Wisdom and Folly

We are now just five days from Election Day, and most Americans have decided on the presidential candidate for whom they will cast their vote next Tuesday.  I have decided who will get my vote, but it will be neither Barack Obama nor John McCain.  And the reason in both cases boils down to personal integrity.  For all of their considerable talents and leadership skills, the moral character of both of these men is too flawed to justify my support.

In the case of Obama his character flaws are apparent in his questionable associations, the most astonishing of which is his long-time pastor, Jeremiah Wright.  Wright is not just a liberation theologian.  He is a radical anti-American racist, whose rhetoric is more venomous than anything I’ve seen in public life.  Yet Obama sat under his preaching for twenty years?  Unbelievable.  Another disturbing association of Obama’s is Bill Ayers, the domestic terrorist with whom Obama served on a Chicago education board. Obama’s claim that he didn’t know about Ayers’ terrorist past at the time is implausible.  Finally, there is Obama’s utter insensitivity to sanctity of life issues.  Set aside his unyielding pro-choice position and his breathtaking assertion that determining when human life begins is “above my pay grade.”  (Come on, Barack.  As difficult as that might be, you must have some belief regarding the matter.  And surely anyreasonable person must admit that a pre-born child is human at least by the point of viability.)  The most astounding thing is Obama’s refusal (four times) to support the Born Alive Infant Protection Act, which simply mandated that babies which survive abortions should receive medical attention to keep them alive.  Intentionally allowing a baby to die is, of course, infanticide.  And Obama’s refusal to support legislation to prevent such is complicity with this heinous act.  To say that this reveals a character flaw on his part is, well, an understatement.

As far as McCain is concerned, I do appreciate the man’s honorable service as a soldier, especially his heroic commitment to his fellow servicemen while a P.O.W. during the Vietnam War.  I also appreciate McCain’s respect for the sanctity of life and his take on several other issues.  But he, too, has a seriously chequered past.  McCain was unfaithful to his first wife, leaving her for his current wife, Cindy, even while his first wife was recovering from a serious automobile accident.  Yes, this was nearly thirty years ago, but there have been whiffs of questionable behavior since, such as regarding McCain’s inappropriate relationship with lobbyist Vicki Iseman.  Adultery is no small matter, as it demonstrates a person’s willingness to flout the most sacred vow two human beings can make.  If a man is willing to break that vow, then why should we trust him when it comes to his commitment to the American people?  And if the Clinton years taught us anything, it is that the so-called “private life” of a President is never just that.  So I cannot cast a vote for McCain.  (In fact, I have a personal rule never to vote for a known adulterer.)

But I do plan to vote in the presidential election.  So for whom shall I cast my ballot?  At this point I plan to write in the name of someone who is consummately qualified and has impeccable character:  Condoleeza Rice.  I will refrain from extolling her virtues here, otherwise this post might never end!  Suffice it to say that she has the moral integrity that I wish either Obama or McCain had.  Oy vey.

In these politically divisive times, there are lots of ways we see our nation divided and categorized: by political party, race, religion, occupation, beverage of choice. Okay, so maybe this last category doesn’t cut as deep a divide as the others, but nonetheless, I think you can tell a lot about a person by what they choose to imbibe. Now there is the classic divide of coffee or tea. People of both persuasions take the process of brewing or steeping, whatever the case might be, pretty seriously. I have seen people approach their coffeemakers, if they are hard core, like priests approaching the altar, especially if they have a French press.

Jim switched from coffee to tea a few years back, due to his battle with gastric reflux. While this was a great disappointment to the kids who had become accustomed to begging a swig or two from his coffee mug each morning, I think he is now in the correct camp for his disposition, not to mention his digestion. I see the coffee drinker as high energy/intense. This is not Jim, who relates much better to the methodical and slower pace of tea drinking.

