It's been a busy week, as always. And I very nearly didn't make it to post some great stuff I read this week. This week, I have three brief selections. The first is by Mark Steyn in an article from National Review Online. The article is actually dated February 14, and the title alone qualifies it for great stuff recognition: "The Obamateur Hour." Steyn begins his article by quoting British prime minister Harold Macmillan. Someone asked Macmillan what he feared most in the months ahead, politically speaking, and his reply was, "Events, dear boy, events," meaning that it is off-the-radar-type circumstances such as wars, earthquakes, and other catastrophic events that throw governments off course. Steyn builds on that idea in his own analysis of the current administration:
"It suggests a perverse kind of genius that the 44th president did not wait for a single 'event' to throw him off course. Instead he threw himself off: 'Is Obama tanking already?' (Congressional Quarterly); 'Has Barack Obama’s presidency already failed?' (the Financial Times). Whether or not it’s 'already' failed or tanked, the monthly magazines still gazing out from their newsstands with their glossy inaugural covers of a smiling Barack and Michelle waltzing on the audacity of hope seem like musty historical artifacts from a lost age. The ship didn’t need to hit an iceberg; it stalled halfway down the slipway. This is still the phase before 'events' come into play, when an incoming president has nothing to get in the way of his judgment and executive competence. President Obama chose to nominate Tim 'Indispensable' Geithner and Tom 'Home, James!' Daschle, men whose enthusiasm for the size of the federal budget is in inverse proportion to their urge to contribute to it. He chose to nominate as commerce secretary first the scandal-afflicted Bill Richardson and then the freakishly scandal-free Judd Gregg, and wound up losing both."
And the rest of this brief article just gets better.
We've laughed at former presidents like Bush for his incoherence, Clinton for his lack of ethics, Ford for his clumsiness, and Reagan for his nap-taking and love of Jelly Bellies. If you take on the job, be sure that there will be something. In this case it would seem to be our president's last name--so far. There just are so many fun things, word plays --nearly endless--that pundits can do and make with "Obama." And in the spirit of this name play, a person that I love very much put this definition together in a moment of frustration over a doctor's office that just doesn't seem to be able to follow through administratively:
*obamacracy [n] --intertwined bureaucratic processes that prevent any actual progress from being made, while giving every indication that success is imminent. Similar to bureaucracy but providing no hope of actual change. ~H.G.
And finally, in the continuing spirit of fun and lightheartedness, take a look at this. It will take you less than a minute, but you'll laugh for twice that long.
2/23/09
The Cost of Texting
An article in the Washington Post tells the story of a 15-year-old Maryland teenager who racked up over six thousand text messages in one month. She texts at home, at school, in the car, while walking her dog, while doing her homework--and she even takes her cell phone to bed with her at night, where she sometimes is awakened by the sound of a new text message. The young girl told the Post writer that she would die without her text life. She admits that she doesn't focus well on homework, and she texts with others while her parents are in the same room. They have no idea with whom she's communicating or what they are saying to each other. The article reports that some teens actually text their parents while they are together in the same house.
While the writer of the article pointed out certain advantages for teens with cell phones (being socially affirmed, being accessible to parents), experts have a growing concern that there are downsides, such as declines in spelling, word choice, and writing complexity. Some teens have difficulty staying on task, and some of the more horrific uses of texting are bullying and sexting, where teens text nude pictures of themselves and others.
I watch all of these growing communication technologies with great interest and concern--as a professional in the communications industry, as a mother, and as someone who loves God's gift of language and wants to be a good steward of it. While not inherently evil, the new tools of communication often seem to be leading us to a less intimate, less thought-ful discourse. They divide us from the very people we ought to be closest to. We can't seem to get enough communication-as-entertainment. Blogs have become the horses and buggies of online communication as Web users seek more instantaneous, more constant means of following others and being followed. So now we Twitter, and our tweets are reduced to no more than 140 characters at a time. Blogging and Facebooking take too long to read and write. We can't be bothered with the time consumption of correct spelling, and so we create our own texting language that allows us to shorten words to letters and avoid punctuation and capitalization.
The state of things leaves me with more questions than answers, like these:
1. Why is texting necessary? If you are unable to reach someone, there is usually the option of leaving a voice mail. And clearly if you are texting and get an immediate response, you could be talking verbally (GASP!) together.
