An open letter to Christian dads

Yeah, sorry.  Limited audience.  You're still welcome to read along, but you might not track with my tack.

Guys, remember the days of our youth when our eyes easily got snapped by a lass dressed in a manner that provided clear advertisement of all her wares?  What's that, you say?  You still have issues with that?  Oh, yeah, I'm talking to guys.

God created women to attract men.  What gets us?  The eyes.  It surprises maybe .00097% of Christian men that Job made a covenant with his eyes to not gawk at the gams of the girls.  The rest of us nod, "Smart man."  It doesn't surprise us that Jesus declared that if we look at a woman with lust in our heart, we'd committed adultery already.  Really, we already knew that, though we didn't mind the false loophole we'd concocted.

The world we live in does not make it easy to keep our eyes properly focused.  T-shirts no longer hang; they cling.  Necklines that at one time graced the hookers and behind-the-counter periodicals made their way onto the red carpets exposing the lion's share of Hollywood's starlets.  Those necklines now walk the halls of high school.  The girls are oblivious.  To them it's just fashion.  To guys, it's the kerosene and the match to their libido.

It bothers me, but it doesn't surprise me, that unbelieving women dress in such a manner.  What shocks me to silence is when Christian parents (dads) let their daughters dress that way!

Whoa, Keith, aren't you diving deep into the pool of legalism?  Maybe, but hang with me a bit longer. 

First, guys have a responsibility to guard their eyes.  Job did that (Job 31:1).  So must we.

Second, I can cite you no chapter or verse that defines appropriate hemlines or necklines, but I can give you a few principles to indicate a woman's responsibility to not cause men opthalmic problems.

• A woman's indiscretion is not seen as a character bonus (Proverbs 11:22)
• The indiscrete woman can derail a man's quest to walk rightly (Proverbs 6:25-28, 7:10, 23b)

Paul warns the Thessalonian church to abstain from sexual immorality (1 Thessalonians 4:3), but he goes on to state that each, men and women, are to tend to themselves so they they do not wrong their brother or sister in this matter (4:4-6).  It doesn't say it, but principally it would include how we dress.

No, women don't have to dress frumpy.  No, I'm not calling for burqas.  Men, you might think your daughter looks great, and she might think she's flashing the latest fashions, but other men are going to think your daughter looks hot.  Big difference.

Here's a suggestion.  Consider the "folding chair."  Can your daughter sit in a folding chair directly across from a guy (perhaps in Sunday school, perhaps during worship) and not cause him major issues everytime she shifts?  If not, her dress or her shorts are causing her brothers in Christ issues of eye, heart, and mind.

What about tops?  Go back to the "folding chair."  Can she bend down to pick something up and either not fall out or not provide a clear visual down to her navel?  If she can't, she might want to consider another top.  I have no guideline for clinginess, but you probably get the idea there, too.

Today's fashions make this tough.  Most prom dresses have three-square inches more fabric than the average swimming suit, and most of them violate the up and the down of the "folding chair."  While difficult to find beautiful and discrete fashions, they do exist.  Put forth the effort.

Men, help your daughter guard her purity.  Wouldn't you rather have a son-in-law who is more overwhelmed by her character than her cleavage?  At the same time, teach your sweetheart how to help her brothers in Christ guard their purity by honoring them with her attire.

Please.

Gay (no, not the happy kind)

I remember an episode of Medical Center from my childhood.  Robert Reed, the man who will be forever etched in my mind as Mike Brady, father of six, husband of Carol, hirer of Alice and sometime architect, wanted to remove his man-parts and become a woman.  That was a little bit weird for a twelve-year old kid in middle-'70's Minneapolis to come to terms with.

Fast forward thirty-five years.  In 2010 America, sexual deviance no longer exists.  You'd be hard pressed to find a television show that does not have a homosexual character.  Showtime had an entire series dedicated to female homosexuality.  HBO has one dedicated to polygamy.  Companies offer benefits to "partners," whatever that means.

Few places remain that hold to husband-wife marriage as sexual normalcy.  Texas won't accept the homosexual marriages performed in other states and as such won't provide a divorce for that which they do not recognize.

Another place where homosexuality remains hotly contested is within the church.  Recently, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) caved and deemed it peachy for pastors to be involved in a homosexual relationship (here or here), but they still declare that marriage is between a man and a woman (though I can't figure out why).  Fewer and fewer churches recognize biblical authority over cultural authority and affirm homosexuality to be a sin equal to any other sexual relationship outside of marriage.

