Latest Mere Orthodoxy blog: “Disappointed by Christmas”

A friendly reminder for those visiting this page that my main blogging has moved to Mere Orthodoxy.

My latest, just posted, is a reflection for those of us who struggle in the days after Christmas. Here’s an excerpt:

The realization that it’s possible to get exactly what you want and yet feel that hope has betrayed you is one of life’s milestones. We are all born believing that what really stands between us and joy is not getting what we want.  We have to be taught otherwise, and many never are. We have to be taught that peace and satisfaction are not the same thing, and then we even have to be taught that sometimes the two are opposed to each other. None of this comes naturally, because natural human nature does not discern it.

To feel disappointed by Christmas is to plunge headfirst into the truth that we are made for something even greater than hope. For the Christian, the hope of Christmas is not formless and void. It has a shape, a color, and a name.

Read the whole piece here.

Movement and Location

A public-service announcement:

I’m very excited to announce that MereOrthodoxy.com, a terrific web journal of religion and culture, is now hosting my blog!

So what does this mean?

  1. First of all, it means that the primary website I’ll be blogging at is http://blogs.mereorthodoxy.com/samuel. Over at the new site, I’ll be keeping up my blogging in much the same way I’ve done here. The new site looks a little different, but otherwise nothing has changed.

2. At least for now, I’m going to keep this website running, but it won’t be updated as much as the new site. If you’ve been subscribing to my posts here via email, you won’t be getting much email from now on, at least until I figure out how to set up a subscription option at the new blog.

3. That’s it! It’s business as usual, just in a new location. As always, there’s no subscription or cost for anything.

If you’ve been a regular reader of this site, THANK YOU. Thank you for your reading and your support. I hope you’ll follow me onto my new blogging home.

A Note to My Readers

As the end of the year approaches, I’d like to take a break from regularly scheduled pontification and briefly (I promise!) share some personal thoughts about my life, this blog space, and you, dear reader.

This past year has been a wonderfully productive and blessed season for me. In addition to my regular responsibilities at my day job, I’ve been able to contribute writing and editing to several different places. Some of this work has earned income, some has earned opportunity and exposure. In either case, I’ve been blessed to be able to use my voice at a variety of websites and organizations that I greatly respect. This is a blessing beyond what I could ask or think.

In addition to my published writing around the web, I’ve maintained this blog space. This year the blog has generated over 80,000 views. That’s a spectacular number to me, especially considering how few resources have been poured into publicizing what I write here. I am dependent almost entirely on the clicks, shares, and retweets of those who know me through social media.

Whether at this website, or at any number of different sites that I’ve written for in the past year, I am exceedingly grateful to be doing what I love. This isn’t something I take for granted. But it’s also something I realize is precarious. I’m sure it doesn’t shock you to hear that writing is not a profitable line of work. The vast majority of what I write–hundreds of thousands of words–is not compensated in any way. I do not receive any money for what I write here. That means that I spend many hours a month trying to articulate halfway coherent, truthful thoughts for free. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a good thing. But having a baby and a young family to support is also a good thing.

I’ve tried this year  to give a voice to a thoughtful, convictional, kind, and helpful Christian worldview. My aim when I sit down to blog is NOT to grab your attention with an overreacting headline and clickbait. It could be that my traffic would greatly improve if I were just a little more willing to accuse, exaggerate, or just be a hack. But I’m not willing, and I’m fine with whatever cost that creates. I’ve probably written something this year that you’ve disagreed with (or maybe many things!). My sincere hope is that even in those cases, you’ve found something hopeful, encouraging, and worthwhile.

If you’ve appreciated my writing this year, particularly at SamuelDJames.net, would you consider supporting it? Below I’ve installed an option to donate any amount via PayPal. This donation is not a subscription. I have no intention of charging for this website, or any of my writing. This is merely a way to support what you find helpful here.


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Thank you very much for reading, sharing, commenting, and supporting. These are challenging times for many, and as George Orwell once said, sometimes seeing what is right in front of one’s face is a constant struggle. I hope that in some way this year, I’ve helped you see.

The Problem of Public Profanity

Rod Dreher writes about a disappointing, blue-tongued concert from Adele:

I am not a prude about language, as my male friends will attest. But there is a time and a place for that kind of talk, and onstage at The Royal Albert Hall is not it, at least not if you are a gorgeous singer of pop ballads like Adele. Her fans didn’t seem to mind it at all, to be clear, but every time she dropped an f-bomb, I kept thinking, You are so beautiful, so enormously talented, such a gifted artist, and here you are, in The Royal Albert Hall, a high temple of musical performance, in a moment of  complete triumph, and … this is how you talk? 