2. Why do parents buy plans that include texting? We have simply opted for a plan that charges for texting, and we let our teen cell phone user know that if she sends/receives texts, she will pay for them out of her own pocket. It hasn't been a problem because she doesn't like to communicate by texting, and she knows we mean it when we tell her she will pay. Katie's school has had to establish a cell phone policy this year. Students were texting during class, cheating on tests, and being disruptive. I recently read of one blogger who spoke at a teen retreat. The youth leader challenged the teens to leave their cell phones behind, but few did. The phones were an obvious distraction to the teens who were supposed to be focusing on their relationship with God. Why, oh why, don't parents take control of their children's use of cell phones? Allowing our children to use a tool that we own does not mean they now get to call the shots about how that tool will be used.
3. I must confess that I have a concern about this need for constant, instant communication. It has become a god that we are willing to sacrifice privacy, intimacy, and quality relationship to all too quickly. What could teenagers possibly have to say to one another in the middle of the night that is so urgent that it can't wait till morning? I see this in my own children, as they enter the house and are instantly drawn to the computer in the basement, much like the airline passengers in the TV show Lost were inescapably pulled to the magnetic fields of the mysterious island. Why is Katie unable to do her homework unless she has her Facebook page pulled up to answer--instantaneously--any message that appears? What does it say about us, this craving for constant communication? How could it ever, always, be meaningful, purposeful, effective? And all of this constant superficial conversation leaves little time for the kind of conversation that should be happening in a family, between friends, and even husbands and wives.
It will be interesting--and a little scary--to see what all of this brings in years to come, as a generation that has always had cell phones and social networking comes of age. I wonder how people will do their jobs while they feed their need for entertainment--because work is often not very entertaining. I wonder how parents who have grown up not talking with their own parents will communicate faith, values, and life lessons to their own children. Will they even be able to pull themselves away from their computers and cell phones to procreate? Will children remember fondly the storybooks of their childhoods, as I do? As I hope my own children do? Time--and Twitter--will tell.
Postscript: This article discusses some of the harmful effects of social networking on children. The findings are interesting, but not surprising.
While the writer of the article pointed out certain advantages for teens with cell phones (being socially affirmed, being accessible to parents), experts have a growing concern that there are downsides, such as declines in spelling, word choice, and writing complexity. Some teens have difficulty staying on task, and some of the more horrific uses of texting are bullying and sexting, where teens text nude pictures of themselves and others.
I watch all of these growing communication technologies with great interest and concern--as a professional in the communications industry, as a mother, and as someone who loves God's gift of language and wants to be a good steward of it. While not inherently evil, the new tools of communication often seem to be leading us to a less intimate, less thought-ful discourse. They divide us from the very people we ought to be closest to. We can't seem to get enough communication-as-entertainment. Blogs have become the horses and buggies of online communication as Web users seek more instantaneous, more constant means of following others and being followed. So now we Twitter, and our tweets are reduced to no more than 140 characters at a time. Blogging and Facebooking take too long to read and write. We can't be bothered with the time consumption of correct spelling, and so we create our own texting language that allows us to shorten words to letters and avoid punctuation and capitalization.
The state of things leaves me with more questions than answers, like these:
1. Why is texting necessary? If you are unable to reach someone, there is usually the option of leaving a voice mail. And clearly if you are texting and get an immediate response, you could be talking verbally (GASP!) together.
2. Why do parents buy plans that include texting? We have simply opted for a plan that charges for texting, and we let our teen cell phone user know that if she sends/receives texts, she will pay for them out of her own pocket. It hasn't been a problem because she doesn't like to communicate by texting, and she knows we mean it when we tell her she will pay. Katie's school has had to establish a cell phone policy this year. Students were texting during class, cheating on tests, and being disruptive. I recently read of one blogger who spoke at a teen retreat. The youth leader challenged the teens to leave their cell phones behind, but few did. The phones were an obvious distraction to the teens who were supposed to be focusing on their relationship with God. Why, oh why, don't parents take control of their children's use of cell phones? Allowing our children to use a tool that we own does not mean they now get to call the shots about how that tool will be used.