So why do those within the Church argue with such passion against homosexuality? Because the adulterers of the world are not trying to normalize their rebellion within the church.  While not part of the Christian church, only in fringe Mormonism can you find polygamists trying to make inroads toward religious normalcy.  So the Church stands upon the word of God and proclaims that sin is sin.

Homosexual advocates who try and mainstream into the church take one of two tacks.  First, they argue that the plethora of verses declaring the sinfulness of homosexuality and homosexual relationships really don't address homosexuality at all.  They contend they really point to idolatry or some other cultural taboo and not homosexuality itself.  They divide the Gospels from the rest of Scripture and assert that since Jesus didn't talk about homosexuality it can't be that bad.*

The second group doesn't much care what the Bible says; they cannot deny what they feel, so they just go with it.  Into this group falls Jennifer Knapp.  Ms. Knapp released a couple of CDs over a decade ago with a very folksy sound and heavy Christian themes.  Quite the talent.  And then she vanished from the Christian music scene.  She reappeared in recent days with a new CD (not specifically "Christian") and proclaiming herself to be quite gay...and Christian.

Now, there is a difference between someone who struggles with a sin and someone who declares their conduct to not be a sin.  The person who regularly turns into Dunkin Donuts, buys a dozen and consumes them enroute to work has an issue with gluttony.  If they do this once a week, sometimes twice, and hate what they have done as they wipe the chocolate frosting from their cheek, they struggle with sin.  Those that turn in five out of five days and revel in the sprinkles despite tipping the scales at three-and four-hundred pounds believes themselves (wrongly) to not be in sin.

What about Ms. Knapp?  In an interview with Christianity Today (CT), she stated her position with clarity.

I'm not capable of getting into the theological argument as to whether or not we should or shouldn't allow homosexuals within our church. There's a spirit that overrides that for me, and what I've been gravitating to in Christ and why I became a Christian in the first place.

She doesn't want that theological stuff (God-study stuff) to get in the way of being a Christian.  When we loose ourself from the foundation of the Bible, it's easy to say that all's fair. 

CT then asked her what she thought about those who believed homosexual feelings to be okay but the act to be sinful.  Her reply:

I'm not capable of fully debating that well...If God expects me, in order to be a Christian, to be able to theologically justify every move that I make, I'm sorry. I'm going to be a miserable failure.

So is she struggling with sinful desires?  Nope.  She's quite happy, thank you.

The day fast approaches where publically taking the Bible position that sexual deviance is a sin will earn a do-not-pass-go trip to jail time.  That day has arrived in Canada.  In many places in our nation, it's already verboten to refer to such conduct as rebellion against a holy God.

So do we, unlike the ELCA, call the sinner to repentance by exposing sin as sin as John and Jesus did, or do we quietly blend in and deny the faith we profess?

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*Jesus, the Jew, came as the Messiah of Israel.  Within the Jewish nation, homosexuality was already understood to be an abomination against God; it was not an issue that needed a specific address while he walked the earth.  As Paul went into the Gentile nations where homosexuality was common, he needed to address God's position on such behavior.  To the Corinthian Church he wrote (1 Corinthians 6:9-11):

"Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God. And such were some of you. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God."

Hence, it is not surprising to find the Gospels silent on the matter of homosexuality.

The flip side

Yesterday, penning an ode to Phil Mickleson came as easily as savoring this evening's sunset.  How can you not stand back, drink in the cool breeze, and glory in the wonder crafted by Almighty God?  No, no, no.  I'm not equating Phil with deity but tipping my hat to the colorer of sunsets and the maker of man.

I watched with wonder each time they cut to Phil, but at the same time, when the camera caught hold of Tiger, I winced.  Triumph and Tragedy.  Each one achieved through the purposed choices of the men who walked the same fairways yesterday but with far different expressions and emotional burdens.

Two camps greeted Mr. Woods this week.  The first camp encompassed CBS and most of the folks at Augusta National.  They just wanted to see good golf.  What happened to Tiger the man does not affect my impression at all of Tiger the golfer.  They wanted to see their hero ascend back to his throne as the Titan of the Tee.  Let's not talk about the past months except to note what he has overcome to get to where he is.

And that is true.  It is a testimony to his focus and his work ethic on the course that Mr. Woods could come off the bench after sitting out the first quarter of the season and nearly take the crowned jewel of golf.  Amazing. 

