Thanksgiving: Let's Party Like it's 1621

Human creatures can be notoriously ungrateful. Often, we think we would be grateful if only we had more than we do. If we had more money, or different families, or better health or looks or cars or what have you, we would surely be appreciative of our blessings. This is routinely disproved by reality. The poor, hungry man is immensely thankful for a scrap of bread or a cup of soup, while the rich man picks contemptuously at his lobster. Ah, but Thanksgiving Day gives us the perfect opportunity to at least pretend to be thankful for the good things we have been given (or, for the naturalist, the things which Chaos and Old Night have been pleased to spit our way at random. How does Thanksgiving dinner go down for those chappies, anyway?), even if we're tremendously ungrateful the rest of the year.

Friends, we’re Bing Crosby. You know, in that one scene from Holiday Inn? Wait, you don’t know? Well, go, watch it, and sin no more! Anyway, Bing sits down on Thanksgiving to eat a whole turkey by himself. He’s feeling mighty blue, because his buddy Fred Astaire stole his girl (again). It’s a great scene: Bing puts on a record of himself singing “I’ve Got Plenty to be Thankful For” and mocks his own song while he eats. “Are you kidding? Like what?” he asks his recorded self. He then criticizes, “you’re a little flat, too.” Turning to the turkey on the platter in front of him he says, “You know, you’re better off than I am!” The movie is on YouTube. The Thanksgiving scene is near the end, around the 1:48:00 mark. You can thank me later. 

The Bing on the record has something of the right idea; Bing on camera with his turkey sounds more like us a lot of times. Or maybe Bing and I are the only ones who sometimes want to trade places with roasted turkeys? No, I refuse to believe that.

Every schoolchild knows the story of the first Thanksgiving. Or at least, they know whatever version of it is being shilled in the schools these days. Anyway, what were the Pilgrims thankful for? Not starving to death, for one. When the happy story of Pilgrims and Indians sitting down for a thanksgiving feast gets told, what often gets left out is the bit about the brutal, bitter winter those Pilgrims had just endured. They had arrived at Plymouth in late 1620, just weeks before winter. That first winter claimed the lives of half of them. Of the original one hundred pilgrims, only fifty survived until that First Thanksgiving in the fall of 1621 (see, half. I told you I could do the maths). They had all lost family members, friends, colleagues. One hundred is a pretty small, tightknit group, and it goes without saying losing half in less than a year must have been unimaginably devastating and heart-wrenching.

Above: Mayflower Passengers
Below: Those who survived until the first Thanksgiving

Life was hard. It’s hard now still. But for most of us, not quite that hard.

Edward Winslow, one of the Plymouth colonists, wrote:

"Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruits of our labor. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which we brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty."

They rejoiced. They feasted. They thanked Almighty God for His providence, for providing for them, for granting them the abundance of their first harvest, and most importantly, for granting them the freedom from the impositions of the Church of England, and the ability to worship God according to His Word, as their consciences convicted them.

Friends, have we not as much for which to be thankful? Have we not more? Life itself is a gift. Every breath we breathe is a gift from God. Let us gather with friends and family, and rejoice as William Bradford and Plymouth did so many years ago. Let our hearts overflow with gratitude to the Lord, and with Christian charity towards one another.

“O give thanks unto the LORD, for he is good: for his mercy endureth for ever.”

Let’s party like it's 1621.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends! 

Don't Say "Might as Well"

I closed the door of the Range Rover and strode towards the door of the dilapidated gas station, the one all my friends avoid because they think they’ll get robbed. Some of us are made of sterner stuff, and fear not such things. As it is, I myself now avoid this particular gas station as well, but my reasons for so doing, rather than being fearfully motivated, have to do with the idea that perhaps an establishment as shady as this one can’t necessarily be trusted to dispense a gallon when a gallon is purchased. But I digress.

At least they know what they want . . . 

I pulled my cream fedora down farther onto my brow, straightening my tie as I stepped over the threshold. The other patrons wore stained tank-tops and baggy jeans around their knees, and they looked at me as though I were from Mars. I am not from Mars. I took my place in line behind another customer. He was short, unshaven, wearing faded, concrete-spattered denim, and he was purchasing two 40 oz. cans of Bud Light. As he set them down of the counter, the clerk tried to make some small talk. “Oooooooh,” she said. “Looks like you’re going to party tonight, eh?”

Now, Bud Light isn’t really my idea of a party, but we’ll let that one slide. The man half nodded, half shrugged, and replied, “Might as well!”

I was taken aback, not by these words, but by my reaction to them, which was rather extraordinarily Baptist-y. Now, as a Reformed Baptist I am not opposed to alcohol as such. In fact, it would be a stretch of the truth to describe me as anything other than whole-heartedly in favor. The Lord’s Supper is celebrated with wine, which is no accident. The Israelites were commanded to celebrate with “strong drink,” a kind of ancient beer. The Apostle tells us to “test the spirits,” and I always oblige. (That’s a joke, people. Lighten up a bit, what?). Which is to say that I was altogether surprised to find myself begrudging (ever so slightly, mind you) this fellow his beer. However, I also have a fairly well established philosophy concerning how alcohol is and is not to be used, and it was this sensibility of mine which was offended. It was the shrug and the phrase might as well that raised my Scandinavian eyebrows. Friends, never say "might as well." Don't think it either.