3. I must confess that I have a concern about this need for constant, instant communication. It has become a god that we are willing to sacrifice privacy, intimacy, and quality relationship to all too quickly. What could teenagers possibly have to say to one another in the middle of the night that is so urgent that it can't wait till morning? I see this in my own children, as they enter the house and are instantly drawn to the computer in the basement, much like the airline passengers in the TV show Lost were inescapably pulled to the magnetic fields of the mysterious island. Why is Katie unable to do her homework unless she has her Facebook page pulled up to answer--instantaneously--any message that appears? What does it say about us, this craving for constant communication? How could it ever, always, be meaningful, purposeful, effective? And all of this constant superficial conversation leaves little time for the kind of conversation that should be happening in a family, between friends, and even husbands and wives.
It will be interesting--and a little scary--to see what all of this brings in years to come, as a generation that has always had cell phones and social networking comes of age. I wonder how people will do their jobs while they feed their need for entertainment--because work is often not very entertaining. I wonder how parents who have grown up not talking with their own parents will communicate faith, values, and life lessons to their own children. Will they even be able to pull themselves away from their computers and cell phones to procreate? Will children remember fondly the storybooks of their childhoods, as I do? As I hope my own children do? Time--and Twitter--will tell.
Postscript: This article discusses some of the harmful effects of social networking on children. The findings are interesting, but not surprising.
2/19/09
From "Living in the Matrix"
This week's passage comes from my favorite periodical, Modern Reformation, and it is from an article by David Wells, distinguished research professor at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. His article addresses the issue of how the church can exist in today's affluent and postmodern culture. You can read the entire article at Modern Reformation's website.
"There is a line drawn between God and ourselves. It clearly is invisible to us as sinners, otherwise we would not imagine that the sacred can be accessed on our terms and when we want. The reverse is, in fact, true. It is that God hides himself from us. His salvation is not within our grasp, it is not on the market as another product, nor is it emerging from deep within the self. God is inaccessible to us. We are locked out. It was he who had to cross that boundary line that separates us from himself because, no matter how urgently and earnestly we reach upward, no matter how spiritual we want to be, we cannot connect. This line is crossed only from his side, not from ours. It is crossed only by him and never by us because in crossing it he must do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. That is why repeatedly in the New Testament we read that Christ came from "above" (e.g., John 6:33, 8:42, 10:36) and we should infer from this that he is therefore never a discovery from "within," as if self-exploration is a religious quest, nor can he be accessed by our reaching upward toward him. No, he was "sent" into the world . . . and came to us who are "below." At the cross, he did for us what we cannot do for ourselves. He bore our sin in substitutionary atonement and in so doing he instructed us on how we must understand our spirituality. At its heart, spirituality is moral because at the center of all reality is a God who is holy. That is why there is no authentic, saving spirituality without Christ's atonement."
from "Living in the Matrix," Modern Reformation, January/February 2009
"There is a line drawn between God and ourselves. It clearly is invisible to us as sinners, otherwise we would not imagine that the sacred can be accessed on our terms and when we want. The reverse is, in fact, true. It is that God hides himself from us. His salvation is not within our grasp, it is not on the market as another product, nor is it emerging from deep within the self. God is inaccessible to us. We are locked out. It was he who had to cross that boundary line that separates us from himself because, no matter how urgently and earnestly we reach upward, no matter how spiritual we want to be, we cannot connect. This line is crossed only from his side, not from ours. It is crossed only by him and never by us because in crossing it he must do for us what we cannot do for ourselves. That is why repeatedly in the New Testament we read that Christ came from "above" (e.g., John 6:33, 8:42, 10:36) and we should infer from this that he is therefore never a discovery from "within," as if self-exploration is a religious quest, nor can he be accessed by our reaching upward toward him. No, he was "sent" into the world . . . and came to us who are "below." At the cross, he did for us what we cannot do for ourselves. He bore our sin in substitutionary atonement and in so doing he instructed us on how we must understand our spirituality. At its heart, spirituality is moral because at the center of all reality is a God who is holy. That is why there is no authentic, saving spirituality without Christ's atonement."
from "Living in the Matrix," Modern Reformation, January/February 2009
2/16/09
Words Aptly Spoken
Katie, Jonathan, and I worshiped at our "old" church yesterday morning. The baby boy of close friends was being baptized, so it was a good opportunity to celebrate with them and see some of the people that we went to church with for so many years. We hadn't been back since last summer, before the wedding.