It didn’t make me mad, really, only sad for her, and for a popular culture that doesn’t know how to behave in a place like The Royal Albert Hall, or anywhere else that’s not a rodeo arena, pretty much. Can you imagine being elderly Adele, looking back on a career of fame and accomplishment, screening your performance at The Royal Albert Hall for your grandchildren, and having to listen to your younger self, speaking like that?

Not long ago I was flipping through a major news magazine, the kind that middle schoolers would be expected to consult in a research or current event project. An article in this magazine printed, without obfuscation, an explicit profanity. My feeling of surprise wasn’t at the word itself; I wasn’t scandalized that people would use such a term. What did take me off guard was the editorial decision to print it. Did the magazine simply assume its readers eyes would bounce off the profanity like they bounced off the prepositions? Did the editors not have a sense that this word was not fit for this space? Was it that they felt this epithet was just like any other word–or were the pages of the magazine just like any other space?

Like Rod, I am not easily offended by language. But I have to agree with him that we’ve lost a sense of the impropriety of public profanity.

As a Christian, I know that I’ll be held accountable for every word that I speak, and I believe that words have intrinsic power either toward love or toward sin. I’m not interested though in foisting a Christian doctrine of speech on my neighbors, and to that end, I would submit that there is most certainly a difference between how a group of friends sitting at a restaurant talk to one another, and how those people would talk amongst strangers in public. I’m not for policing speech, just neighborliness.

That, I think, is the main issue with public profanity. People who don’t care about what others hear from them are really not caring about others. I know that profanity is common in a lot of places, and that most people you’ll hear while pumping gas or buying groceries probably don’t have a hang up about bad words. But someone’s being accustomed to four letter bombs doesn’t excuse them from neighborliness anymore than someone’s being accustomed to cruel joking absolves them from being a jerk.

How we speak in public is an issue of neighborliness because words have meaning and power. We all believe this instinctively, which is why, when we meet someone for the first time, there’s an innate desire to get our language correct. If a new acquaintance tells you she is a substitute teacher, and you subsequently refer to her as a “temp,” you are being un-neighborly with your language. The words we choose, especially in public, convey our sense of moral and social responsibility. A “potty mouth” isn’t just a quirky temperament; it’s a deficiency in kindness.

I also don’t think we can comfort ourselves that “nobody is offended.” I think there’s more offense taken than is often revealed. At a previous job, two of my coworkers with desks close to me relished telling each other stories and jokes loaded with four-letter saltines. As far as I can remember, I never once complained or asked them to stop, even though I find their weekly dialogue incredibly rude. I didn’t want drama, and in any way I didn’t want to be “that guy.” I have to believe this happens quite a bit.

This isn’t being a “prude.” If pointing out the obnoxiousness of public swearing irritates some, could it be because we have made our speech just one more extension of our utterly autonomous selves? If repairing our fractured, dis-empathetic public square is a problem worth solving, maybe it would be good to start with our own mouths. It’s not about “legalism” or even sheltering children. It’s about caring enough about those around us to not dare them to listen to us.

10 Questions For Buzzfeed

After reading Buzzfeed’s “expose” on the evangelical teachings of the church that evangelicals Chip and Joanna Gaines attend, I have a few questions for Buzzfeed, Kate Aurthur (the writer of the piece), and for publications that do this kind of thing:


1. How many evangelical Christians do you personally know? How many evangelical Christians are employed by your company? If the answer to either of these questions is “None,” why do you believe that is?

2. Why, in your opinion, would your readers want to know what the pastor of the Gaines family preaches about sexuality? Based on what you know of your readership, how are your consumers likely to respond to a piece like this?

3.  As a journalist, what is your hope for this piece? Would you hope that it results in the Gaines losing their show? Publicly disowning their pastor? Receiving a public outcry? If none of these, what?

4. Which do you consider more journalistically noteworthy: The belief that all who do not worship Jesus Christ will eventually be in hell, or the belief that sex is meant only for a man and a woman in marriage? If the first, why is that not the story here? If the second, why is this teaching more significant than the first?