Allow me to describe the typical process of making a cup of tea in our house. First, heat the water. This is actually a great controversy in our household because Jim much prefers the microwave, while I rely on the electric kettle. Next you forget that you have heated the water (in either way previously described) and you have to start again, because by the time you remember, the water has gotten cold again. After reheating the water, you choose a tea bag and once again walk away, perhaps to wipe a bottom (always a great pre-beverage-consumption activity) or to settle a dispute. Returning to your steeping cup, you realize that once again, it’s cold. After reheating, adding half and half and honey (if you are Jim, you use more honey than Winnie the Pooh) you try to drink it. But wait, it’s too hot. So you leave the tea, and do something else only to come back too late and find that your tea is—say it with me now—cold. So you give it one more zap in the microwave (it now contains enough microwaves to scramble a pacemaker) and drink, burning your tongue with each sip, but you’ve come this far, right? Gee, I don’t’ know why I don’t do that more often. My aversion to this process obviously reveals my issues with patience and instant gratification. I applaud Jim for his perseverance but prefer my beverage consumption not to be an exercise in self-discipline.

So, you might be asking yourself, what do I drink—water? Please. I am among an elite group of drinkers whose beverage of choice is the Polar Pop. Now allow me to enlighten those of you who do not have the honor of living in Indiana. The Polar Pop is a very large, very cold fountain drink. You can only buy it in a limited number of convenient stores in our area, though it has its imitators, like all greats do. You can get a Polar Pop in either brand you prefer, but I, of course, like all distinguished connoisseurs of carbonated beverages, head directly for the Coke side of the dispenser. I quickly fill my Styrofoam (that’s right, not only am I consuming 32 oz. of liquid goodness-knows-what, but it is all contained within a large, non-biodegradable container) with ice and fill with half caf and half decaf Diet Coke. In and out in less than a minute if the line is short, which is good thing because I am usually squeezing the stop in between either dropping off or picking up one of the kids and dropping off or picking up one of the other kids. The size of the drink is definitely a plus because if the kids are present, there is usually a lot sharing going on. If the choice of coffee or tea reflects on the chooser, then what does the Polar Pop reveal about me? Besides the obvious—that I am not as environmentally or health conscious as I ought to be—I think the draw of the Polar Pop for me is the ritual of it. I love the fact that with little variation I can go through the ceremony of getting my Polar Pop in a very orderly and predictable way each time, going to the same gas station and getting the same drink. I get the same style of cup (the cup holder-friendly model) and get cranky if they don’t have the blue straws as opposed to the skinny white ones. (I also drink tea, when I can endure the process, out of the same mug, eat the same cereal for breakfast every morning, and reread books again and again. It’s a sickness, I know.)

In an attempt to pull this post out of the abyss of complete triviality it has thus far been wallowing in, I will say this. There is a natural human tendency to cling to what is visible, that which we can touch and feel and even taste. While my near-obsession with the Polar Pop seems harmless enough, there are days when I suck down Diet Coke like a prayer to heaven, seeking comfort from the familiar. But I think that even in routine, God speaks and does indeed comfort. Otherwise, why would He make the sun rise and fall each day in pretty much the same way and have the seasons follow one another in the same order? If He likes order and routine, why shouldn’t we who are created in His image? Perhaps the draw of routine is part of the Imago Dei, however dimly disguised in the contents of a Styrofoam cup.

I have a good friend who likes to say that “life is a series of deaths.”  In saying this, he is referring to the fact that our journey on this planet involves many farewells and demands of self-denial—and each of these represents some kind of permanent loss.  As you grow your childhood perishes.  With each graduation during your school years you say goodbye to friends, many of whom you will never seen again.  And the ones with whom you do stay in touch you will never know in that context again.  When you marry, much of your freedom dies, and with the birth of each child you must lay aside worthwhile projects and even some dreams.  And then come the real deaths.  You lose friends to accidents, cancers, and even suicide.  Your parents begin to fail and suddenly you find yourself having to parent them in return, perhaps nursing them into that good night—always half believing its not really happening.  It’s just one death after another.