It was good to see everyone, to talk to and catch up with our friends. It was nice to see some new faces, too--people that had come since we left. As I spoke with my friend K, though, I was struck by how some of our simplest gestures can have an impact far greater than we could imagine. K told me about one of the new members, a young lady who was accompanying the congregation's singing on the piano that morning. The young woman, a college student, just officially had become a member of the church the week before.
The first Sunday she visited, K had noticed her. K told me, "Normally I don't feel comfortable talking to visitors. Others are so much better at it." (And I understand. I have trouble greeting newcomers myself. I'm not shy, but there's some kind of insecurity that makes me reluctant to approach visitors, even though I know I should.) But K started talking with her and found out the young woman was pleased to find a church that still had an organ and piano, that still sang hymns from a hymnal. K connected the young woman with her daughter, who is around the same age, and some of the other girls in that age group. And now, a few months later, the young woman had become a member of the church. When K congratulated her for becoming a member of the church, the young woman told her, "You're the reason I stayed." K's simple gesture of welcome and friendliness had made an eternal impact.
It reminded me of a similar situation a few years ago when I was also looking for a church home. I was a young widow at the time, with two small children. We were just coming away from the loss of a husband and daddy and were reeling from a bitter, ugly church split that had resulted in our beloved pastor's leaving. It was time for us to find a new church as well.
It's a difficult enough thing to go to a new church where you know no one when you're by yourself. But in some ways it's even more difficult with two young children along for the experience. We had visited one congregation for about a month, and I had ruled it out because there were very few children, and most of those were boys. We had spent several months visiting another small congregation, where there were more children, but very few boys Jonathan's age. Finally, a minister friend had suggested we try what was then Beverly United Reformed Church. He thought it might be a good fit for us.
I had only ever attended small churches, and the crowd there in the school gym where the church was meeting while their new building was under construction was a little overwhelming. There were plenty of children, it seemed, and some warm welcomes. I began to think that this was perhaps the place for us, so we kept visiting, kept meeting people. But what finally made me know that this was the place was an elder who came and spoke with me, learning about who we were and what our situation was. As our conversation concluded, he looked at me with complete sincerity and said, "I hope you'll join our church." That did it. Eventually, we did. And that elder continued to be an encouragement through the years at that church, taking a special interest in my fatherless children, talking with them, playfully teasing them at times, showing them the love of a shepherd's heart.
And so I thought about the great significance of being what DHP author Randy Kilgore calls a ten-minute Christian. He's not suggesting a superficial approach, but rather simply acknowledging that sometimes that's all we have to leave an impression of Christ with someone, to show love and hospitality. And we have to make the most of those times, like K and like the elder that showed us so much kindness years ago. James talks about how great a matter a little fire can kindle, in reference to the damage that the tongue can inflict. How much more can the tongue then work for good, as we show hospitality and love for those that we come into contact with?
"A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver" (Proverbs 25:11).
It was good to see everyone, to talk to and catch up with our friends. It was nice to see some new faces, too--people that had come since we left. As I spoke with my friend K, though, I was struck by how some of our simplest gestures can have an impact far greater than we could imagine. K told me about one of the new members, a young lady who was accompanying the congregation's singing on the piano that morning. The young woman, a college student, just officially had become a member of the church the week before.
The first Sunday she visited, K had noticed her. K told me, "Normally I don't feel comfortable talking to visitors. Others are so much better at it." (And I understand. I have trouble greeting newcomers myself. I'm not shy, but there's some kind of insecurity that makes me reluctant to approach visitors, even though I know I should.) But K started talking with her and found out the young woman was pleased to find a church that still had an organ and piano, that still sang hymns from a hymnal. K connected the young woman with her daughter, who is around the same age, and some of the other girls in that age group. And now, a few months later, the young woman had become a member of the church. When K congratulated her for becoming a member of the church, the young woman told her, "You're the reason I stayed." K's simple gesture of welcome and friendliness had made an eternal impact.
It reminded me of a similar situation a few years ago when I was also looking for a church home. I was a young widow at the time, with two small children. We were just coming away from the loss of a husband and daddy and were reeling from a bitter, ugly church split that had resulted in our beloved pastor's leaving. It was time for us to find a new church as well.