But that takes us to the second camp.  Camp Two loathes Mr. Woods.  Sure, there were a few Woods detractors before his philandering came to light, but many who once held their breath with wide-eyed wonder at his every waggle now spit in his general direction.  They lusted for his demise.  They shrieked with glee for every shanked tee shot. They bubbled-up over every bunker found.  They thrilled his every three-putt.

I found myself in the haters' camp.  I couldn't believe the coddling he got from the announcers at CBS.  Not a single comment of disdain for what he had done to soil himself, his family, his comrades, and his game?

My loathing for what Mr. Woods had become turned to profound sadness for him when he rushed his par-putt on 14 after missing a six-foot birdie and made bogie.  No, I wasn't sad that he missed his putt.  I was sad for him.

He is the best to play the game.  Amazing.  Gretzky.  Jordan.  Woods.  None better in their era.  Nowhere close.  None better ever?  Arguable.  Probable.  But we can't just focus on the game.  Behind him is a wake of devastation.  Tiger Woods soiled his father's name and his heritage.  He dragged the investments made in him by his parents, his trainers, his caddies, his wife and his children through the sewage ditch.  And from his "I only enter tournaments to win" interviews to his inability to discipline his antics and his tongue in front of kids who idolize him when he fails to meet perfection off the tee, it would seem Mr. Woods still doesn't get it.  The measure of a man extends much further than tee to green and much deeper than the pot bunkers of Scotland.

I wonder if he saw Phil clench Amy in the aftermath as though she meant far more to him than any major championship.  Did he see the single-tear run down Phil's cheek as he held in his arms the most precious thing to him in the whole world, and it wasn't a claret jug nor a green jacket?

My prayer tonight for a man I have never met (and will never meet) is that he will turn his focus and his passion to that which will last when he's no longer able to hoist his putter, his bride, the one chosen especially for him, that he would come to know her better than the intricacies of his swing and read her better than the greens at Augusta, and that he would become the kind of man he would like his children to emulate, not perfect, but a man of honor and character nonetheless.  Nuts to the short game.

More than that, though, along with Brit Hume, I pray for his redemption, not on the course (though no longer wish him ill), and not in his marriage (though I pray that healing will come), but from the only One who can forgive his sin and the One who has provided for him that which will wash him white as snow.
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(NOTE:  After writing the above post, I came across this article noting the displeasure of CBS announcer Jim Nantz  toward the conduct of Eldrick T. Woods.  Refreshing to see someone (with a microphone) call him on it.  Nantz makes great points.  Many in positions of prominence today try to argue that they are not role models.  That's a pile of fertilizer!  Each one of us is a role model to everyone we meet.  You never know how far the ripples will extend.)

Phil, again. Naturally.

Phil Mickleson won the Masters yesterday.  If you don't know golfer Phil from Dr. Phil, you can skip this post.  In this context, if you think the Masters is just another degree you can get for studying for another year or two, you can pass this by, too.

Some thoughts as I watched Mr. Mickleson dissect Augusta National on his way to a third green jacket.

• Jim Nance and Nick Faldo spoke often about what Phil and his wife had been through this past year.  They spoke about Amy Mickleson's fight against breast cancer.  And Phil's mom's, too.  Nance and Faldo also spoke of Tiger Woods' struggles these past few months but spoke of it in shadowy language.  And no mention of Tiger's wife.
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• Phil didn't play perfect golf.  No golfer ever does.  At the same time, when Phil's shots erred, he focused upon his next shot.  No outbursts.  No religious invectives contrary to his religious persuasion.  Just kept his cool and carried out his business.  Tiger, on the other  hand, had a CBS boom mic trained upon him throughout the tournament.  With his many Christian references, he didn't sound like a Buddhist.
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• Phil looks nothing like an athletic champion.  He carries thirty to forty more pounds than he probably should.  His portly shape looks more like the folks behind the ropes than the folks walking the fairways.  We look at him and think, "He's just like me."  He doesn't seem terribly coordinated, kind of an "aw, shucks" amble down the fairway.  No, he doesn't have the look, but he does have three green jackets.
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• He proved his cast-iron fortitude when out of the pine straw on the thirteenth hole he dropped a six-iron a half-dozen feet from the hole.  Could have laid up, but he wasn't playing it safe.  He wanted to win.  He missed his eagle putt but made birdie.  Had he laid up, chipped on, and made the birdie putt, it wouldn't have been nearly so intimidating as the shot from out of the woods.
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• Did you ever notice that Phil smiles on the golf course?  He smiles like he really enjoys what he's doing.  He smiles in appreciation for those fans who support him and cheer him on each week.  His smile reveals the hint of embarassment at the recognition he receives.
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• Did you notice that Phil talks?  No, not just with his caddy.  In the heat of the final round, I noticed him chatting with playing partner, Lee Westwood, who struggled mightily during the round.  S-p-o-r-t-s-m-a-n-s-h-i-p.  Pronounced, "Mickleson." 
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• When he won, he hugged his caddie in a manner deeper than an I-won-the-tournament hug.  He seemed deeply appreciative for what his caddie meant to him and had done for him.
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• After hugging his caddy, he found Amy.  She had not been with him on the course since diagnosed with cancer eleven months earlier.  He held her and wept.  And then he held her some more.  No regrets.  Best friends.  Lovers.  Side-by-side through the dark days and through this very bright, very green, very clear-blue-sky kind of day.