5. Do you believe that people who have the same religious convictions as Jim Seibert are capable of having genuine friendships with those who disagree with them?

6. As the piece notes, many people, including LGBT Americans , watch Fixer Upper. Why do you think this is?

7. Does this piece necessarily reflect an editorial position of Buzzfeed? If not, should HGTV feel like they are being represented by the religious beliefs of the Gaines?

8. Would Buzzfeed (or Cosmopolitan) be willing to publish a perspective on this story by a person such as Wesley Hill or Eve Tushnet? If not, why not?

9. Would Buzzfeed fire a staffer for expressing beliefs similar to Jim Seibert? Would Buzzfeed fire a staffer not for expressing such beliefs, but upon discovering the staffer attended a religious gathering that taught them? In your opinion, does being wrong on LGBT make one a bad person?

10. If Chip Gaines, Joanna Gaines, Jim Seibert, or another evangelical Christian asked you why they or their family and friends should trust what they read reported in Buzzfeed, what would you say?

Alt-Right and the Political Crisis of Manhood

I’ve been thinking about this letter from a reader that Rod Dreher published on his blog yesterday. You should read the whole thing, but I’ll sum it up thusly: There may be a connection between the radicalized politics of the “alt-right” and the crisis of millennial American men. According to this reader, our culture’s lost boys aren’t just distracted–they’re being trained in the art of authoritarianism.

A huge swath of man-children who are hooked on hardcore porn and violent video games, feel aimless and emasculated by a society that tells them they are worthless, and have been “raised” in a post-Christian, post-family, absentee-father era, etc…are not a neutral force. Not for the Evil One, they aren’t. Their more base instincts of aggression and violence are merely being subdued and distracted in materialistic hedonism, and their higher instinctual desires for manliness and order can easily be hijacked for nefarious purposes by the some Leader…

I said this to my brother in conversation yesterday: we are a generation with no virtue, no humility, no respect for the sacred or for authority, enslaved to the passions, etc. Such a generation is ripe for being radicalized, were it not for our comfortable distraction in our materialistic hedonism. For the failsons, it’s easier to just keep looking at porn and playing video games. For others, all our SJW outrage is channeled mostly into social media rants and a few actual protests in order to feel morally superior—no one’s actually experiencing injustice, they just think someone else is. But take that all away? Say, with a huge economic meltdown? I’m afraid we will have an entire generation that will be in utter panic and rage, and they will have no residual virtue to fall back on because they were never raised with it to begin with. Hard times will strip a man down to what he’s made of.

I think this is exactly right, and it’s a point I’ve tried to make several times. The “failsons” (one journalist’s word to describe a gaming, pornography-hooked 20something male with an interest in radical politics) are not checking out of life. They’re checking out of civilized society, yes, in the sense that they are checking out of culture’s institutions and social bonds. But they’re not simply asleep. The 24/7 gaming and pornography are liturgical; they shape the consciences and moral imaginations of these men in ways that foster misogyny, authoritarianism, and ressentiment.

I think Rod’s reader makes this connection, but he doesn’t quite follow it far enough. He seems to think that “hedonistic materialism” is actually a barrier to political radicalization. I disagree; I believe it’s a conduit to it. When people are constantly reduced to pixels, whether in a violent shoot-’em-up game or in a pornographic video, the viewer’s ability to empathize at a basic emotional level is thwarted. The cognitive peril of watching, for example, abusive sex acts, is real and serious. Or consider Gamergate, a nauseatingly omnipresent social media uproar that featured communities of male gamers launching vicious sexual and personal insults at female gaming journalists. My point is certainly not that all video gamers become like this, or even that everyone who uses pornography eventually defends abusive ideas. My point is that for a startling number of American men, these two habits make up an enormous part of their waking lives. Why would we be surprised to see a moral imprint?

There is a reason that the overwhelming majority of “alt-right” activists seem to be millennial males. This isn’t a movement without roots. As Rod’s reader perceives, we are seeing the political restlessness of young men whose moral intuitions have been formed by technology intended to titillate and amuse. This isn’t foremost a political moment for white nationalism; it’s a cultural moment for Lost Boy-ism. And it’s a cultural moment that the church can, and absolutely must, speak into.

