyst mentions that the Bible says homosexuality is a sin as is any sexual activity outside of marriage.   Oh my goodness -- the horrors of what he said!  The station apologizes.  The sports analyst is forced to apologize.

And then the news release about how the government is looking into enforcing anti-proselytizing regulations, thus forbidding soldiers from telling others about their faith, even to the point of being able to court-martial them.

Wow.

Do Your Sins Pile Up?

Some Christians think that we commit sins, and then we go to confession or go to church or go to the Lord's Supper, and [zap] Jesus wipes away our sins.  And then we go about life, oops, here-a-sin, there-a-sin, everywhere-a-sin-sin.  So we're dirtied up, and we have to go to church to be cleaned up again, ... and the cycle repeats itself.

Pastor often tells us, "NO, that's not what it is."  If it were, that would mean our confessing was the thing meriting God's forgiveness.  Also it would be denying original sin, as if there were days (or hours) (or moments) when we could be spiffied-up and sin-free.  Also it would mean we could have no certainty about our salvation because we could never know whether we'd [oops] sin and then die before having a chance to Get It Fixed At Church (or at least in our personal verbal prayers).  Pastor likes to use an example from a M*A*S*H episode, where Frank Burns is jumping back and forth across the threshold of the tent's door, chanting, "I'm in.  I'm out.  I'm in.  I'm out."  Being in God's grace is not like that; it's not like we're covered by His forgiveness, and then are out, and then are back in after the absolution in the Divine Service, and then back out again next time we lose our temper.

Hearing "I forgive you all your sins" does not mean a pile of sins is erased, brought down to zero-level, before we start piling up sins again.  No.  Because of Jesus' blood shed on the cross, God sees utter perfection, holiness, righteousness, purity.  Going to confession or going to the Lord's Supper doesn't change our status in God's eyes.  What absolution does is to reorient our blind eyes from our navel-gazing, and open our eyes to see ourselves as God sees us, as He declares us to be.

The Express

Ernie Davis -- 1961 Heisman trophy winner -- first black guy to do that.

The movie made a great story.  Gary and I enjoy sports movies.  This had the added themes of history-and-racism, as well as showing a strong family. 

[For those bothered by Language, there is some.  But it's not gratuitous; it's practically necessary with what's happening in the story.]

That Radio Is Driving Me Nuts

So an old heavy-metal rock band is coming out with a new album pretty soon.  On three different days since this song debuted recently, I've been at work listening to the DJ's push this song.  It plays repeatedly!  And it's long.  And very very repetitive.  "God is dead.  God is dead. God is dead."  I tried looking up the lyrics to count how many "God is deads" are in the song.  I couldn't find the lyrics online, but I'm guessing at least five dozen "God is deads" each time this thing gets air-time, which puts me at 200-400 "God is deads" per day.

As I drove home from work, I wondered what would be an appropriate and allowable response.

If I'm not busy I could walk over to the radio and turn down the volume.  I'd have to explain to my partner why, and tell him he could turn the volume back up in eight minutes or so.

I could sing out loud what I've been singing to myself -- a Good Friday hymn.  "O sorrow dread.  Our God is dead, but by His expiation of our guilt upon the cross, gained for us salvation" and subsequent stanzas.

I could sing out loud a response: "He lives, all glory to His name.  He lives, my Jesus still the same.  Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives: I know that my Redeemer lives."

Or I could just continue to bite my lip and pray.  I've listened to shocking and putrid things on that radio station -- both songs and the talk/banter.  But until now I haven't considered anything so drastic as turning off the radio and forcing the other person to listen to the dreaded Quiet.

Third Use of the Law

My friend Cheryl recently pointed out a blog post.  In spite of trying to curtail my computer-time, I went and read.  I clicked on a link in the post, skimmed another blog post, clicked on another link, etc.  Apparently there is (again!) quite the ruckus in the Lutheran blogosphere about the place of "preaching sanctification."  But one thing became apparent to me in the 10 minutes that I bopped around a few sites (that is, before I grabbed control of myself and headed to the laundry room to wash sheets).

Much of the "Woe is us!  We need to preach more sanctification!" is motivated by the decaying culture out there in society.  There's political pressure for homosexual "marriage."  People kill babies unborn ... and born.  Foul language is prevalent.  Sleeping around is common.  Terrorists and madmen go on killing sprees.  This is terrible, and we want it fixed.  If the preachers preached more law, maybe it would change.

It sounds to me like what we're clamoring for is actually more "First Use of the Law."  Not more "third use."  But then again, maybe that's a clue that we don't use the law:  if it's preached, it will function as the Holy Spirit wills.

Garden Report

It's that time of year when we go through a LOT of hand soap, trying (somewhat in vain) to clean hands when we come in from the garden.

Two raised beds have been cleared of overgrown walking-onions, shoveled, fluffed with half-rotted leaves underneath, and the soil on top raked smooth.  A couple of mini-rows of lettuces have been planted.