Sounds pretty bleak, doesn’t it?  Well, it would be if that were the whole story.  And I suppose that if I thought it was, perhaps I’d have gone the way of some of my departed friends by now.  But it’s not the whole story.  Because with each of those deaths has come new life.  God has a way of replacing lost projects and dreams with even greater projects and dreams.  Far beyond the meager imaginings of my youth and even my young adulthood is the joy and satisfaction I’ve found in my wife and children as well as the broader community of which we are a part.  What calling is higher than investing your life in other souls?  Even the pains we feel in this context are, as C.S. Lewis would say, “more precious than all other gains.”

Of course, there are goodbyes ahead for all of these relationships as well.  More deaths to come in a seemingly endless train.  But it’s not really endless.  One day, we are told, all death will cease and God will wipe away every tear.  And, if Scripture is to be trusted, there are good things which emerge from our earthly trials—good things which are endless, such as the virtues we develop in persevering (cf. James 1:2-4; 1 Pet. 1:5-7).  God does not put us through this soul-grind without reason.  He does so to mold us into something wonderful, even the image of Christ.  And if that isn’t worth enduring a series of deaths, then nothing is.

In picking up Ed Cyzewski’s new book Coffeehouse Theology: Reflecting on God in Everyday Life, I had many different expectations. Ed, Jim and I had exchanged several e-mails and I greatly appreciated Ed’s style and humor. I was looking forward to my first nonfiction read in a while and happily accepted Ed’s request for Wisdom & Folly to be included on his blog tour. What I didn’t expect was a cross-cultural experience.

One of my most convicting and enlightening experiences occurred immediately after I graduated from college. Why is it, by the way, those two so often road trip together? Just once I would love to have Enlightenment show up on my doorstep unexpectedly and say “Hey, I thought I would leave Conviction sleeping on the couch this time. How about some mind-blowing insights, just you and me?” Anyway, what was I saying? Ah, yes-mind-stretching and self-mortifying experience. I embarked on an overseas missions trip with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship to Ukraine. I can’t really say why I went on this trip (it certainly wasn’t for any of the reasons one should), but I definitely learned a lot from it. I had traveled overseas before, but more as a sightseer and general laborer, never in a one on one situation, day in day out. Frankly, it was exhausting. As the days stretched on and I felt myself being drained of what little spiritual energy I had at the time, I found myself clinging more and more to anything American. I drank Diet Coke at every opportunity, gobbled candy bars like there was no tomorrow and wept at the sight of the American delegation making its way into the Olympics. I didn’t want to share my precious symbols of home with anyone, which very much went against the communal mindset of the Ukrainians. I was happy to buy you your own, but keep your distance from my Snickers, okay comrade? One day two friends and I had had enough of the boiled beets and hot tea for lunch and headed to the nearby village with visions of pizza dancing before our eyes. As we neared the village, our faithful leader came thundering down the path to stop us. We had unintentionally offended our Ukrainian friends by shunning the prepared food and showing off our ability to buy an alternative. With great embarrassment and not a little righteous indignation, we returned to eat lunch with the rest of the group. (I believe humble pie was on the menu that day.) It was then that I began to reflect on just how ingrained certain values were to me as an American: independence, individualism and consumerism, to name a few. Not all bad in the proper context, but they nonetheless placed me in a certain context both culturally and economically. If I wanted to minister to these students I had traveled so far to meet, I was going to have to check some of these values like luggage at the gate, knowing I might never see them again.

This is the challenge that Ed Cyzewski gently but forcefully issues in Coffehouse Theology. If we are to attempt to understand God and his inspired word, the Bible, we must understand ourselves and the context in which we live, because our biases and cultural beliefs form a lens through which we see the world and the scriptures. As Ed puts it “Once we understand where we come from and who we are, we can then step into the important task of knowing God through Christian theology.” For me, just as with my experience overseas, this book was an opportunity to be challenged by a different perspective and come to understand myself as well as others more clearly. I didn’t always agree with Ed, but I could certainly appreciate where he was coming from and also appreciate the magnanimous spirit with which he presents all sides of important debates. As Ed says, he isn’t so much interested in convincing you one way or another, but rather opening a healthy dialogue, and he does just this with a light and humble touch. (Plus, I must add, I greatly appreciated his somewhat random cultural references and the use of parentheticals.)  I would definitely recommend Coffeehouse Theology to anyone interested in theology as a way of better understanding God in everyday life and especially within our postmodern context. Within its pages, you just might find Enlightenment hanging out all by his lonesome, ready to go wherever the road might take you.