Millennial dudes (I speak from experience) tend to be protective of their time and their space. The church should invade both. What compulsive gamers and compulsive lusters have in common is that they usually do both alone. There is a strategic isolation that almost always precedes descent into “failson” territory. If you’re an elder of a local church, is there anyone in your congregation that seems to fit this description? Who is falling through the cracks? If your church has more than 3 men aged 17-30, I can almost guarantee at least 1 of them needs you to invade their space.

Intentional discipleship doesn’t happen via podcasts. It happens during coffees and lunches and hangouts. If we as Christians have any interest in speaking up against the racialized, demagogic rhetoric of what calls itself the “alt-right,” we have to go to the source. Not easy. But the stakes couldn’t be higher.

 

What C.S. Lewis Means to Me

Clive Staples Lewis died today, November 22, in 1963. I simply cannot imagine what my life would be like if this man were not a towering figure in it. This past summer I tried to capture a little bit of the debt of gratitude I feel toward him when we gave our newborn son the middle name “Lewis.” One of the great pleasures I have right now is looking forward to telling Charlie Lewis about the professor whose name he bears, and what a wondrous world he let me enter.

I read Lewis for the first time in high school. Mere Christianity hit me like a battering ram of clarity and reasonableness; it gave a logical shape to the faith I (thought I had) inherited from my parents, but which seemed so often to not fit into the world around me. What Lewis gave me in Mere Christianity was not a mere step-by-step proof of Christianity, nor an unassailable list of “defeaters” for atheism. He gave me something infinitely more important: A reason to believe that the claims of Jesus Christ and the New Testament were reasonable and beautiful. Of course, one doesn’t need Lewis to see the self-authenticating glory of the gospel. But by mowing down arguments–especially the snobbish mentality of modernity that Screwtape calls “an inarticulate sense of actuality”–Lewis paved the way in my mind for Christ.

As I look at the influence Lewis has had on me, I see four characteristics that have shaped (or, that I hope shape!) my thinking and my feeling in my life.

1) A gentle absoluteness

Lewis’s work is consistently characterized by a calm, winsome, yet irresistible firm absoluteness. Lewis did not see a conflict between empathy with those who disagree and unyielding conviction that they were wrong. His book Miracles is a wonderful example of his ability to sympathize with the atheist-materialist worldview in a way that gives his case against it a moral and emotional credibility. Of course, much of this comes from the fact that Lewis spent much of his adult life as an unbeliever. I constantly come back to this fact whenever I am gripped, as many Christians are nowadays, by a fear of “wasting my life.” No life that finds Christ, however late and however feebly, is wasted.

2) A love of the written word

Lewis, professor of English, was a master at saying. I don’t just mean he was a master of writing, or even a master at thinking. I mean he was a master of saying. There is a crucial difference between the ability to talk, or write, and the ability to say. Putting one’s thoughts or one’s research on paper is an exercise between a person and the material. But saying involves a third party–the reader, the listener, the neighbor. Lewis’ ability to say–to say meaningful things in beautiful but precise ways–was one of his great gifts, and I’ve tried and will keep on trying to make it my own as long as I may.

3) A humble time for others

If you want to know what Lewis thought of others, perhaps the best thing to show you is this massive, wonderful 3-volume collection of his collected letters. Lewis made a point of responding (where health permitted) to anyone who corresponded with him. The day before he died, Lewis penned a reply to a young admirer who loved the Narnia books. The note, perhaps Lewis’ last ever, perfectly sums up so much about Lewis himself:

There are simply not many people who would advise a world-renowned academic, novelist, and philosopher to spend time on his deathbed responding to children’s fan mail. But Lewis did, and even as I write, his example shames me in my self-centeredness. “And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.” (1 Cor. 13:2)

4) An ability to see

Lewis could see. He could see the way ideas work together. More importantly, he could see the human condition. He understood that modernity was making a case not only against God, but against the individual. He understood that the Christian life isn’t lived in the “big” moments, but it can most certainly be thwarted in the small ones. He understood that materialism was attractive for an educated, postwar Western culture, but that it had a gaping hole at the center.

He also understood that truth was not, contra the linguistic philosophers, a mere power play by subculture against subculture. It’s sometimes said that Lewis would not have fit in with the fundamentalist evangelicals who love to claim him. That’s probably true. But it’s equally true that he would not have sailed quietly among those progressive revisionists, deconstructing the faith for a “new era.” In the Abolition of Man, Lewis exorciated modern teachers who urged their disciples to “see through” the claims of religion:

“You cannot go on ‘seeing through’ things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. It is good that a window should be transparent, because the street or the garden beyond is opaque. How if you saw through the garden too? It is no use trying to ‘see through’ first principles. If you see through everything, then everything is transparent. But a wholly transparent world is an invisible world. To ‘see through’ all things is the same as not to see.”