It's a difficult enough thing to go to a new church where you know no one when you're by yourself. But in some ways it's even more difficult with two young children along for the experience. We had visited one congregation for about a month, and I had ruled it out because there were very few children, and most of those were boys. We had spent several months visiting another small congregation, where there were more children, but very few boys Jonathan's age. Finally, a minister friend had suggested we try what was then Beverly United Reformed Church. He thought it might be a good fit for us.
I had only ever attended small churches, and the crowd there in the school gym where the church was meeting while their new building was under construction was a little overwhelming. There were plenty of children, it seemed, and some warm welcomes. I began to think that this was perhaps the place for us, so we kept visiting, kept meeting people. But what finally made me know that this was the place was an elder who came and spoke with me, learning about who we were and what our situation was. As our conversation concluded, he looked at me with complete sincerity and said, "I hope you'll join our church." That did it. Eventually, we did. And that elder continued to be an encouragement through the years at that church, taking a special interest in my fatherless children, talking with them, playfully teasing them at times, showing them the love of a shepherd's heart.
And so I thought about the great significance of being what DHP author Randy Kilgore calls a ten-minute Christian. He's not suggesting a superficial approach, but rather simply acknowledging that sometimes that's all we have to leave an impression of Christ with someone, to show love and hospitality. And we have to make the most of those times, like K and like the elder that showed us so much kindness years ago. James talks about how great a matter a little fire can kindle, in reference to the damage that the tongue can inflict. How much more can the tongue then work for good, as we show hospitality and love for those that we come into contact with?
"A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver" (Proverbs 25:11).
2/12/09
My Valentine
In honor of Valentine's Day, this is some of the best stuff I've ever read:
To My Dear and Loving Husband
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
~Anne Bradstreet, 1612-1672
Happy Valentine's Day! Kiss someone you love!
*photo by Judy Grothause
2/9/09
Book Review: Holding Fast
The jacket copy for Holding Fast, by Karen James, tells the reader that this is "a real-life journey of adventure, tragedy, love, and loss on the summit of Mount Hood." Tragedy occurred in December 2006 when Kelly James (late husband of the author) and two other climbers were trapped on Mount Hood near Portland, Oregon. After it was discovered that the men were missing somewhere near the summit, family members and friends waited and prayed helplessly as storms pounded the mountain with hurricane-force winds so that rescue workers were unable to search for the victims. When the storms finally relented, rescue workers recovered the body of James from a snow cave near the summit. His companions' bodies have never been recovered.
Now, two years later, James's widow, Karen, shares the "untold story of the Mount Hood tragedy." The book also recounts Kelly's past: the challenges of a difficult childhood with an abusive father and then stepfather; the love story that evolved between Kelly and Karen; and Kelly's relationship with his four children from a previous marriage.
Most of the book is devoted to the events surrounding the climbing trip that took Kelly and his two climbing friends' lives. When Kelly and his two companions missed their pickup time at the base of Mount Hood on Sunday, December 10, 2006, Karen received the call she feared the most. Sheriff Joseph Wampler of Hood River, Oregon, called to make sure that Karen hadn't heard something from Kelly before he and his crew launched a search party for the three men.
That Sunday evening, Karen and the children succeeded in getting a call through to Kelly's cell phone, getting what information they could about where he was holed up in a snow cave near the summit. This was to be their heartbreaking last conversation, as Kelly told his sons his location and reported that the other climbers had gone down the mountain to get help. He told them that the only food he had was half an orange. And he and Karen spoke briefly, saying "I love you" one last time. It was obvious that Kelly was in bad shape, and the situation was serious.
Karen and other family members and friends flew to Oregon to await the results of the rescue attempts, to be there when Kelly was rescued from the mountain. Anxiety turned to frustration to despair as the weather conditions prevented search and rescue teams from locating Kelly and the other climbers, who, unknown to Kelly, had not made it down the mountain.
Throughout the account, Karen comments on the faith that provided comfort to her during this ordeal:
"When your world falls out from underneath you and you are on your knees, there is nowhere to look but up. Suddenly everything you have claimed about your God and your faith is put to the test. During such a time, you learn where you stand with your Maker, and the most significant question of your life slaps you right in the face: Do you really believe?"
Of course the sad ending to the story is that once the storms relented, it was too late for rescue. Kelly and his friends were dead. Probably the most interesting part of the book for me was when Karen and others pieced together the clues left behind-- the possessions Kelly left in the snow cave, pictures on Kelly's camera, sent and received calls recorded on Kelly's cell phone, and tracks in the snow--to come to some conclusions about what went so terribly wrong on the mountain that weekend.