Initially, I suspected my knee-jerk displeasure was merely a reaction against cheap alcohol. Confessedly, I have some not-so-slight inclinations towards snobbery. I want to enjoy alcohol if I drink it, which means that the alcohol needs to be enjoyable; id est the drink in question ought to be one of quality. But this is only a small part of the matter. While I might not enjoy a typical American pilsner (e.g. Budweiser or Coors) as much as a craft ale or an imperial stout, I have to concede that this is a matter of preference. That beverages ought to be enjoyable does not speak to the fact that others enjoy different things than I.

No, but alcohol is to be enjoyed. It is celebratory. Wine is the perfect accompaniment for a fine meal. A jolly evening with friends should include porter and stout and ale. Scotch is the drink you should choose for a quiet evening with a pipe and book. Warm brandy comforts the body and sooths the soul when you have the flu. But these beverages are not to be enjoyed for the sake of the alcohol they contain, nor is alcohol to be used for the purpose of becoming drunk. They are to be enjoyed because they are delicious. If you buy cheap alcohol because you enjoy it, well and good. By all means, let me not stop you. But if you buy the cheapest beer you can find because you are using the beer as a delivery mechanism for alcohol and nothing else, this ought not to be.

Now, if you’re downing two 40 oz. cans of Bud Light because you “might as well,” this raises the obvious question: Might you, then, just as well not? If you are only drinking because you can’t think of anything else to do, I beg to differ, sir. You might better use that money on your wife and family, or on clothes or food or shelter or charity (some might make this argument regardless of the reasoning behind the purchase of the alcohol, but for my purposes here I will conveniently forget that such arguments exist. In the mean time, I shall simply point you to John 12:3-7 and assume that my point is made).

If you are enjoying a beer because you are with old friends and are having a roaring good time, I am with you. If you want a mug of the frosty brew because you have toiled all day in the hot sun and wish to be refreshed, I shall gladly buy the first round. But if you’re drinking “cause, like, why not, like, you know?” then I suggest you repent, quit drifting through life as though it were one of the less exciting rides at Disneyland,  and develop the fine and manly qualities of tenacity and assertiveness.

I have used the example of alcohol, but I wish to illustrate a far broader point. Whatever we do, or say, or think, it should be done purposefully. An action might be neutral in and of itself, but no action is neutral when placed in the context of real life. Do you eat or sleep or read a book or go to the gym? These are neutral actions. But at present, you either should or should not be doing them. Are you playing the violin? Well and good if you are practicing for a symphony, but woe to you if you are watching Rome burn. Do not say “might as well.” Act purposefully, or refrain from acting, also purposefully. “Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.”

Doctor Who, Doctor Schaeffer, and Christianity Today

Every once in a while Christianity Today gets it in their minds to publish something. Worse still, every so often I actually read what they publish, and then I get annoyed when it turns out to be hogwash. I quite understand that Christianity Today is writing for the broader evangelical audience, including (unfortunately) those more liberal elements, so I can’t really complain when they publish things which I think very wrongminded. But it’s when they publish something that is just plain silly that I start scratching my head and wondering how the editors ever let this sort of thing in their magazine.

So, a couple weeks back, they published a piece in the “her.meneutics” (not my doing, don’t blame me) section about the wildly popular English Sci-Fi show Doctor Who. I read it, mostly because I actually like Doctor Who, but I was very disappointed by the article. Fast forward a bit, and I was reading some Francis Shaeffer, when something he said reminded me of that article, so I figured it was time to bust out the old ink and vellum, and here we are.

If you were eagerly anticipating a post in which I nerd out over Doctor Who, I’m afraid this might not be fun for you.

I’m not going to argue that Christians can’t watch or like Doctor Who. It’s fun, and funny, and exciting, and clever, if sometimes downright corny. There are certainly worse things on TV these days, and Doctor Who is relatively benign. But, as with all art, it is the product of a certain worldview and as such it is based on certain presuppositions. If a Christian decides to watch it, fine, but he should do so knowing where the show's writers are coming from, and he can then enjoy that which is fun, and dismiss that which is heathen. What we mustn’t do is pretend that it espouses a Christian worldview when it clearly doesn’t (and I say this as one who has given Charlie Daniels’ Devil Went Down to Georgia a rigorous treatment as theological allegory).

Here’s a quote from the article:

The concept of the show involves Christian symbolism; the series reboot gets referred to as a “resurrection” and each new Doctor an “incarnation.” As the central character, he’s a mysterious and powerful hero who travels through space to earth (and across the universe) to help and save . . . Theologian fans use the Doctor’s stories to contextualize the gospel with small group studies on how the sonic screwdriver is mightier than the sword or how we are both inside and outside of time.