I love tradition. If ever we do anything the same way twice (the same holiday routine, the same vacation spot, the same meal two Saturdays in a row), I immediately want to canonize it and say that we have to do it the same way every year. When Christmas time rolls around, I try to find as many ways as humanly possible to “create” tradition while Jim huddles in a corner somewhere, waiting out the storm of my enthusiasm. We have to listen to the same Christmas CD while putting up the tree, eat the same foods, use the same ornaments, etc. This also applies to my church-going routine. If I could convince my family to attend a church that played only hymns from the first century A.D. sung in Latin, I would do it. I am greatly comforted by the knowledge that if I am in error, I can blame some guy with a funny name who died thousands of years ago who may or may not have shaken the hand of our Lord and Savior. Sadly there are no such churches in our area so we have settled on a reformed church with one foot solidly planted in traditional worship and maybe a big toe and a few smaller appendages dabbling in the territory of the more contemporary.

Anyhoo, when we are visiting my greatly esteemed parents, we have occasion to visit their church. It is a good church and the preaching is excellent but the worship style is definitely a stretch for my traditional tastes. On a recent visit, I was struggling with both the style and content of a string of choruses, when a realization hit me like a censer between the eyes. (According to Wikipedia a censer is a small metal or stone dish used for burning incense which in the Roman Catholic Church is suspended on chains.) The reason I object to so many of the modern choruses is what I perceive to be an overemphasis on our emotional response to God. It isn’t that I am against emotion in general. (Just ask my kids, who enjoy forcing me to read “The Giving Tree” or “The Story of the Three Trees” just to watch me blubber like a whale on hormones at the end of each.) I love classic hymns because they tend to focus our attention on God’s attributes and his saving works, and my pigheaded self-centeredness needs all the refocusing it can get. But what I hadn’t realized was that although there are certainly some doctrinally justifiable objections to a number of choruses making the rounds these days, I was not responding based on such reason. I was responding with my emotions. I don’t like that style and it doesn’t make me feel like I am worshiping God.

I believe that there are some objective standards by which we can evaluate sacred music. (Like, for starters, could we have an actual melody that most of us can sing? And is it mandatory to repeat the chorus fourteen times? Just a thought. Not that I am bitter or anything.) But I do believe that there is a lot of room for diversity here, and we (okay, I) need to be careful that worship is what it is meant to be—an expression of our obedience to God, not an expression of how we are feeling at the moment. And if I like to worship in the traditional (read: correct) ways and you like to worship in the contemporary (read: slightly less correct but perfectly within the bounds of orthodoxy) ways, then that’s okay. Yes, we should hold one another accountable to standards of excellence in both content and form. But within those standards there is a great deal of room for diversity, just as there is a great deal of diversity within the body as a whole. After all, we are a body of many parts, not just one big toe.

My son, Bailey, has a friend named Conner who has been asking his parents some very challenging theological questions of late.  He is only eight years old, but Conner has been stumping his mom and dad just like my kids stump me from time to time.  Recently he asked, “How do we know that our religion (Christianity) is the true one and the others are wrong?”  Whoa.  That’s a toughy.  This is one of those cases where the kid’s question itself is as encouraging as it is challenging.  It’s encouraging because it shows that he is already thinking critically about worldviews.  And it’s challenging, of course, because, well, the question raises a whole nest of difficult issues.  It’s also worth noting that Conner’s question presupposes two important truths.  First, it assumes that there is such a thing as truth in religion and, secondly, it assumes that not all religions can be true.  So the question as to why we should believe Christianity is the one true religion is itself insightful.

