Our by Our
by R.C. Sproul Jr.

It is hard to forget one's first public lecture. Mine was all the more memorable, as it was somewhat unusual. I was neither preaching from a pulpit, nor a teacher in a school. My audience was somewhat captive, though hardly captivated. They were all students at the old Ligonier Valley Study Center. They had come to study at the feet of my dear father, who proved himself unworthy of their devotion by succumbing to my request that I have a crack at them. I asked, and he did give. His grace and kindness toward me was ungracious and unkind toward those poor souls who had to listen to me. I think the only thing they got out of the deal was a trip to the surreal. That is, if I wasn't at all entertaining, at least I provided this entertainment value: I was a sixteen year old kid giving a lecture on biblical economics.

I was, long before I took the podium, already a freak show. Not many sixteen year olds stay up late at night reading F.A. Hayek. Not many sixteen-year-olds lose sleep mentally ranking the various disciples of Ludwig Von Mises. And those that do tend to be sufficiently shy not to try to share what they learn with the grown-ups around them. So these poor students came, and they listened politely, hoping to earn points with the R.C. that mattered.

This first lecture was given late in July, 1981. And lest you think I was utterly weird, I remember the date for two reasons that make perfect sense for the average teenager. I remember the date because it marked a milestone. That day I had secured for myself a driver's license. That night, after the lecture, I was permitted to drive Corrie White, a friend of the family, and a fine young lady, home.

While my mind was on economics in the abstract, and driving on the concrete, the rest of the world had their attention on the rising price of a gallon of gasoline. Lines were long at the pump, and tempers were short. The titanic intellects laboring at the Congress were toying with the idea of passing a law requiring car manufacturers to hit certain targets for miles per gallon for their vehicles. I explained to those in attendance what a silly and foolish idea this was, that the market would provide solutions to these kinds of problems, that the worst possible thing to do was to have Washington fix it. An actual grown-up in the audience raised his hands, and asked with child-like sincerity, "But what would become of our gas?"

I'm sorry that I don't remember who made the objection. This I'm pretty sure of though. He wasn't a Rockefeller, the fellers who own Standard Oil. Neither was he a Pew, the stinkers who own Sun Oil Company. And so I smiled politely at the inquisitive young man, and gently reminded him that it wasn't "our" gas. That is, it belongs to those who own it, just as cars belong first to those who make them, and then to those who buy them. I wasn't fast enough, or brave enough to drive that lesson home by taking "our" money out of "his" wallet.

Isn't it something how something as little as a pronoun can make such a big difference? When we change "their" gas to "our" gas, we have struck black gold. Suddenly the whole world belongs to "us." Of course the bad news is that just as suddenly, nothing belongs to me. Don't get me wrong—there is a place for "our." When I speak about "our church," as in, "Our church doesn't go in for animal blessing services" I am not claiming that our church is a commune. Instead the "our" affirms that we are a body, a corporate entity. It's not an "our" of ownership.

There is likewise the "our" of identity. People who merely root for other teams, or root for no team at all, often give me a puzzled look when I explain about the Pittsburgh Steelers, "Well, our record was only 6-10 last year, but I really like our chances this year." They think I'm making some claim to being on the payroll of the team. Of course I'm not on the team, as much as I'd love to be. It's just that the Steelers are "our" team in "our" family.

Which do they mean, I wonder, when Leviathan begins talking about "our" children? When candidates for both branches of the party compete with each other in spending "our" money for "our" schools, I'm afraid they're thinking in terms of ownership. And I'm afraid we let them. The worst thing about this argument, "It's okay to send our children to our public schools, because…" isn't the misnomer "public," isn't the argument that is made, but that "we" would identify enough with the godless-by-law state school such that "we" could refer to them as "our" schools.

My friend Don Schanzenbach makes much the same point in his book Faithful Parents Faithful Children: Why We Homeschool by getting to the root of socialization. According to the 1983 American Heritage Dictionary, "Socialize" means "To place under public ownership or control." That is, when they object that homeschooled children won't be socialized, what they mean is that my children will not become their children.

How long will Christians continue to fight against socialism? We cling to that which bears Caesar's image, federal reserve notes. We insist on our second amendment rights, telling Leviathan that they'll get our guns when they pry our cold dead fingers off them. And then we hand over that which bears God's image—our children. What is the purpose of the money and the guns in the first place, save to provide for and protect the children God has given us?

We will not understand that "our" children are not our children until each of us first learns that my children are not my children. Instead the proper pronoun is His This is the crux of the battle. The state believes our children belong to it. And God reveals that our children belong to Him. The question is, whom will you believe?