Right. Except it’s not Christian symbolism. These are words which have relevance to Christianity, yes, but in context they are completely divorced from any sort of Christian meaning. Implicit in this paragraph is that the Doctor is portrayed almost as a type of Christ. Now, we have such types in Scripture. Moses and David typify Christ. I will be so generous as to assume that the author is not intending to reduce Christ to “a mysterious and powerful hero who travels through space to earth (and across the universe) to help and save.”  I was going to pass over the sonic screwdriver is mightier than the sword bit, but it’s really bugging me, so I shan’t. “The pen is mightier than the sword” is a phrase coined in 1839 by Edward Bulwer-Lytton for a stage-play, so why exactly we’re adapting it to Doctor Who and designing small group studies around it is frankly beyond me. If Solomon had said it that would be one thing, but alas, he did not. As old Leonidas would say, much to the point, elsewhere.

Also, we’re not “both inside and outside of time.” Like, at all. We’re inside time. God is outside of time. God, the creator, is outside of time, and we, the creation, are in time, where he placed us. Right? Right. What do they teach in these schools!

The real problem here, however, is that the Doctor personally, and the show generally, espouse a cosmology that is very un-Christian. It is naturalistic in its presuppositions and existential in its philosophy. Far from promoting Christian ideas, the thrust of the show’s philosophy is an attempt to take a strictly naturalistic cosmology and somehow derive meaning and value from it.

C.S. Lewis once gave a lecture called Is Theology Poetry? in which he considered the argument that Christianity is merely poetic in the same way that Greek or Norse mythology is, and that this is the attraction to it. In the course of his argument, he also considers the poetic merit of evolutionary naturalism, which he compares favorably to a good Elizabethan tragedy: against all odds, life emerges from the primordial goo, against all odds it develops over millions of years. We see the caveman, mastering fire, striving with the elements and with beasts much stronger than he. We see the emergence of modern man, using brain rather than brawn, subduing nature. But then, the universe runs down, and man is powerless to stop it. After emerging the conqueror against all odds, man finally succumbs, with everything else, to nature.  

Lewis remarks that such a narrative deserves a better treatment than it’s gotten. Doctor Who endeavors to give it just such a treatment. Through the Doctor’s travels, we are shown the beginnings of the universe, human history across the ages, great advanced civilizations, and then, finally, the very end of the universe, as time itself runs out, and the remnants of humanity struggle against the inevitable, seeking to hold out as long as possible before everything breaks down and there is nothing left except darkness and silence and nothingness.

Where do we find meaning in such a futile universe? The nihilist rightly concludes that there can be none. But Doctor Who is crafted around the desire to snatch meaning from the jaws of futility. How? In the chance of it all. In one season Seven episode, the Doctor is trying to talk a young girl out of sacrificing her life, saying:

Hey, do you mind if I tell you a story? One you might not have heard. All the elements in your body were forged many, many millions of years ago in the heart of a far-away star that exploded and died. That explosion scattered those elements across the desolations of deep space. After so, so many millions of years these elements came together to form new stars and new planets. And on and on it went. The elements came together and burst apart forming shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. Until, eventually, they came together to make you. You are unique in the universe. There is only one Mary Galel and there will never be another. Getting rid of that existence isn't a sacrifice, it is a waste!

Meaning is thus to be gleaned from the extraordinary unlikelihood of existence, the temporary nature of life, and the uniqueness of each person. The chance and futility of it all is part of the beauty. Indeed, the writers of Doctor Who have done an admirable job of making their cosmology seem attractive.

The problem is that Doctor Who is fantasy, and the sense of meaning propounded by its philosophy is also fantasy. It lasts just about as long as the music continues to swell. When credits roll and the orchestra clears out, so do the bubbly feelings. Glorying in one’s random uniqueness is all well and good until one is actually standing face to face with the real world, and finds that there is no screwdriver-wielding hero to set things right. Such a random universe is, at its core, futile, and, as the nihilist properly concludes, totally meaningless. “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.”

Entre Shaeffer. I’m going to quote him at length, but it’s well worth reading the whole quote. If I could write like Shaeffer, I would, and then you wouldn’t have to bother.

The two alternatives are very clear cut. Either there is a personal beginning to everything or one has what the impersonal throws us by chance out of the time sequence. The fact that the second alternative may be veiled by connotation words makes no difference. The words used by Eastern Pantheism; the new theological words such as Tilich’s ‘Ground of Being’; the secular shift from mass to energy or motion, all eventually come back to the impersonal, plus time, plus chance. If this is really the only answer to man’s personality, then personality is no more than an illusion, a kind of sick joke which no amount of semantic juggling will alter. Only some form of mystic jump will allow us to accept that personality comes from impersonality . . . No one has presented an idea, let alone demonstrated it to be feasible, to explain how the impersonal beginning, plus time, plus chance, can give personality. We are distracted by a flourish of endless words, and lo, personality has appeared out of a hat! This is the water rising above its source.  No one in all the history of humanistic rationalistic thought has found a solution. As a result, either the thinker must say man is dead, because personality is a mirage; or else he must hang reason on a hook outside the door and cross the threshold into the leap of faith which is the new level of despair (The God Who is There, 88). 