That quote has stayed with me since the first time I read it. Is there a better summation anywhere of the folly of learned unbelief?

I sometimes hear it said that the church needs a new C.S. Lewis for today. But that’s not quite right. What the church needs is the old C.S. Lewis of yesterday. And it needs preachers and teachers and moms and dads and children whose souls are shaped by the same transcendent “Joy” that captured Lewis.

I am thankful to C.S. Lewis, and to the Hound of Heaven who chased him–and me– down relentlessly with jealous love.

Rowling In the Deep

I have plans to see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them later today. Before I do, though, I want to reiterate a version of something I’ve said several times before in this space: Regardless of how good Fantastic Beasts is, and how much I enjoy it (which, based on reviews from people I trust, may be quite a lot), I think its existence is, for the most part, a mistake, and something that sincere fans of J.K. Rowling’s work will regret in years to come.

Right now, American pop culture is absolutely trapped in a hyper-nostalgia. There are plenty of reasons to be concerned that this isn’t just a fad or a phase. Rather, it looks more like a philosophical shift in how culture makers produce stories, and how we as an audience consume them. As A.O. Scott has written, so much of our film, TV, and literature appeals to childlikeness–not childlike wonder, mind you, but childlike sense of identity. Critical conversations about meaning and narrative are being thrown aside in what Scott has called the “ascendancy of the fan,” the transformation of mainstream pop culture into a mere collection of constantly rebooted brands: Marvel vs DC, Star Wars vs Star Trek, Bourne vs Bond, etc etc, ad infinitum.

I’ve said all this before, and I’m not going to restate my many comments here. But I want to very briefly apply these concerns to Rowling and to the Harry Potter universe. I have two reasons. First, I love the Potter series and have an especial affection and admiration for it. Second, I think what Rowling is doing with her legacy is the most glaring example we have of the danger of the reboot nostalgia culture.

The Harry Potter series (books 1-7) will, I’m convinced, be read widely with delight centuries from now. A few days ago I drew the wrath of Twitter when I declared that the Potter books were, taken as a whole, better than Lewis’s Narnia series. I stand by that. That’s not a dig at Narnia, either; I just believe that the Potter series is that good, and that its genius will only be greater appreciated in the years to come.

Part of that genius is in the story’s ending. I won’t spoil it (if you haven’t read the series, I envy the joy you will take in reading it for the first time), but the best way I can put it is that Rowling ended her tale with a beautiful and poetic symmetry that brought her characters a genuinely satisfying closure. At the last turn of the page in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, there is an eschatological joy in seeing good triumph over evil in a final, authoritative way.

What Rowling has done in the years since Deathly Hallows is more than marketing. She has sought to open up her mythology in a way that keeps the story going eternally. This was the point of Pottermore, a website that put users into the wizarding world through interactive content–content written by Rowling (as the ads for Pottermore made a point of repeating over and over again). Rowling’s involvement in Pottermore was clearly a pitch to fans that the story hadn’t ended, that the world was still being written and that by signing up for the service, they could be part of the new stories.

Rowling’s intentions became even more clearer with the publication of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Officially, the hardback copy that was sold in Barnes and Noble was simply the published script of a stage play, based on the Potter series. *Unofficially* (and again, in marketing), it was quite obviously the 8th book of the series. I never read the book, but my wife excitedly did. She was extremely disappointed, telling me that the characters of Cursed Child spoke and acted like fan fiction creations, not the heroes of books 1-7. Several reviews I saw echoed this sentiment.

The reviews for Fantastic Beasts have been much more positive, and I fully expect to enjoy it. But the pattern that Rowling has established thus far seems clear. The world of Harry Potter has been reopened, and its mythology has broken out of its original fate and is being written, and rewritten, and written again. It is, for all practical purposes, now a piece of fan fiction.

Fan fiction exists to let fans live inside their favorite stories. But one of the defining marks of all great stories is the way they live inside of us. What I fear is happening to Harry Potter is that a wonderful, beautiful piece of literature is becoming a cultural artifact to our inability to let stories teach us about this world and this life. The lessons we can draw from Harry, Ron, and Hermione are in danger of becoming lost in the constant reinvention of their world. By not letting our favorite stories end, we turn them into tools rather than teachers–objects that authenticate our childlike desire to not let go, to not courageously follow Harry outside the safety and comfort of our magical world, and into a dangerous, wild place where we have a job to do.