After the tournament, Peter Costas had the unfortunate task of interviewing Mr. Woods.  Despite finishing tied for fourth, a position to be envied by 44 of the 48 other golfers on Sunday and an extraordinary showing for your first competitive tournament in four months, Mr. Woods pettied and groused about not having his game.  He didn't apologize for his religious invectives, rather he said, "You can't expect me to be humming a tune after shots like that."  Ah.  Got it.

Costas then interviewed Lee Westwood, the British golfer who has finished in the top three of the last three major tournaments and who was paired with and lost to Mickleson Sunday.  "Disappointed?" queried Costas.  "There is always a bit of disappointment," the gracious Westwood answered, "but that will pass.  Phil (Mickleson) encouraged me in the scoring tent saying that he couldn't break into the winner's circle for years, always the also-ran.  He told me to just persevere and the wins would come."

That's Phil.  Encouraging his fellow golfers and helping them handle the difficulties they face with grace and character.

Nice to see a guy like Phil, a man already a winner, succeed from tee to green once again.  While Phil might not have the raw talent or honed talent of Mr. Woods, while he doesn't have the overwhelming endorsements of Mr. Woods, he has learned life's lessons well, and he is an outstanding champion. 

Meanwhile, Tiger heads to the practice tee to ponder what's wrong with his game.  And with his life.

Oops

While watching the Masters Saturday, Phil Mickleson hit a shot that landed just short of where it needed to land and rolled to the opposite side of the green.  As the ball started to roll, I cried out, "No!"

Unfortunately, I missed my wife thinking out loud, "I wonder if I can still fit in my wedding dress?"

Parts is parts

As if our country hadn't already submerged itself too deeply into the Sea of Absurdity, a civil rights group in the northeast looks to take us to soul-crushing depths.  The Maine Human Rights Commission has declared that forcing a little boy to use the little boy's room amounts to discrimination.

I'll let that stew in your kettle for a bit.

Okay, picked yourself up off the floor?  No doubt your asking yourself how one (or many) could arrive at such a conclusion.  What could precipitate even addressing the lavatorial situation?

Ready for one of the oddest sentences I've ever written?  It seems that a 12-year old transgendered boy was made to utilize the boys' restroom to relieve himself (here). 

A couple of thoughts.  To get to this point, it would seem the parents would have had to encourage their son to pursue a feminine feeling while denying the dangly thing betwixt his legs.  Not my idea of Ward and June Cleaver if they did so.  The biology seems pretty concrete to me while feelings flutter between breakfast and lunch--and then often five times over. 
Next, what can an organization go on but biology?  If it has to do with what I'm feeling today, if it's dynamic, then you can expect half of high school football teams to be changing in the girls' locker room because it--um--feels right.  Sorry, the rooms are evenly divided between the haves and the have nots.

Finally, what a mess we have made of our sexual society.  The kinetics between man and woman were created to be so.  Like nuclear power, unleashing it within the confines of marriage brings about incredible wonder.  In the hands of madmen, it devastates millions.  We might change our plumbing three or four times over.  What will never change is our inherent identity, who we were created to be, written into the very identifying matter within each of our cells.

I have enough trouble taking care of business when I have clowns to the left of me and jokers to the right.  There will be no going in public places if I head to the head with some lass who felt herself to more of a Lars today.

Perhaps sanity will prevail before we submerge ourselves any further into this murky abyss.  Otherwise, it's anybody's guess what you'll bump into coming out the door during your next trip to the restroom.