So, then, how do we know that Christianity is true?  The short answer is that we know this through special revelation—the Bible.  Scripture tells us that Jesus Christ is the unique of Son of God, that he lived a sinless life, and that he died and rose from the dead to save humanity from their sins.  This is the essence of the gospel and the heart of Christianity.  It is also the essential doctrine of our faith which distinguishes it from all other religious faiths.  The great theistic traditions of Judaism and Islam, for all their many insights and true doctrines (e.g., that there is a personal God who created the world and communicates with us through special revelation, etc.), deny the divinity of Christ.  And pantheistic religions, such as Hinduism and New Age thought, deny that Jesus Christ is uniquely divine (since they affirm that all human beings are essentially divine). 

Christianity stands alone in affirming that Jesus is the unique God-man and savior of the world.  And this core Christian belief is based on the teachings of the New Testament.  So, then, the next question is whether the New Testament is trustworthy.  Without delving into technicalities, the evidence for the historicity (historical reliability) of the N.T. documents is overwhelming.  In fact, the manuscript attestation for the New Testament documents is incomparably greater than that for any other ancient documents.  For an informative—a surprisingly stimulating—book on this subject, I highly recommend F. F. Bruce’s classic The New Testament Documents: Are They Reliable?  And there are many other excellent resources, such as Craig Blomberg’s The Historical Reliability of the Gospels and Richard Bauckham’s Jesus and the Eyewitnesses, which confirm our confidence in the New Testament and, in turn, its central claim that Jesus Christ is uniquely divine.

So it all comes down to the identity of Jesus Christ.  Is he the God-man or a mere mortal?  This is not only the central question in the study of comparative religions but also the central question of human history.  Either Jesus is divine and Christianity is the one true religion, or he was a fraud and Christianity is a scandalous lie.  Neither of those alternatives is benign.  Both have profound implications for the meaning of life.  So kudos to Conner for posing such a foundational question.  He has gotten to the heart of the matter.  And all of us, not just his parents, need to be ready with an answer.

By the way, in my book Gum, Geckos, and God I tackle many questions like these posed by my own kids.  I’m interested in hearing other insightful and challenging theological questions posed by children (or adults, for that matter), so let me know if you have a good one to share.

One of the most embarrassing moments of my life happened several years ago when I was supposed to be meeting a friend at a local night spot. (Okay, it was a club. There are you satisfied? I used to go dancing at night clubs. Sue me.). This was at a time in my life when I was extremely conscious of my appearance and looking “cool.” I found that at least one cure for this self-consciousness is giving birth to four kids as well as going out of the house on a daily basis with vomit, snot, or poop smeared somewhere on my clothing. Anyhoo, back to the pre-vomit-stained version of myself.  I was sitting at a table waiting for my friend, when I saw him walk by. I attempted to get his attention but failed to raise my voice to the decibel level required to exceed that of the music giving me permanent hearing loss. I hopped up and bopped after him. (The pre-vomit-stained version of me often bopped along, here and there. Sadly this too is no more. Sigh.) I followed him up a ramp and encountered a back room to the club that I hadn’t realized existed. As I was heading into the room, a girl was blocking my way. I stepped to one side, as did she. I stepped to the other side and she did as well. I looked up and laughed, feeling like I was in an episode of I Love Lucy, when I noticed this girl was rather cute. Then to my horror, she stopped being cute and became my own reflection. I was standing in front of a mirror and had been attempting to side-step myself.

In a lot of ways, this experience sums up my life. I spend most of my time thinking about myself, trying to make myself happy, admiring my brilliance, etc. When I am not thus occupied, I am wallowing in disgust at my self-centered hedonism. It isn’t as though I wake up every morning in love with myself, longing to see what great deeds I will perform today. Despite appearances to the contrary, I have a fairly realistic picture of my many faults and limitations. (Dare I say I pride myself on it?)  Yet thoughts of self-interest and self-congratulations pop, seemingly unbidden, into my head continually throughout the day. It is as if I am trapped in front of that mirror, desperately trying to get out of my own way so I can move on.