Got that? Doctor Who presents us with a random, impersonal universe. This presents us with the dilemma outlined by Schaeffer, and the Doctor’s solution is the latter option, to ignore the fact that this system doesn't allow for meaning or rationality or personality, and to continue on as though it did. It is the philosophical equivalent of knocking back half a bottle of Smirnoff and pretending your troubles don’t exist. 

For the Christian, on the other hand, there is an actual basis for meaning. There is an actual source for personality. The Christian is not condemned to the futile exercise of attempting to squeeze purpose out of randomness, for he worships a God of order. The Christian is not subject to futility, for God works all things together for good.

My turn to tell a story. You may have heard it, but it bears repeating: the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John bore witness about him, and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks before me, because he was before me.’”) For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

Is Your Breakfast Virtuous?

“He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart.” 

 – C.S. Lewis

It is well known among my friends and family that I consider cold breakfast cereal to be modern and unvirtuous. And though it puts me at odds, seemingly, with the whole cereal-loving world, I shall stand firm on this sentiment. Cold cereal is unvirtuous. It is not hearty, delicious, and comforting. It is a processed, mass produced, measly little dish for those who think themselves too busy to make a proper meal. Moreover, it is often dubiously flavored, and usually bathed in an impious amount of sugar. If you think cocoa puffs or fruitloops are delicious, I’m afraid you may be nearly beyond hope, but I nonetheless invite you to repent. When I was a child, I ate like a child, or something. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.

All foods are not created equal. They can be virtuous, or unvirtuous. They can be decadent or hearty, gourmet or peasantly. All meals call for virtuous foods, but perhaps none can rise to such virtuous heights or sink to such craven depths as breakfast. Now, one should always strive to eat a virtuous breakfast. After all, is it really conceivable that one should go virtuously through his day if he starts his day with an unvirtuous breakfast? The present writer raises his eyebrows dubiously.

What makes a breakfast virtuous or not? This deserves some consideration. The word virtue comes from the Latin, virtus, meaning manliness, strength, courage, goodness, and excellence. All of these ideas should be embodied in the breakfast you choose. You need a manly breakfast to give you strength and courage throughout your day.  Such a breakfast ought to be highly nutritious, which is related to the goodness of it. And it ought to be delicious, which is, of course, very excellent.

How are we to judge as to which breakfasts meet these criteria? Much of this will have to be intuitive for you, but don’t worry, it comes pretty naturally once you get the hang of it. When in doubt, consider! Can you imagine Winston Churchill eating this breakfast before a long day of winning World War Two, or Teddy Roosevelt eating it before hunting an elk or boxing a foreign diplomat?  Can you imagine it being served out of a chuck wagon to hungry cowboys on the Chisholm Trail?

Simple fare is that which is called for, friends. Simple, but hearty. The sound of pans sizzling with bacon and sausage, eggs frying in grease, the smell of fresh toast and warm butter, the warmth of a mug in the hand - these are the things of which a good breakfast is made.   

Eggs and Coffee

Eggs and coffee should be thought of as the basic breakfast, as a sort of foundation on which the rest are built. You may occasionally forgo the eggs, but this should be done rarely. The coffee really is standard. You need a half-pint of the earthy, inky brew to drive the sleep from the eyes, to clear the mind and to invigorate the limbs. The eggs give you that bit of salty protein which starts ones day off so famously. The eggs should be fried or scrambled; the coffee should be strong and good.

Do you remember in Prince Caspian when Peter and Edmund are looking forward to the prospect of breakfast upon reaching Aslan’s How? Lewis writes that they want “buttered eggs and hot coffee.” Of course they do. That’s a virtuous breakfast, and they’re virtuous chaps.

Bertie Wooster in one of the Jeeves stories opined, "I'm never really much of a lad until I've downed an egg or two and a beaker of coffee." None of us are, Bertie, none of us are.

Bacon, Sausage, Ham, Steak

A breakfast of eggs and coffee is very virtuous, but it is always made much more excellent and cheery by the inclusion of some breakfast meat. Sausage and bacon accompany the eggs so splendidly, and you can use the grease from the bacon or the sausage to fry your eggs. Capital! Ham and eggs is a classic. Steak and eggs is one of the heartiest breakfasts one could ask for. That’s what our boys ate for breakfast before they stormed the beaches at Normandy, ya’ll.

Potatoes

From Dublin to Idaho, and everywhere else for that matter, what could be more virtuous than the potato? Potatoes are dug from the ground, and we all know that agriculture is virtuous. Potatoes have a rare sort of earthy quality. And, no, that’s not just the dirt. I rinsed ‘em first, I promise. They are starchy and delicious – a perfect complement to your eggs. Dice ‘em and fry them in a pan, or grate them and make hash-browns.

When potato crops die, people starve. It's history, folks.

Toast

Simple.  Delicious. What more could one ask for at breakfast? Toast plays a similar role as the potato, balancing out the eggs. I always find that toast goes best with scrambled eggs.

Poptarts

No.

Porridge/Oatmeal

Hot cereal, it should be clear, is in a different category entirely from cold cereal. Now, oatmeal certainly isn’t spectacular, but it has its place. It's good and filling, and sometimes just the thing. It’s also very easy to pack and to cook, and it keeps virtually forever. If you’re hiking the Sierras, you’re not going to be lugging a carton of eggs around in your backpack. A bowl of oatmeal is just what the doctor ordered. It'll warm you up in the morning and give you the energy to hoist up your pack and hit the trail.