I want very much for succeeding generations to know the Harry Potter series as a brilliantly told, biblically haunted epic, not as another resource for Dungeons and Dragons devotees. My fear is that even in well-made films and interesting books, Harry’s lessons are lost, and we will be entertained and distracted at the cost of something precious.

Thoughts on Being a Dad

The other day a friend asked what I thought of being a new Dad. My answer was immediate: “It’s the best thing ever.” That wasn’t a lapse into kidspeak, either. I meant it literally. In my 28 years of life, I’ve never felt my heart glow warmer and brighter than it has for the last three months. My baby son has brought joy into our family’s home that we simply didn’t know existed. People told me it would be like that. I believed them, at least as much as you can believe people who tell you the Grand Canyon is amazing before you’ve actually stood before its ancient crevices.

I’m glad, too, that my son was born in 2016. If I’m being honest, I do worry about the world Charlie was just born into. I worry that my son has been born into a digital age that uses magic devices to vaporize childlike wonder. I worry that geopolitical tensions are trending toward the unsayable, right when he will be coming of age. I can come up with many reasons why I’d sleep easier if the world were different right now, or if we simply were somewhere else.

But I just said I’m glad he was born this year. The reason is admittedly selfish: Charlie is teaching me that everything matters, in a year and a season of life where I know I would be sorely tempted to believe the opposite. Everything matters, even the smallest, cheapest, most transitory things–especially those things.

I’ve been joking to my wife that having a baby has turned me into a sentimental puddle. That’s probably part of it. But I also think that this year, I’ve seen through the fog of cynicism in a way that I’ve never seen through it before. Why does our contemporary American culture seem to value snark and cynicism so much? Why are the best talk show hosts the ones who “destroy” a particular opinion or a particular candidate? Why are the best tweets the ones that make ordinary life sound ridiculous and meaningless? Why does everyone seem to want to be angry?

A popular internet meme right now says, “LOLnothingmatters.” That’s the E pluribus enum of the internet age. Nothing matters, nothing really, because it’ll all be cached and deleted and rebooted tomorrow anyway. In this vacuum of meaning, outrage and a dismissive “above it all” mentality  are what feel real. Nothing matters, except how stylishly one can declare that nothing matters.

I think this is a species of despair. There are reasons to despair, after all. We millennials were taught by teachers and TV that we had the whole world in our hands. Not true, apparently. The expressive individualism that was supposed to unlock our true selves has only made us lonelier and sadder than any other generation. Politics is hostile and deeply un-empathetic. Pop culture is mired in the stagnation of nostalgia. The only thing many people know they want is to go back in time, when “things were better.”

In this kind of atmosphere, it’s easy to forget what life is. Life isn’t huge moments of history-turning significance. Life is day after day after day of 4am feedings. Life isn’t national elections and What’s Happening In the World Today. It’s the same drive to church, the same walk through the same park, again and again. Our technological age makes us think that what’s really valuable is newness, speed, and cutting edge. Many people spend their life looking for the next “big” thing, the real Moment that will fill their void. What they miss completely is that there is no such Moment. There is no “tipping point.” Instead, there is morning and evening, day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year. That’s life.

Charlie knows nothing else but this life. He forgets yesterday as soon as it’s over. And that’s how his mother and I have to take care of him. We have to help him live each day for its own sake.

I think that’s what so many Christians miss. We become obsessed with not “wasting” our lives that we convince ourselves that life is the sum total of our majestic, “unwasted” moments. But that’s just not true. A small life isn’t wasted, because life itself is small, not huge. Instead of being busy trying not to waste my life, I have to simply live the life I already have: I’m a husband, a dad, a church member, an employee, etc. My unwasted life happens every day. When I remember this, I don’t panic at elections. I don’t give up on people. I don’t despair, because I know who I am is not dependent on how the world is doing today.

And I’m free to have joy. I can find pleasure in things like my son’s laugh, or our family’s favorite restaurant, or a good book. I don’t have to agonize over whether these things are helping me be “productive” or, in more spiritual lingo, “advancing” the kingdom. The kingdom isn’t Bible study + mission trips. It’s dirty diapers and snotty noses, because that’s where Jesus is.