It is an astonishing paradox to me that I find myself to be the most obnoxious and morally repulsive person I know, yet throughout the day I constantly think how to gratify and admire myself. When trapped in the corner of my own self-loathing and faced with the bleak landscape of my inner thought life, I become like a crazed beast, desperately seeking escape. (It’s like being trapped in a Gap fitting room wearing pants that are at least one size too small.) Cheeks burning with shame, I cast around wildly in a vain attempt to prop up my quickly wilting self-esteem. Sometimes I begin sizing up others (literally and figuratively) in some sort of warped moral version of a beauty contest: “Okay, Miss Down-the-Street is a better cook and kicks my butt in the ‘Consistent Quiet Time’ segment of the evening but I could definitely take her on in bread-making and bedtime reading. If I work out three times this week and dust of the old Bible, I think I could make it to second runner-up for sure.” Unfortunately, I know a lot of really good people and too often looking outward doesn’t do that much for building up my self-image. So then I turn inward and go for old reliable—my good intentions. Sure, I just lost it with the kids on the way out the door today, but my intention was to be on time and I did apologize and smooth it over with a slushy, so there. Or maybe not.

This is where that other old reliable comes in—the Gospel. It is in its reflection that I see with great clarity those dusty corners no one else knows. But it is also in its reflection that I see the grace and mercy that has been purchased for me—at great cost and effort but providentially, not my own. So the next time you find yourself trapped in the mirror of your discontent, look that image straight in the eye and say “Hey you’re kind of cute—in a saved but still-in-progress kind of way.”

The recent discussion of gay marriage (see my October 2 post and related comments) has reminded me once again how difficult it is to be both culturally liberal and morally conservative.  It seems that today most folks fall into one of these categories but not the other.  That is, people tend to be either culturally liberal or morally conservative.  By culturally liberal I mean someone who readily recognizes and aggressively pursues truth, goodness, and beauty in culture-from politics and higher learning to art forms such as film, literature, and popular music.  By contrast, a cultural conservative would be someone who does not share this inclination but rather is suspicious of culture and human creative expressions.  A parallel distinction can be made regarding a person’s moral sensibilities.  Moral liberals are those who readily embrace shifts in ethical standards, while moral conservatives are suspicious of such change.

Perhaps it is only natural that people tend to be liberal or conservative generally rather than according to context or subject matter.  That is, our tendency to be liberal or conservative is not isolated to particular areas or issues.  It’s no coincidence that the artistic centers of our culture, from Hollywood and Broadway to art institutes and MTV, are also the most morally liberal communities.  And it’s also not coincidental that the most morally conservative communities tend to have little interest in the arts.  Similarly, the press and media, as well as the most prestigious centers of learning tend to be liberal, while people from the most morally conservative faith traditions are those who are least likely to run in these cultural circles.

Now these are very general observations, I know.  But these tendencies should be obvious enough to all of us.  I consider it to be a tragic trend, as it is the timeless moral truths which made American culture possible in the first place and which will sustain it as long as it lasts.  While it is appropriate to question or reject artistic norms and institutional conventions, moral verities such as the sanctity of human life and sexuality cannot be rejected without devastating repercussions, both in individual lives and culture at large.

So the noble challenge, as I see it, is to vigorously explore the arts and other aspects of contemporary culture while maintaining one’s ethical moorings; to remain committed to abiding ethical principles without sacrificing the will to eagerly pursue truth, goodness, and beauty in human creations-in short, to be a cultural liberal and a moral conservative.  It’s a challenge because somehow, at least at this time in our history, it is unnatural.  And it’s a noble challenge because it is for our own good-both as individuals and as a society.

How I clean my house is, I’m afraid to say, indicative of how I live my life. I often care less about whether things are actually clean than about whether they have the appearance of cleanliness. I love people coming to my house when the floor still smells like Pine-sol and you can make out the tracks of the vacuum cleaner. But if you happen to open the wrong closet door, beware of the avalanche of “yet to be filed” items that will shower down upon you. In the same way, more frequently than I care to admit, I find myself greeting people with all the visible surfaces wiped clean and the scent of pulled- togetherness hanging about my head. Upon such occasions, if you were to peek in the windows of my soul, you are more likely to be shocked by the resentful insecurity and anger that are lying about like dirty socks which missed the laundry basket than bedazzled by how pristine my heart is.