I think the greatest weakness of this book is that it is unclear what its purpose is. It promises to tell the untold story of what happened on Mount Hood, and it does. It's a gripping, heartbreaking story--three men in the prime of life, experienced mountain climbers--heading out for a weekend adventure that took a tragic turn that no one could have foreseen. It's a unique story, definitely one worth telling.
Yet the extended portions of the book that deal, in great detail, with Kelly and Karen's life before the tragedy and her grief responses after Kelly's death are not necessarily a story worth telling. Karen's descriptions of her husband indicate that he was a loving husband and father with a lot of personality--one of those warm charismatic people that everyone likes. Yet what makes him unique, sadly enough, is his death. Without that, no one would be writing books about Kelly James or Karen and Kelly's love story. While these things were incredibly meaningful and significant to them (as all of our loved ones and our own love stories are to each one of us), their story beyond the Mount Hood incident is not necessarily book worthy.
And this is often the weakness of many books that deal with personal tragedy and grief. While each one of us in this life will experience the profundity of the loss of someone that we love very much, it obviously isn't by any stretch of the imagination a unique experience. As someone who has lost both a sister who died at age 20 and a husband at age 35, I would never suggest that such losses are not deeply significant; in fact, such losses change the person who is left behind to put the pieces back together in huge ways. It is rare to find a book that deals with circumstances like these in a meaningful way, and my managing editor and I frequently discuss what quality there is that makes the difference. And we haven't found the answer. We just know that authors like Joni Eareckson Tada and, in my opinion, Lisa Beamer, author of Let's Roll, have managed to achieve something that most writers, including Karen James, have not. Some writers successfully find that path between personal loss and the Big Picture, but most do not.
A small, but annoying thing that happened throughout the book was the author's recounting of the use of what many would think of as inappropriate language or mild profanity. For example, she tells us that one holiday (Valentine's Day maybe?) after Kelly's death she knew in advance would be a "h--- of a night." I'm not a prude about language, but I'd like to think a good editor would either encourage the author to find a better way to express herself or just have the guts to tell us it was going to be a "hell of a night." Why the consonant/dash when most of us know what word is being left out? If you're going to force the reader to think it, you might as well just say it.
This was my second opportunity, as one of Thomas Nelson's bloggers, to review one of their books at their expense. I have to say that this is a creative program for publicity for Nelson's new releases, and I think it's a great way to get the word out about new releases. Time constraints may take me away from Nelson books for awhile, but we'll see what other options for book reviews arise. It's hard to turn down a free book.
2/5/09
Two Quiz
The answers to my little "two" quiz are in the comments to that post. Leah--the only brave soul to even attempt to answer--is the grand prize winner. And despite the lack of competition, she did a fantastic job! I'll figure out what her prize is as soon as I deliver poor Julie's prize to her for winning last year's movie quotes contest. (Fortunately, I know where I can find Leah fairly easily.)
Yet More on Facebook
What a treat I have for you this week! I have an excerpt from one of my new, favorite writers, Carl Trueman. I got to meet Dr. Trueman, who is professor of church history and historical theology at Westminster Seminary, Philadelphia, last fall when he spoke at the annual meeting of Reformed Fellowship. He also writes a column on Reformation 21's website. Dr. Trueman is originally from England, and his dry, British wit makes his writing enjoyable as well as insightful. As well as being a scholar in church history, Dr. Trueman has an interesting perspective about current culture, and in this excerpt from his most recent column, Carl shares his thoughts about Facebook, which, interestingly, are quite similar to mine.
Despite the rumours, I am not a technophobe. True, I am no good at technology; but I do not particularly fear it, as I might fear, say, the revival of disco music as a popular cultural phenomenon or a government-enforced William Shatner season on Turner Classic Movies. Thus, I love my computer; I just have no interest in using it for anything beyond writing, emailing, and the occasional internet purchase. . .