Stylin'

I've come to the conclusion that the boringly beige character from Saturday morning's Imagination Movers, Knit Knots, obtained his fashion finesse from North Korea's own dandy, Kim Jong Il.

See for yourself.

They could be brothers separated at birth.  I guess we shouldn't be surprised that Mr. Kim's garb would spin heads among the communist fashionistas (here).  Are such togs just around the corner then for Washington and California?

I pledge...aw nuts!

Every morning to start our school day, my family recites the Pledge of Allegiance and prays together.  In recent months, we have added Scripture memorization, working on the Bible passage that our church is memorizing for 2010.  Being home from work during the morning a few weeks back, I joined in the morning rituals, and I must confess, my heart ached as I recited the Pledge.

After much consideration, might I recommend this minor modification to our pledge?

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America
And to the republic for which it stood
One nation under God, indivisible,
With liberty and justice for all.

In its present present-tense state, it's untrue.

Most schools no longer say the Pledge.  Soon many families will stop reciting the Pledge but for a far different reason; it has been rendered meaningless.  And a very sad day that will be.

Saturday

It's a beautiful day here in north Texas.  Warm sun.  Cool breeze.  Rambling kids.  Greening trees. 

If you followed any of my posts from yesterday, you know the execution of God has consumed my thoughts.  This takes me to a Saturday some 1,990 years back.  What was that Saturday like for Jesus' most intimate followers.

Let's recap.  Less than a week prior, it seemed the whole region would install the Galilean as the foreordained messianic king of Israel, but the week wore on and contention grew between him and the leaders of the nation.  One of the inner circle who had been growing disillusioned turned to those leaders in an act of betrayal of the One who called him by name.  We never get Judas' rationale though film-makers and authors have speculated ever since.

A special seder.  Intimate.  Just the twelve and the Master.  Judas leaves.  Where's he going?  Foot-washings.  Songs.  Vines and branches.  Preparing a place?  It's late.  Pray for me.  Sleep.  Pray for me!  Sleep.  Betrayal.  Clubs.  And then he's gone.  Gone.  Into hiding.

Then the news.  They what?!?  Crucified him.  Despair.  Terror.  All is lost.

Saturday.  Eleven.  They had gotten word that Judas' had hanged himself, that his body had fallen from its perch and ruptured on the rocks below.  A few of the women who followed their Master were with them.

Okay.  What do we do now?  We can't just let the last three years be all for nought.  What are we going to do?  They killed him.  What will they do to us?  I thought something great was going to come about at the hands of the Master.  Do we try and fold his teaching into our lives back home.  But didn't he say he was going to die?  Yeah, but he couldn't have really meant the butchery that took place!  He's DEAD!

Was it a blue-sky day in Jerusalem?  Did the late afternoon sun give the temple constructed by the long-dead Herod a more golden hue that it normally had?  Were they making plans to head back to Galilee?  Were they figuring out how to get out of Jerusalem before anyone saw them?  Peter had been spooked by a little girl.  No doubt they huddled in that room scared to death.  Like sheep without a shepherd and wolves howling in the trees all around them.

Maybe we can get out of here tomorrow.  The women want to go take care of the Master's body.  Okay, but after that, let's put this city far behind us.  Maybe tomorrow things will quiet down.  Maybe tomorrow things can start to get back to normal.

Maybe not.

3:05 p.m.

Then Jesus, calling with a loud voice, said, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!" And having said this, he breathed his last...and gave up his spirit.

3:01 PM

He said, "It is finished."

3 p.m.

And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabacthani?" which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Noon

And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. 

9:00 a.m.

It was the third hour when they crucified him...

8:00 a.m.

Pilate, staring at the One who declared himself to be The Truth:  "What is Truth?"

Pilate, after having the Galilean flogged to within a breath of his life:  "Do you not know that I have authority to release you and authority to crucify you?"

The Galilean:  "You would have no authority over me at all unless it had been given you from above."

From then on Pilate sought to release him, (but ulitmately) delivered him over to be crucified.

7:30 a.m.

...When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had long desired to see him, because he was hoping to see some sign done by him...but (when questioned) he made no answer...And Herod with his soldiers treated him with contempt...and sent him back to Pilate...

7:00 a.m.

...When Pilate learned that he belonged to Herod's jurisdiction, he sent Jesus over to Herod, who was himself in Jerusalem at that time...

6:00 a.m.

When morning came, all the chief priests and the elders of the people took counsel against Jesus to put him to death.  And they bound him and led him away and delivered him over to Pilate the governor...