Tag: faith

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On Glenn Beck and Restoring Honor

By Amy Spiegel

As a stay-at-home mom with no television access, the radio is a huge part of my news and entertainment world. I often spin the dial while cleaning or cooking, and catch a bit of talk radio. It not only keeps me in the loop, but keeps me company as well. Sometime post 9/11, I became a fan of the Glenn Beck Radio Program. This is back when Beck’s fusion of entertainment and enlightenment was heavy on the entertainment. I resonated with his conservative views and belly laughed at things such as “Moron Trivia.”

Over the years, however, the show and Beck have taken a decided turn towards the serious. I must confess to longing, at times, for a good prank call rather than hour upon hour of warnings and—is there any other word for it?—prophecies regarding the political and economic future of our country. Sometimes listening to G.B. is a bit like being in the mall with my kids when they spot some unfortunately overweight person and proceed to very loudly announce to all those gathered within earshot “Look Mommy, that man’s really fat!” You can’t really argue the facts of their case but it is certainly socially awkward to have it brought to your (and the rest of the mall’s) attention.

I have felt an increasing internal tension as I have listened to Beck’s calls for repentance and a return to our founding values. That tension did not resolve itself as I listened to much of the Restoring Honor rally he hosted in Washington D.C. this past weekend.  It wasn’t that I disagreed with any of the basic principles being expressed. I certainly think that our nation, both corporately and as individuals have plenty to repent of, but I am not comfortable with marrying my faith with my allegiance to my nation. Now don’t get me wrong: I certainly think that my faith should permeate every area of my life, those which would be deemed private and those which would fall into the public square. And since our country can be a moral agent for both good and evil, it seems appropriate that we have both pride and shame regarding our nation’s deeds. As I have listened to Mr. Beck call Americans to lives of honor, hope and charity (and expect those who “serve” as our leaders to do the same), I find I can only agree. As I have read the criticisms of those who oppose or are offended by him, I find a great lack of substantive examination and a great deal of name-calling and pettiness.

In the end, I support Beck’s ideals of restoring honor to the lives of our citizens. But I would hope that he would support the idea that it is not in the founders of nation but in the Creator of the universe where our ultimate hope lies. Whether or not we as a nation survive or perish, one day all nations will gather and we the people will discover what it is to be truly free.

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Faith and the Friendly Skies

By Amy Spiegel

Have you ever noticed how everyday activities that you do without much thought seem rather odd when you step back and examine them? I have shared my love for carbonated beverages with you and while I am still very much attached (some might say addicted) to my Polar Pops, it is a bit absurd when you think that each day I drink a mixture of food coloring, bubbles and sugar and pay for the privilege. In my recent travels with our nine year old, I had one of those re-evaluation moments. Bailey and I were settling in for our long, overseas flight. The flight attendant was going over the emergency instructions, and I suddenly realized that I was getting ready to travel over a very large ocean for hours on end inside a flying metal box with my precious first born at my side. What was I thinking?!? You can quote all the safety statistics you want; they all seem a bit meaningless when a smiling, well-groomed young woman is explaining the procedure for hurling yourself into shark infested waters. (Okay, so I don’t know if they were actually shark infested, but at this point I don’t think I was at my most logical. Plus I watch a lot of Discovery Channel.)

While highlighting some of my submerged irrationality, this also provided a moment of clarity that was very encouraging. As I played through the scenarios of destruction, I tried to think of what I would say to Bailey if we did indeed face a life-threatening situation. Of course, in reality, I might have some difficulty being eloquent while plummeting from the sky. Still, something did strike me like a plastic bag on the head from the overhead compartment. If in fact the cabin did lose pressure—after first securing my own oxygen mask and then assisting my child—I could look him square in the eye and with all honesty say, as best one can while breathing oxygen through a plastic bag, “Buddy, we are going to see Jesus. We have absolutely nothing to fear.”