Omelets

Oh, boy. There are few things in this world more delicious that a good omelet. Cheese, meat, tomato, and green onion, encased in egg and fried in butter. Of course you can adjust the omelet according to your tastes, but it needs to have meat and cheese and green onion (scallions). The scallions are what really pull the thing together, and raise it from just another egg dish to the heights of culinary art. Truly, the omelet is to be revered, and – aye! – it is virtuous. My favorite? Ham, Tillamook sharp cheddar, scallions, tomatoes, and chopped bell pepper, with Tabasco liberally applied over the top. If you’re in California, you might crown your omelet with a few slices of ripe avocado.

Pancakes, Waffles, French Toast

Of adequate virtue, and often very delicious. There’s a great deal of variation here, though. If these things are frozen, or made from a packaged mix, they are not very virtuous at all. Similarly, artificial syrup is an abomination which will quickly render virtue-less anything with which it comes in contact. Good maple syrup or a rich blackberry syrup, along with plenty of butter, are the proper media for the anointment of your griddle-cakes. Oh, and calling them griddle-cakes or flap-jacks makes them sound much more ruggedly virtuous than pancakes. So do that. Ideally, these should be paired with fried eggs, bacon/sausage, the works. Also, such a sweet breakfast crieth out with a loud voice to be washed down with strong black coffee.

Biscuits and Gravy

Oh-me-oh-my-o! Biscuits and gravy, friends! Nothing is quite so hearty and filling as a breakfast of biscuits and gravy. This is the kind of breakfast that sticks to your ribs. Next time you’re going to be spending the day felling trees or chopping wood, this is the breakfast you need. Lean your ax against the wall, grab a plate of biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs, and pour yourself a steaming cuppa joe. Hearty. Satisfying. Virtuous.  

Think you’ll fell those trees on a belly full of fruitloops? Not a chance.

Eat up, lads and lasses! 

Thou Art as Thou Smokest

Ever notice that stuff from way back when tends to last longer than stuff made today? For instance, your great-grandfather's desk is probably as solid today as it was the day he bought it. Sure, there might be a few scratches in the finish where you gouged it with a penknife when you were five, but that’s your own darn fault. Other than that, it’s as good as new. Moreover, if you’ve had to move it to a different room or a new house, you’re aware that the thing weighs a ton. That’s because it’s built solidly. The hardwood is of the highest quality, as is the construction. The thing was built to last, to be useful long after the craftsman who built it had died. It’s a desk which is very pleasing to the eye. Whether it’s built with a simple and practical design, or decorated with ornate carving, it’s designed to be not only functional as a desk, but also a piece of art.

Compare this to the piece of junk that passes for a desk today. It's ugly, and it’s made out of plywood. It wasn’t built to last four hundred years; rather, it’s designed to break in five years so that you’ll have to buy a new one. Thanks a lot, corporate scam-artists.

I chose furniture as the subject of that little rant, but there are any number of things which would have served as nicely: cars, architecture, clothing, Ritz cracker tins. People used to place value on craftsmanship, quality, beauty, charm. Now, mass production, cookie-cutter design, and disposability run the show.

On what, as a society, do we place value? On permanency or disposability? The answer to this question will inevitably pervade every aspect of our lives.

In the 1940s, men smoked pipes. Oh, they smoked cigarettes too, and often they smoked both. But over seventy percent of all men chose to smoke their tobacco in briar pipes, which is, needless to say, and astounding number. Nowadays, those who choose to imbibe the fragrant leaf can be seen rushing out of their office-buildings to stave off their nicotine cravings, hastily gasping in a few lungfuls of acrid smoke before returning to the earning of their daily bread, or at a bus stop passing the idle minutes, only half conscious of the roll of paper and tobacco pinched between their fingertips.

The pipe brings forth a very different image, and this is no mistake. Pipes are the natural companions of thoughtful solitude, large arm chairs and larger books, tea and brandy and deep contemplation. The pipe likewise (and perhaps to an even greater degree, the cigar) is at home amongst good company, wherein thick billows of fragrant smoke constitute the very atmosphere for comradery and conversation, of jovial brotherhood and earnest discussion alike. The very nature of the pipe demands that it be approached in a very different manner from a cigarette. It must be carefully packed, carefully lit, and thoughtfully smoked. Twenty minutes is hardly sufficient time in which to smoke a small pipe, and an hour or more is required for a larger one. These things give the pipe its character and virtue, but they are the very same things which have caused its decline in popularity. The very nature of the pipe makes it unattractive to the man who craves only a quick nicotine hit.

When we examine the briar pipe, we find that is a beautifully simple object designed for a beautifully simple task. It is in essence a small furnace, constructed so that the smoker may draw smoke from the burning tobacco into his mouth so as to savor it, and, in so doing, simultaneously keep the tobacco lit by supplying the coal with oxygen. Yet it is more than this. It is a small work of art, a testament to and legacy of the craftsman who made it. It is simple, but it is beautiful. It is not discarded after smoking like a cigarette; rather, it is a constant companion and friend. It can serve your grandson as faithfully as it has served you. It lasts. It is permanent.