My superficial approach doesn’t stem from a desire to impress but rather a terror of disappointing people with the reality of my inner life. This is one of the reasons I love my husband and need him so desperately, both in my housekeeping and in my spiritual life. He will spend three hours cleaning our stove and can’t stand for people to see the evidence of the frenetic cleaning which took place five minutes (sometimes less) before their arrival. He is very methodical in his cleaning, just like his approach to spiritual development—slow and steady wins the race. His substance draws me back to reality and his graciousness has helped me to feel less fearful of being a disappointment to people.

Lately I have been connecting the dots as to how my fear of discovery bleeds into every area of my life including my hobbies and interests. I love Victorian literature because of the formality and restraints of the time, not in spite of them. I love going to the movies and eating out, having an experience and leaving behind all the dirty dishes and the empty popcorn boxes. I love organizing and putting things where they belong.

One of my favorite sayings of my dad’s (though I must confess to not particularly appreciating it in my younger years) is “a place for everything and everything in its place.” As I look back, I realize that this desire to be tidy has paralleled my desire to be more spiritually mature and serious. I used to be an absolute slob. My father, a methodical cleaner just like my husband, once accused me of starting a new landfill in the backseat of my car. Soon after I got married, however, when the rubber of married life was hitting the road of my need to change my selfish ways, I began to enjoy cleaning. Now that I have four kids, my standards have lowered significantly but I can spend a good hour organizing my daughter’s bookshelf by subject, size, and age appropriateness. Of course, you could be eaten alive by the dust bunnies hidden under the bookshelf. Still, I will defend my longing for order.

When you study the Bible and see all of God’s wisdom and promises fulfilled, you see we weren’t meant for this chaotic, grey world but a world revolving in perfect harmony around the God who created it with “a place for everything and everything in its place.” My penchant for categorizing everything is my longing for heaven, an attempt to make sense out of chaos. Maybe my desire for things to be orderly isn’t a desire to appear perfect so much as a reflection of my desire to be made perfect.

One of the more divisive moral-political issues of our time is gay marriage.  Conservative Christians oppose gay marriage and are often criticized because their only reasons for doing so are biblical in nature.  This rankles some people who complain that Christians want their theological views to be the foundation for civil laws.  (Of course, the Judeo-Christian ethic is the foundation of many of our laws, but this fact seems lost on lots of folks these days.)

For a long time I was convinced that the only conclusive arguments against gay marriage are theological.  Many have proposed philosophical arguments against gay marriage—typically utilitarian in nature—but these tend to be weak, essentially useful only as supplements to arguments from Scripture.  So I set myself to the task of coming up with a strong philosophical argument (preferably non-utilitarian in nature).  I think I might have accomplished just this with an argument which essentially claims that gay marriage is unjust.  Here it is, for your perusal:

1. Heterosexual union is the indispensable means by which humans come into existence and therefore has special social value (indeed, the greatest possible social value because it is the first precondition for society).

2. The indispensable means by which something of special social value can occur itself has special value.

3. What has special value to human society deserves special social recognition and sanction.

4. Civil ordinances which recognize gay marriage as comparable to heterosexual marriage constitute a rejection of the special value of heterosexual unions.

5. To deny the special social value of what has special social value is unjust.

6. Therefore, gay marriage is unjust.

I have shared this argument with many of my friends and colleagues, and the criticisms have consistently missed the point—suggesting, for example, that the argument assumes that the only purpose of marriage is procreation (which it does not) or that it implies a complete denial of the civil rights of homosexuals (which, again, it does not).  Still others have made the more subtle mistake of interpreting me as saying that gay marriage implies a denial of all value of heterosexual unions.  Clearly, the argument does no such thing.  The whole point of the argument concerns the special value of traditional marriage.

At any rate, the lack of strong objections has only strengthened my conviction that the argument is sound.  Now I am curious if anyone can muster a decent criticism (without lapsing into ad hominems, emotional pleas, and other fallacies).  I am also curious as to how many of you, like me, find the argument persuasive.