All this makes the whole idea of these internet networking things, like personal blogs and Facebook and MySpace, a naturally somewhat alien phenomenon to me. After all, why would I want to parade the details of my life before the world? And why would I want to pretend to be friends with, or connected to, people I either do not like or have never met? Yet these web networking phenomena are exactly that: phenomena, remarkable in their power and their reach. For example, I recently heard from my mother in England that my eldest son has a girlfriend. How did an elderly English lady living in a tiny village in the West Country of England learn this detail of the emotional life of my Philadelphia-based son, something which he had had successfully concealed even from my panoptical wife? Well, my niece had seen it on his Facebook page and she had told my mother who then happened to mention it to me, assuming that I knew already. What an amazing world, where someone half a world away has access to domestic information about my household unknown even to myself.
Yet, while they may be phenomena, I am not sure that the success of things like Facebook, texting etc. is entirely to be welcomed. True, there are advantages: for example, families and friends living at a distance can exchange photos and news with ease; but a touch of skepticism about these wonderful new webservices is perhaps overdue.
For example, take the language of `friend.' The way of connecting with people on Facebook is, apparently, to `friend' somebody. That the noun has become a verb is scarcely cause for concern; but the cheapening of the word surely is. Simply to be linked to someone on the internet is not true friendship; yet the use of the word creates the image that such is the case, or at least blurs the difference between casual internet acquaintance and somebody for whom one might have real affinity, affection, and concern. Our language should make it clear that textual intercourse on Facebook or the like is not to be considered true friendship, any more than viewing internet pornography is to be considered true love making.
If you'd like to read the rest of Dr. Trueman's column, it's here. And if you'd like to hear his lecture from last fall's Reformed Fellowship meeting, you can hear him speak on an entirely different--but no less delightful--topic, Martin Luther, here.
Despite the rumours, I am not a technophobe. True, I am no good at technology; but I do not particularly fear it, as I might fear, say, the revival of disco music as a popular cultural phenomenon or a government-enforced William Shatner season on Turner Classic Movies. Thus, I love my computer; I just have no interest in using it for anything beyond writing, emailing, and the occasional internet purchase. . .
All this makes the whole idea of these internet networking things, like personal blogs and Facebook and MySpace, a naturally somewhat alien phenomenon to me. After all, why would I want to parade the details of my life before the world? And why would I want to pretend to be friends with, or connected to, people I either do not like or have never met? Yet these web networking phenomena are exactly that: phenomena, remarkable in their power and their reach. For example, I recently heard from my mother in England that my eldest son has a girlfriend. How did an elderly English lady living in a tiny village in the West Country of England learn this detail of the emotional life of my Philadelphia-based son, something which he had had successfully concealed even from my panoptical wife? Well, my niece had seen it on his Facebook page and she had told my mother who then happened to mention it to me, assuming that I knew already. What an amazing world, where someone half a world away has access to domestic information about my household unknown even to myself.
Yet, while they may be phenomena, I am not sure that the success of things like Facebook, texting etc. is entirely to be welcomed. True, there are advantages: for example, families and friends living at a distance can exchange photos and news with ease; but a touch of skepticism about these wonderful new webservices is perhaps overdue.
For example, take the language of `friend.' The way of connecting with people on Facebook is, apparently, to `friend' somebody. That the noun has become a verb is scarcely cause for concern; but the cheapening of the word surely is. Simply to be linked to someone on the internet is not true friendship; yet the use of the word creates the image that such is the case, or at least blurs the difference between casual internet acquaintance and somebody for whom one might have real affinity, affection, and concern. Our language should make it clear that textual intercourse on Facebook or the like is not to be considered true friendship, any more than viewing internet pornography is to be considered true love making.
If you'd like to read the rest of Dr. Trueman's column, it's here. And if you'd like to hear his lecture from last fall's Reformed Fellowship meeting, you can hear him speak on an entirely different--but no less delightful--topic, Martin Luther, here.
2/3/09
Cherry Trees and Borrowed Books
Back in my grade school days (and probably for most who attended grade school back in the seventies), February was the month to honor the presidents--in particular, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln since February was their birth month. There were often art projects that involved cutting out silhouettes of the two men's profiles, and read-aloud time usually included two famous stories.
The first--which we now know is legend--was the story of Washington as a boy. In a moment of weakness, he chopped down his father's cherry tree. As all of us seventies children know, when Washington's perturbed father confronted him, young George did the right thing by admitting his wrongdoing: "I cannot tell a lie, father. It was I." While we children understood that chopping down that cherry tree was definitely the wrong thing to do, this future president foreshadowed the courage and honesty that would one day make him the heroic general who would become the first president of the United States. The moral: Great leaders are honest. They might mess up in some ways, but they would never tell a lie.