As men made in the image of God, we are designed for eternity. This mortal body will wear out, but our next one never shall. We were designed for permanence. How many times in Scripture are we exhorted to think not of the temporary things of this world, but to be concerned with things that are forever? In light of eternity, even gold and silver are to be considered perishable. Yet we are made in the image of God, and an aspect of that image is our creativity. God creates. And when God creates, he creates things that are functional, beautiful and lasting.

The man who smokes cigarettes is concerned with a temporary sensation of relief. He is in bondage to nicotine, and inhaling smoke into his lungs keeps his cravings at bay. He takes the momentary pleasure in his cigarette for what it’s worth, and then tosses it aside. It is disposable. It is temporary.

The man who smokes a pipe is not a slave to nicotine. He does not draw the smoke into his lungs, and could just as easily refrain from smoking if he so desired. It is not nicotine he craves, but fragrance, flavor, relaxation, rest, and thought. When he knocks the last of the ashes from his pipe, he returns it to his pocket or his coffee table or desk, until next they meet as friends, and the old ritual – the filling, so carefully yet so naturally; the striking of a match, the kiss of the flame upon the leaf, the steady puff, puff, puff, the billows of smoke, the gentle tamping of the coals, and the easing into an hour of quiet bliss – is repeated once more. The pipe lasts. The pipe is permanent.

Moreover, the pipe, like everything worthwhile in life, takes care, maintenance, and commitment. A cigarette can be smoked thoughtlessly. This is impossible to do with the pipe, as anyone who has tried it knows. The pipe must be cared for and maintained, lest it turn bitter. It must be packed carefully before smoking, and tended carefully while smoking, lest it either die or burn hotly.

That our society has replaced pipes with cigarettes should not surprise us. Everything else which was once permanent is being replaced by the disposable as well. Cars which were made in the 1940s, ‘50s, or 60’s are still prized today. Now, a car is old after five years. And mark my words, in fifty years no one will be thrilled by the sight of a 2015 Toyota. They might say, “Wow,” but it will be “wow, that’s ugly.” The man who goes through cigarette after cigarette is the man who will goes from job to job, house to house, church to church, worldview to worldview, marriage to marriage. It should be stated that the point of this is not to condemn everyone who chooses to smoke cigarettes. Rather, it is to point out that certain attitudes have pervaded our society, from the smallest things to the greatest. The attitudes of our society can be demonstrated in our smoking habits, and these will in turn correspond to our attitudes about employment and marriage and religion. “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.”

Let us not be those who value convenience over beauty, cheapness over quality, disposability over permanence. Let us not be those who are blown by every wind of doctrine. Let us not plow through marriages like so many cigarettes. Let us, rather, be as those who smoke pipes. 

'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' as Allegory

Charlie Daniels' The Devil Went Down to Georgia is a classic of country music, but it is often, and perhaps justly, viewed merely as a flippant country song, with no real message, and as scarcely more

Fire on the mountain! Run, boys, run!

than an elaborate excuse for a couple of violin solos.  It is most probable that this is what Charlie Daniels intended it to be.  Certainly, it was not intended as a theological treatise, and Christians often hold that there is really nothing to be learned from the lyrics of the song.  

I intend to play Devil’s advocate, if you will excuse the pun, and argue that there are plenty of lessons to be learned here, if only we will take the lyrics of the song and examine them through the lens of Scripture. In other words, it’s not that there’s nothing of value to be gleaned from The Devil Went Down to Georgia.  It’s just that you have to view it from the correct angle.  Let’s give it a shot, shall we?

While my treatment of the song as a deep, theological allegory is tongue in cheek, the lessons which I will derive from it are not.  And yes, I'm about to ruin this song for you forever.

The song begins, "The devil went down to Georgia / he was looking for a soul to steal / he was in a bind / cause he was way behind / he was willing to make a deal."  We must be aware, the devil is looking for souls to steal.  Satan is the enemy of God and the enemy of all Christians.  He wants nothing more than for every human soul to go to hell, and experience eternal punishment in the fire prepared for him and his angels.  He is also way behind – all humanity is born bearing the guilt of Adam's first sin and the want of original righteousness, and therefore we are all on a natural path towards condemnation.  And such would be our end, were it not for Christ.  Paul tells us, "And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind" (Ephesians 1-3). So mankind are slaves to sin and Satan, following the prince of the power of the air—Satan.  Because of this, the devil is "way behind" for, as Paul tells us, "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do.  By sending his own Son ink the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit" (Romans 8:1-4).  Whereas Satan wishes death for everyone, John records, "I looked, and behold, a great multitude that none could number, from every nation, from all drives and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!"  Those saved by Christ is a "great multitude that no one can number"— truly, the devil is way behind!           

Interestingly, no such thing is ever said of hell.  We do not read of a great multitude of those in hell.  Charles Spurgeon takes this to mean that the number of the saved will far outnumber the damned, and expresses confidence that Satan will not claim more souls than Christ.  I can’t say with certainty if he is right about this, since Christ says that there are few who find the narrow way.  But we can at least rejoice that the number of those who are saved will be more than anyone can count.