My boy is only 3 months old, and already he is showing me where Jesus is. Now that’s the best thing ever.

The True Value of Halloween

A woman once wrote to C.S. Lewis in great distress. It appeared, she said, that England was becoming a very pagan nation. By “pagan”  the woman meant the culture of Britain was reverting back to pre-Christian belief systems of spiritism, idolatry, and nature-worship. She expressed this concern earnestly to professor Lewis to see what analysis or prescription he could give to the state of the nation.

Lewis’s reply was unexpected. “You fear England’s returning to paganism,” he wrote. “Oh that it would!” Lewis explained that, though paganism was false, it was truer than materialism and a much preferable place for a culture to be. A “pre-Christian” culture, Lewis argued, would at least entertain ideas about reality that allowed for the unseen, the metaphysical, and the supernatural. The militant, materialistic atheism of Lewis’s 20th century Oxford had no such upward view.

One of Lewis’s great gifts was pointing that which is so obvious that we probably missed it. Christians have a completely different definition of reality than the rest of the world, but nowhere is the difference more significant than with materialists and philosophical naturalists. The gospel cuts across every rival worldview, whether spiritualistic or agnostic, but for the person who believes that things like resurrections and advents cannot happen in this world, Christianity is totally unintelligible. Christianity doesn’t merely feature the supernatural and miraculous, it demands them. Christianity is an universe in which the otherwordly and metaphysical are not just occasional guests but permanent residents. The Gospel tells us that that the natural world is not the only world; in fact, the natural world isn’t the realest world.

I’m afraid that this fact isn’t just a stumbling block for atheists, but for many Christians as well. This time of year many Americans will be celebrating Halloween. Even as many evangelical Christians have deep concerns with the casual costuming of the demonic and the spiritually dark (and those concerns are valid!), it’s possible that we may have missed an obvious fact: Halloween is one of the few cultural institutions we as a country have left that invites contemplation on the realities beyond our immediate physical world, realities like death, spirits, and evil.

In a way, American thinking about Halloween is more Christian than its thinking about Christmas, a holiday that has been overwhelmingly loaded with secular symbols of youth and and wealth and Western self-satisfaction. What is Santa Claus but a secular savior, a perpetually positive grandfather who stops by once a year to tell you what a good life you are living?

Santa Claus, as a symbol, requires no serious thought about the permanent, the unseen, and the immortal. By contrast, the ghoulish symbols of Halloween may be less “family-friendly” than Santa, but they are grounded much more deeply in fundamental truths about good, evil, and death. There is no jolly old man waiting to give gifts to the good children, either in the North Pole or in heaven. Death, however, is real. Demons are real. Evil is real. In our contemporary society, it’s almost as if the doctrines of Christianity are much more evident in the ghastly images of Halloween than the comfortable, consumeristic images of Christmas.

That is a tragedy. It’s a tragedy because, in truth, Christmas is not merely a contrast to Halloween but an answer to it. The deathly realities of October are no match for the advent realities of December. It’s true that evil and death are real, but they are not as real as Immanuel. In Halloween, death takes on flesh. At Christmas, life takes on flesh, as Jesus Christ enters the world to destroy the works of the prince of demons. To lose either of these realities is to filter the gospel through what is ultimately a materialistic, unbelieving lens.

I’m not at all saying that Christians must lose whatever reservations they have about Halloween. After all, if there are indeed spiritual realities in the symbols of Halloween, we must take how we treat such symbols more seriously, not less. There are good reasons to place practical boundaries on ourselves and on our children for how we engage the holiday. And the same is true of Christmas. It is no good to ban Halloween from our families and our churches on account of its darkness, and then celebrate the Christmas season just like our materialistic, legalistic culture. Both Christmas and Halloween have the potential to be nothing more in our lives than monuments to our worship of fun and food. But it doesn’t have to be that way, not if we know the gospel that gives weight and meaning and history and truth to these days.

I’m probably going to see some Christians on Facebook this weekend decry the ugly, offensive symbols of Halloween, and implore parents to remind their children that they must not associate with such things. I won’t protest that. But I do hope that, in an age where most young people grow up to ultimately believe not in ghosts, Holy or otherwise, but mostly in themselves and their own right to self-actualization, we do not despise every opportunity to remind ourselves that life and youth do not last forever.