The compost pile has been turned into a potato bed.  Last year we accidentally grew a nice batch of potatoes from some Yukon Gold that were supposed to be rotting in the compost pile.  Because the compost pile was lighter, airier, fluffier than typical garden dirt, the potatoes grew bigger, cleaner, and prettier-shaped.  Hey, I could use an accident like that again!   So I put a 15" layer of last fall's leaves on top of the compost bed.  In each spot where I was going to plant the potatoes, I put a pint of dried manure, the potato, and another pint of manure.  I then sprinkled a very thin layer of manure across the top of the leaf bed, just to finish off the bag.  On top of that, another 8" of leaves.  On top of that, about 3" of gunk off the burn pile (wood ash, dried leaves, leaf ash, and lovely rich dirt from stuff that had been at the bottom of the pile for a few years).  Now, will it work?  Will I grow a lovely batch of organic potatoes?  Or have I spent my energy today for no food, but just a day outside, enjoying the fresh air and the SUNshine and the birds singing?  Oh, and some sure-to-be-sore muscles.   ;-)

Eighty-percent-dead cherry tree is down.  Gary managed to knock it over without a chainsaw or ax or anything; that poor thing was in sorry shape (and yet somehow still quite productive).  The baby next to it is up and budding. It was a sucker that we left to grow, and for two years it bore fruit just like the parent-tree. 

I gathered the icky, wet, half-rotted, gucky leaves off the garden and put them in black 30-gallon garbage bags.  I hear tell that in the space of several months they should rot into leaf mold.  A)  Now the garden soil can begin drying a bit.  B)  Stunning that I can be so hyped over the prospect of rotting leaves -- woo hoo!

One of the lilacs looked pretty rotted-out too.  So I knocked that over.  Boy howdy, we have a LOT of wood to burn!

A Long Way From Chicago

The whole idea of "coming-of-age novels" makes me want to barf.

But maybe that's because of how those have been written in the wake of the Hippy 60's.

On the other hand, I suppose you could call the Little House books "coming-of-age novels" too, and I'm crazy about those.

A few years ago, a friend insisted we had to read listen to the Richard Peck novels, A Long Way from Chicago and A Year Down Yonder.   The audio-book is read by Ron McLarty ... and is a hoot.  A long car ride recently gave me the opportunity --finally!-- to listen to these stories.  These books are so good (and funny) (and heartwarming) (and great for grown-ups too) that it's almost hard to believe how new they are.

Mom, I think you'd like these.  Because of the Newbery awards, they're widely available in libraries.  And they're set in Piatt County, during the Depression years, with occasional references to places such as Bement and Decatur and Farmer City.  Fun fun fun!

(Warning to Katie, though.  It's not time for you to read them ... just like it's not time for you to be reading Ramona out loud in your house.)

Praying FOR People

I can wash the dishes "for you" because it will benefit you to have clean dishes.  Or I can wash the dishes "for you" because it's your job but I can do it instead of you.

Usually we think of praying "for somebody" something we do on their behalf, something that will benefit them.

But maybe sometimes we also pray "for somebody" by speaking to God prayers as if we were the other guy praying for himself.  Praying "in his stead," as it were.  Putting ourselves in the other guy's shoes and then begging God for what's good for that neighbor.



This may not be the way we usually think of "praying for him."  But maybe it's one of the ways we learn (experientially) about the words "substitutionary" and "vicarious" and "priestly."

Best Thing Ever

Every time we've sung "I Know That My Redeemer Lives" this Easter, I remembered my mother-in-law's funeral.  It was the final hymn.  The casket was escorted out by the funeral director, and the pall bearers (including my sons) followed. 

The guys put their hymnals back in the pew rack and filed out, singing the hymn (from memory) with the rest of the congregation. 

Is there anything in this earthly life that's better than that?

Liturgy as Teacher

How does a pastor know what to say when he's teaching somebody?

I've seen my pastor do it in numerous contexts: teaching from the liturgy.  Somebody is getting married?  My kids tell me he went through the vows and the wedding rite, talking about what it means, what it teaches, what it shows, what God does in that rite.  Or maybe a young pastor wants to know how to be a pastor, what to do.  So Pastor uses the ordination vows as a guideline to discuss the work of a pastor.  Or maybe people have questions about death.  He may start discussing the funeral rites.

I like that.  Not only does the liturgy tell us what we need to know when we're asking, but it also means that every time you're there again (a baptism, a wedding, a first communion, etc) you've got all that fleshed-out and expanded-upon discussion to illuminate what God is doing & saying in those rites.

The Culture's Attitude Toward the Church

Archbishop Francis Cardinal George said a couple of years ago, "I expect to die in bed, my successor will die in prison, and his successor will die a martyr in the public square."

President Matt Harrison quoted this yesterday on Issues Etc and added one more clause: "And his successor will help rebuild from the ashes."

Don't Break the Playmobiles

Zoe (age 2) was playing Playmobiles at our house.  She declared the little brunette to be Alia.  The little red-head was Zoe.  The man was Daddy.  The woman was Mommy.