This statement may seem terribly Sunday School basic to you, but for me it marked a huge step in my faith. For though I have been affirming the happily-ever-after that awaits those who follow Him since I was knee high to a grasshopper and have seen more flannel-graph depictions of God’s plan for our salvation than you can shake a stick at, I am constantly plagued with the what-ifs that you face the other six days of the week. This especially pertains to my kids. Forget questioning whether or not I am instructing them correctly in the Gospel. Most days my prayer is that I am not convincing them of the opposite. The awesome responsibility of forming someone’s worldview from the ground up is too often a task I feel completely inadequate for. But as we placed our trays and seats in the upright position and perused the movie selection, the simplicity of it all settled over me. It reminds me of the story told of Karl Barth, the great Christian theologian who was asked by a student to sum up the most profound truth he had discovered in his life. Barth responded with the words “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” We may not know much more than that, but thankfully that’s more than we will ever need to know.  So just relax and enjoy the flight.

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Heaven Can’t Wait

By Amy Spiegel

Whenever I go on Amazon.com, which is sadly at least two or three times a day, I feel the full weight of the finiteness of our time on earth. Along with having a thing about food, I also love books, which translates into an obsession over my Wish List almost as much as my Netflix queue. I love browsing for books I will never buy and buying books I will never have time to read. But as I sit staring at the mile-high pile of books on my bedside table, I whisper a short prayer that goes something like this “Dear Lord, please help me to live long enough to have more than five minutes at a time to read interesting books. If I could just have a few years of enjoyable reading, Lord, I could go to heaven happy.”

I do realize that this actually borders on sickness and perhaps even heresy. In essence what I am saying is “No, Lord, I don’t want to live in eternal bliss with You in Paradise just yet. Please let me at least finish Team of Rivals (which I wanted to read before President Obama started using it as his new Bible) and all of the works of Elizabeth Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte. Then I think I could go in peace.” I have actually started to have panic attacks when considering how little time we have on earth to do things that are truly pleasurable. When you add up all the teeth brushing, house chores, and waiting in line at the bank, half of your life practically disappears. Not to mention sleeping, eating, and wasting time playing Settlers of Catan online. (Maybe that last one is just me.) But I have had an epiphany. It is as if the heavens have opened and the voices of the angels have spoken to me in perfect harmony saying, “THAT’S WHAT HEAVEN IS FOR, YOU IDIOT!”

I must confess that my theology regarding heaven has been shaped more by Hollywood than Scripture. I have more than once pondered the possibility of being, well, not unhappy in heaven, but perhaps being a bit bored. I have swallowed the picture of robes, singing choirs, and cloud-floating without even thinking about it. I fall into despair over the thought of leaving Jim and the kids behind (not to mention those unread books) and the only time I get really excited about going to heaven is when I think of all the cool people that are going to be there.

But this is all going to change. For one thing, I must change my thinking or face up to my hypocrisy. Here I am gripped with fear when driving through a dangerous neighborhood, and in the same car ride I glibly pontificate on the wonders of heaven to my kids. Perhaps it is the kids who have helped to change my thinking. They talk about heaven a lot and with seemingly little fear of the door through which we all must walk in order to gain entrance. This might be because they haven’t given much thought to death and the fact that to them heaven seems like the zoo, the circus, and Disneyworld all rolled into one. They marvel at the abilities they will have, the idea of having no bedtime, and playing with animals that would gobble them up for a snack on this side of eternity.

Of course, heaven isn’t just about all the great stuff we will be able to do or even the loved ones with whom we will be reunited. It’s about worshiping God, right? And here is where my lack of faith really shows. I have fallen into the Sunday School myth that says worship is what you do on Sunday mornings while wearing panty hose and uncomfortable shoes. What a crock! Worship is playing with a saber-toothed tiger before breakfast and a woolly mammoth after lunch. It’s reading books for a thousand years without getting a headache or needing a nap. It’s the lion eating straw and the child putting his hand in the viper’s nest (I am sure this verse refers to one of my boys.). It’s not some other-worldly experience. It’s this world, only lots, lots better. Worship is enjoying the presence of God and his creation in all its forms. So while I still intend to continue my quest to one day have read all the books on my Wish List and to avoid the avoidable dangers of this world, I am leaving behind my cloudy visions of heaven and planting my feet more solidly in the Kingdom. I am sure Elizabeth and Charlotte would approve.

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Faith, Film, and Philosophy

By Jim Spiegel

The other day I received some good news from one of my publishers, InterVarsity Press.  The book I co-edited with Doug Geivett last year, Faith, Film, and Philosophy, is going into a second printing.  This is gratifying because it means the book is selling at a decent clip.  The responses of our readers are more important than sales, of course, but it’s always nice to know that your book is not wasting your publisher’s efforts and expenses.  The folks at IVP, especially Andy LePeau and Gary Deddo, believed in this project from the outset, and Doug and I are indebted to them for getting behind our vision for the book.  It feels good to see that support rewarded.