Next, according to the lyrics of the song, the devil goes about tempting a boy named Johnny, who just so happens to be a world-class fiddle player.  Satan challenges the lad to a fiddle duel of the highest stakes.  If Johnny proves the better musician, the devil will give him a violin made of solid gold.  But if Satan wins, Johnny's soul belongs to him.  From this we can infer a couple facts, which will be integral for the remainder of our argument.  First of all, Johnny is a Christian.  This is not difficult to imagine, since he comes from Georgia, part of the Bible belt.  He's probably Southern Baptist or Methodist. I’ll not speculate as to which, or make any snarky remarks about either group.  Stuff like that gets me in trouble.  At any rate, he is saved.  This is obvious, because if he were not, the devil would not need to claim his soul, it would already be firmly in his possession.  Christ tells the Pharisees, "You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires" (John 8:44).  As Satan is attempting to win Johnny's soul, it must be in the possession of another, namely God.  That the Devil is attempting to draw astray one of the elect of God is wholly Biblical.  After all, Satan even had the audacity and arrogance to try to induce Christ to worship him--something we will find laughable and pathetic! (Who does this guy think he is, anyway?) Peter warns Christians, "Be sober-minded; be watchful.  Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour" (1 Peter 5:8).  Christ says "false christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect." (Matthew 24:24).

So, Satan tempts Johnny, a fiddler and a Christian, and Johnny gives in instantly, bragging, "it might be a sin / but I'll take that bet / you're going to regret / cause I'm the best there's ever been!"  Obviously, this is descriptive, not prescriptive.  Should the Devil ever challenge you to a fiddle duel, you should not take him up on it!  James tells us, "Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you!" (James 4:7).  Alas, characters in country-western songs never seem to be the most sober-minded of folks.  Johnny should have told Satan that his soul was ransomed by Christ at a price, and that he would not trivialize that sacrifice by betting his soul against a fiddle!

 Furthermore, he should have responded that his real treasure was not on earth, but in heaven, "where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal." (Matthew 6:19-21).  However, he does not.  Being weak, as Christians often are, having his pride rankled by the devil's claim that he is a better fiddler, and enticed by the beauty of the golden fiddle, Johnny gives in.  He does this in full recognition that his action may be sinful.  The language is ambiguous; Johnny says "It may be a sin" (emphasis mine).  This can mean one of two things.  Either he is saying, "It is possible that this is sinful, but I'm not completely sure so I'm taking the bet anyway," or he is saying, "I'm going to take your bet even though I know full well that it is sin."  It's a sin either way, the only difference being the severity of Johnny's trespass.  If he's not sure, it's still a sin, for Paul writes, in another context but articulating a universal principle, "Blessed is the one who has no reason to pass judgement on himself for what he approves.  But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith.  For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin" (Romans 14:22).  Johnny's actions are not based on faith; rather, he doubts that what he is doing is righteous.  It is, therefore, sinful. If Johnny knows he is sinning, as is likely, this has even graver implications.

Stakes set, Johnny and the Devil compete, and Johnny's fiddle skills trump those of Satan and his Demon Rock Band.  Here again we have proof that Johnny is a Christian.   No matter how much a virtuoso he is, we should not expect a Georgia boy to be able to play the fiddle better than Satan.  After all, Satan is extremely powerful.  Before his fall, Satan was one of the most powerful and beautiful angels, possibly even the foremost.  He is called the "god of this world" (2 Corinthians 4:4), so it seems safe to say that, under normal circumstances, he could play better than even the best violinist, should he so choose.  But if Christ has ransomed Johnny's soul, there is no way that the devil can ever recapture it.  Paul says, "I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor power, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39).  Thus, Johnny's triumph must be due to God's providence rather than his own ability.  Satan cannot win Johnny's soul in a fiddle match, because God will not allow it.  In His High Priestly Prayer, Christ says, "Of those whom you gave me I have lost not one" (John 18:9).  Speaking of those who appeared to have fallen away from the faith, John writes, "They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us, they would have continued with us. But they went out, that it might become plain that they all are not of us" (1 John 2:19).  Johnny, then, is preserved by the grace of God.

Is there a winner and a loser in this story? Surely, at face value, it appears that the winner is Johnny and the loser is the Devil. Satan admits his defeat, and hands the golden fiddle to Johnny as his prize.  Ultimately, we know that the winners are God, and, by the power of Christ, Johnny. For Paul tells us, "he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:6).  And yet, we must view this as a temporary victory for Satan.  Why?  While Satan fails to obtain Johnny's soul, something which he must have realized was impossible, he succeeds in seducing Johnny to sin, not once, but twice. Johnny sins at first by agreeing to compete with the devil at all.  He sins again when his pride is inflated to even more astronomical proportions by his victory.  Full of haughty pride, Johnny boasts, "Devil / just come on back if you ever want to try again / I done told you once / you son of a gun / I'm the best there's ever been!"  Rather than giving praise to God for his salvation and deliverance, Johnny puts his trust in his own abilities.  Even if Satan does not succeed in snatching Johnny's soul from him, he certainly succeeds in causing him to trust in his own abilities, rather than in Christ's finished work.  Johnny becomes exceedingly arrogant and prideful, and even curses the devil in his boastfulness.  In contrast to this, Jude tells us, "when the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, was disputing about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a blasphemous judgement, but said, 'The Lord rebuke you'" (Jude 1:9).  This is precisely what Johnny should have done, but instead he is propelled to the heights of arrogance by his victory.