But Zoe kept yanking at the Mommy's left hand.  "Zoe, don't do that.  You don't want to break the Mommy."  You see, Playmobile aprons come off and on.  Playmobile boots come off and on.  Playmobile hats come off and on.  Zoe was stymied: she could not take the left hand off.  "Mommy.  Hand.  Mommy.  Hand.  Hand.  Off."

Oh.  Sometimes it takes a while for me to get it.

The child finally consented to imagine that the Playmobile-Mommy's hand was off.

Holy Gho... Spiri.... Ghos.... Spirit!

Andrew has scolded me for saying "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost" at the start of prayers.  "Mommmmm, how long is it going to take for you to quit doing that?!"

Last week Maggie was distracted when she said "Holy Ghost" to match what she expected to be my mistake, but I got it right and said "Spirit."  So we clashed anyway.

So I busted a gut when David Scaer (who has a bit of the same problem) mentioned what his pastor told him:
"The Holy Ghost is scary." 



Oh, bad puns.  How I love them!

My Talents

People in their right minds never take pride in their talents.

spoken by Miss Maudie

(end of chapter 10 of To Kill a Mockingbird)

as to why Atticus's children didn't know 

about his awesome on-target shooting skills

Thing is, don't people take pride in their talents?  Miss Maudie's statement makes perfect sense -- our talents have been given to us by God and are nothing to take credit for.  But we do.

Recent Doings

Maggie and I began sewing some aprons last week.  Well, "began" "sewing" I guess.  I bought the fabric months ago.  We pinned and cut out the pieces.  Then it all sat.  Maybe we'll haul out the sewing machine later this week and begin again.

Snow in April.  Over and over.  Bah humbug.

Took all my days off last week to head off to Minnesota.  One evening with Paul and Mandy, enjoying supper and conversation and seeing their workplaces. 

Spent a whole morning relaxing in a Starbucks, all by myself, drinking tea and reading the Formula of Concord in preparation for attending three-quarters of the "It's the Law -- Or Is It?" conference put on by the Association of Confessional Lutherans.   As much as I love my family, my introverted self is yearning for another few days of self-indulgent quiet and reading ... and maybe movies.

Most of the speakers at the conference were great.  Rolf Preus especially.  I intend (?) to blog about my notes, not because anybody out there in cyberspace cares, but because this blog is where I keep my notes for myself.  But boy, I've been doing a lousy job blogging recently.  I want to, but there are other responsibilities.

Thoroughly enjoyed an evening out with friends.  It was an early evening: the other three had early flights that morning, and I was expecting a late night of driving the following evening.  But, oh, dinner was delicious, company was delightful, and conversation was interesting and encouraging.

The drive home from Minnesota was stressful.  My aging body doesn't take long drives well in the first place.  But because of the snowstorm, there was a huge accident with a three-hour delay.  Three hours -- that means by the time I hit Wisconsin, I should have been well over halfway home.  This is the rare instance when a person begins to wonder about GPS...   (No, I don't want GPS.  When we've used Andrew's, it kind of drives me nuts.  Ha ha ... drives me nuts.....)

Little girls are coming over tonight for a sleep-over.  Nathan has surgery tomorrow to remove one of the pins in his broken-but-healing ankle, and it will be early.

An attack of Murphy's Law:  A mere two hours after cleaning the oven, the meatloaf fat spilled over the edge of the pan and smoked up the kitchen.  Two weeks later, pizza-cheese fell off the pizza and burned onto the bottom of the oven, smoking up the kitchen.  Hey!  That'll teach me to clean the oven!!

New plan I should try for my goofing-off-on-computer time:  what if I went on Facebook only once a week?  Being away from the computer, I determined to catch up on FB this afternoon, but do it quickly, with light skimming.  Not exactly like exercising self-control as I ought, but it might be a better use of time without cutting off contact with loved ones who aren't Right Here In Person.

Oh, Poop!

Stealing a story that my son-in-law told about my granddaughters recently:


Alia and Zoe wouldn't stop talking about poop.  So Dad finally put an end to it: "No more using the word poop!"

Alia wanted to know if they could talk about pee.  No, that wasn't acceptable either.  

Could they talk about food?  Of course.
Could they talk about people?  Why, yes. 

"Well, you know, Daddy, when food goes through people it becomes ..."

Bye-Bye Van

Over two years ago, the transmission on the van started slipping.  Then there was a slight leak in the exhaust system.  That leak became a hole that made the van roar with the noise of a small airplane.

This past week we found a Corolla and bought it (even without taking it to our mechanic for a once-over ... still afraid that we may come to regret that).  The jury is still out on whether the new car will be driven primarily by Andrew or Gary.  They're probably going to trade back and forth until they decide.

The junk man came to haul away the van this weekend.  It is entirely unreasonable how sad it made me to see the van leave.  I had to fight back tears.  We owned it for 13 years; we took it on vacations; we drove it on gazillions of errands; we no longer have a vehicle with which to haul small furniture or bicycles.  Even though it was in cruddy shape, I miss it.  That's dumb, but that's the way it is.