And then there was Honest Abe. As if the nickname alone weren't enough, we heard stories of Honest Abe walking twenty miles to return a borrowed book. The moral: Great leaders are responsible and always keep their promises. They put the needs of others before their own personal comfort. Personal integrity certainly is something that should be characteristic of anyone who holds public office.
Today, White House spokesman Robert Gibbs told the press, "The bar that we set is the highest that any administration in the country has ever set."
Really? So what morals will the children of two hundred years from now learn from the read-aloud stories derived from this administration?
Perhaps one will be that a president doesn't really need to keep promises after he or she has been elected. It's all well and good to appoint former lobbyists to work in areas for which they've lobbied, even if you've promised not to do that--if they're really, really good at what they do and if their knowledge will further the agenda of the administration.
Another moral will be that if you appear to be sorry enough and pay back the taxes that you owe once you've been caught in tax "mistakes," you could still serve as the treasury secretary. But a combination of lobbying and tax indiscretions will disqualify you from a political appointment.
Ill-advisedly pardoning criminals in a previous administration is definitely part of high bar-setting. Looking the other way to set free a friend of the president who is guilty of tax evasion, fraud, racketeering, and funding America's enemies is a great credential for an attorney general.
In fact, the moral, as our president explained in his inaugural address, is that we measure things by whether they work. George could have served his country just as well if he framed the neighbor boy for chopping down that cherry tree and had never been found out. And if the person twenty miles away had forgotten his loaned book, Abe would have been perfectly justified in hanging onto it, especially since he was probably poorer than the person he borrowed it from.
And if you're bored by read-aloud time, maybe you could just play with your handheld electronic device, text message your friends, or sleep. The moral: Read-aloud time and stories extolling the virtues of former presidents may not be what works best for you. Practicing what works best for you--and getting away with it--may just be the best possible training for a career in politics.
The first--which we now know is legend--was the story of Washington as a boy. In a moment of weakness, he chopped down his father's cherry tree. As all of us seventies children know, when Washington's perturbed father confronted him, young George did the right thing by admitting his wrongdoing: "I cannot tell a lie, father. It was I." While we children understood that chopping down that cherry tree was definitely the wrong thing to do, this future president foreshadowed the courage and honesty that would one day make him the heroic general who would become the first president of the United States. The moral: Great leaders are honest. They might mess up in some ways, but they would never tell a lie.
And then there was Honest Abe. As if the nickname alone weren't enough, we heard stories of Honest Abe walking twenty miles to return a borrowed book. The moral: Great leaders are responsible and always keep their promises. They put the needs of others before their own personal comfort. Personal integrity certainly is something that should be characteristic of anyone who holds public office.
Today, White House spokesman Robert Gibbs told the press, "The bar that we set is the highest that any administration in the country has ever set."
Really? So what morals will the children of two hundred years from now learn from the read-aloud stories derived from this administration?
Perhaps one will be that a president doesn't really need to keep promises after he or she has been elected. It's all well and good to appoint former lobbyists to work in areas for which they've lobbied, even if you've promised not to do that--if they're really, really good at what they do and if their knowledge will further the agenda of the administration.
Another moral will be that if you appear to be sorry enough and pay back the taxes that you owe once you've been caught in tax "mistakes," you could still serve as the treasury secretary. But a combination of lobbying and tax indiscretions will disqualify you from a political appointment.
Ill-advisedly pardoning criminals in a previous administration is definitely part of high bar-setting. Looking the other way to set free a friend of the president who is guilty of tax evasion, fraud, racketeering, and funding America's enemies is a great credential for an attorney general.
In fact, the moral, as our president explained in his inaugural address, is that we measure things by whether they work. George could have served his country just as well if he framed the neighbor boy for chopping down that cherry tree and had never been found out. And if the person twenty miles away had forgotten his loaned book, Abe would have been perfectly justified in hanging onto it, especially since he was probably poorer than the person he borrowed it from.
And if you're bored by read-aloud time, maybe you could just play with your handheld electronic device, text message your friends, or sleep. The moral: Read-aloud time and stories extolling the virtues of former presidents may not be what works best for you. Practicing what works best for you--and getting away with it--may just be the best possible training for a career in politics.
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