This is not the final word, however.  No doubt Johnny will struggle with this pride, and be hurt by it.  No doubt his walk with God will be hindered temporarily.  But we know that "all things work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28).

Ultimately, Johnny will learn a lesson about the dangers of pride, and will be stronger than ever before, perhaps even uniquely prepared for some future difficulty.  What Satan, or man, intends for evil, God can use for good.  The Puritan theologian Stephen Charnock once wrote, "The goodness of God makes the devil a polisher, while he intends to be a destroyer."  Satan cannot destroy Johnny, for God will not allow it. And when he comes bringing fiery trial, rather than damaging Johnny as he intends, Johnny will shine afterwards with an even greater luster.

Celebrate Reformation Day

Now, let me say from the start that I promised myself not to say anything along the lines of “cult of death.” You can thank me later.

Today, millions of American children (and an increasing number of adults) will stream into the streets demanding candy of strangers (I’m not against demanding candy, but, hey, why limit that to just one day a year? I say march up to your neighbor’s door and demand candy any old day of the year, so take that) dressed as skeletons, monsters, demons, witches, voodoo-zombies, the Texas Chainsaw Murderer, and Katy Perry. You know, wholesome stuff.

Meanwhile, many Christian families and churches who are for some reason uncomfortable with their children participating in the Cult of Death (dagnabbit!) will have their own celebrations in an attempt to mitigate the damage. These events will be called Trunk-or-Treat, Harvest Festivals, or something equally lame, vanilla-y, and vaguely pagan (which is a difficult trifecta to pull off).  

My friends, we don’t need a fake version of Halloween. October 31^st is already our holiday. For those on the outside looking in, October 31st is Reformation Day. It is the day on which, in 1517, Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the Wittenberg Church and sparked the Protestant Reformation. Initially reacting to flagrant abuses on the part of the Roman Church such as the selling of indulgences, the Reformation lead to the recovery of the biblical doctrines that salvation is by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone, that our standard is Scripture alone, and that the glory for this blessed salvation belongs to God alone.

This is our history and our heritage. We should be celebrating it.

Now, you don’t have to slap the 95 Theses on the door of the local Catholic Church (something I would certainly never do, I’m sure) but you do need to celebrate. How? Let us count the ways.

1.      Throw a party.

If your church has an event, it should be called a Reformation Day party, and it should be rigorously Christian, not just another version of Halloween. Go tell your pastor that. Right now. Alternately, you can throw your own party with friends, or just your own family. Regardless, your celebration should be characterized by joviality and mirth, thanksgiving, feasting, and reflection.

You are celebrating God’s blessings and providence, and you are celebrating those Christians throughout Church history who boldly proclaimed the Gospel of Christ at great personal cost, even death. Be grateful, and joyful. Sing A Mighty Fortress and Rise Again Ye Lion Hearted at the top of your lungs. If you choose to celebrate with a good meal and some craft beer, Luther would approve heartily, especially of the beer.

Candy, or course, is permissible, but pies and such will be much more enjoyable. Even better, German chocolate cake. That would be sehr gut und sehr köstlich.

Of course, I will leave it to your discretion as to whether or not you should dress up as a Reformer. If you do, though, dressing like Ulrich Zwingli and carrying around a plate of smoked sausages will totally impress all the Church History nerds.

2.      Wish people a happy Reformation Day.

Whether celebrating at a Church event, or privately, you should wish everyone a happy Reformation day.

“Happy Halloween, man.”

“And a happy Reformation Day to you, good sir.”

“I’m Catholic.”

Hey, it might be rough at first, but it’ll go much smoother in a few years after it catches on.

3.     Evangelize.

You’re going to have scores of strangers at your door all night. Invite them to church. Or drop a (decent) tract or a New Testament in their candy bags. Just be sure to give ‘em some candy, too, otherwise they’ll just hate you.

4.      Sing at the top of your lungs and make puns. All day.

I know I already mentioned singing, but seriously. Break out A Mighty Fortress, or any other favorite, and be cheery. Also, be sure to spend the day trying to turn everything into a reference to Reformation history. It’ll be fun! I do this every day, so I’m sure you can manage it once a year. Phrases like, indulgences, theses, printing press, Popery, Diet of Worms, and anathema are your friends here. Just imagine:

“Honey, you’re cranking out those flapjacks faster than Guttenberg turned out Bibles.”

“Please stop.”

“Really, Guttenberg met a pressing need.”

“Stop.”

“Anyways, looks delicious. Sure beats a Diet of Worms.”

“STOP!”

“Here I stand. I can do no other.”

“I will smack you.”

“I’ll grant you that Indulgence.”

“Good grief . . .”