In case you’re not familiar with Faith, Film, and Philosophy, the book features essays by fourteen philosophers (including Doug and myself), each which discusses a film (or two or more) from a Christian perspective.  The films discussed include dramas, comedies, documentaries, and horror films—classic and contemporary, domestic and foreign.  And the philosophical issues explored range across many of the major areas of philosophy, such as epistemology, philosophy of mind, ethics, and philosophy of religion.  Contributors include James Sennett (on Citizen Kane), David Hunt (on The Matrix), Ron Tacelli (on horror films), Win Corduan (on Hong Kong films), and Dallas Willard (on American Beauty, Cider House Rules, and Pleasantville).

Doug has put together a website featuring more information about the book and other content related to film and philosophy:  http://www.faith-film-philosophy.com/.  When I complete work on my current project—a Philosophy introductory text—I’ll have more time to contribute content to that website, such as film reviews.  But Doug already has some interesting stuff posted.  I recommend checking out Doug’s blog as well.

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Kitty Heaven and the Challenge of Faith

By Amy Spiegel

Recently the kids and I found a stray kitten along the side of the road. When I say kitten, I mean tiny fur-ball-with-tail, fit-in-the-palm-of-your-hand size kitten. While this description may conjure up adorable calendar-worthy pictures in your head, this kitten was—how shall I put it—repulsive. Let’s just say she had eye “issues.” Still, eye infection or no, we couldn’t leave her, so we took her home with us. Since Jim is an animal lover, much more in practice than I am in theory, she settled in to await adoption. (The first order of business was clearing up the eye goo which increased her curb-appeal ten-fold.) We were soon the family to be avoided as the rumor circulated that we were desperately trying to give away a kitten.

 

Unfortunately, Bootster (admittedly a less than stellar name lovingly bestowed by Sam) didn’t last long enough to know that she was unwanted. One morning a few days after she arrived, Bailey woke us to say that Bootster was dying. Jim and I hurried downstairs to discover the kitten in obvious pain and quickly fading. Jim and Bailey took her to the vet where she was “put to sleep” (a phrase surely created to terrify children into never closing their eyes again). Each of the kids reacted in their own way—Bailey crying, Sam acting as if nothing were the matter, Maggie immediately going to draw a picture for Bootster, and Andrew standing poking at the body and saying “booboo?”

 

But later in the day things got really interesting. We were holding graveside services for our little furry friend when I suddenly realized that Maggie and Andrew (four and two respectively) had no idea what we were doing. As far as they knew, we were getting ready to bury Bootster alive. I had sudden visions of them trying this out on one another and gently tried to guide them away before Jim threw on the first pile of dirt. Alas, I was too late and Andrew threw his hands up in outrage as he watched Daddy “being mean” to kitty. I tried to explain but as the words were coming from my mouth I realized the absurdity of what I was trying to convince him of. Had it been one of my own would I have so glibly said “Child X (I can’t even bring myself to insert one of their names) is in a better place? He/she is with Jesus and waiting for us in heaven.” Heck no! I would have been right there along side Andrew, throwing my hands up in protest to heaven and begging for him/her to be spared.

 

As Maggie began to chime in, probing about the process by which we enter paradise, I realized how hypocritical we are with our kids when we try to whitewash death. Or maybe I am not so much a hypocrite but rather one who is greatly lacking in faith. It’s easy to believe that kitty is better off. After all she was a bit smelly and, frankly, a pain in the rear to take care of. But would I be willing to put my money where my mouth is when it comes to those I love, who are a bit smelly as well and often a pain in the rear but who are also the center of my small world? I pondered these things while I watched the kids play at Taylor Lake that afternoon, marveling at how quickly they seemed to recover. I sit here now, calling up each of their dear faces, half paralyzed in fear at the thought of them being taken from me. My conclusion? God knows how small I am and how very limited is my thinking. He doesn’t ask me to understand His ways, only to take His hand as I walk away from the graveside of my expectations, hopes, and dreams and trust that Daddy isn’t really being mean after all.