Be Very Afraid
Be Very Afraid
I want to get a broadsword. I think that having a nice big sword hanging above the mantle would be a pleasing accoutrement to the living room. And as a bonus, it would come in handy to ward off intruders. (Don't ask how I'm going to get past the bad guys to get the sword off of the mantle when they are already in the living room yanking my stereo out of the wall. When I'm in my little fantasy world, don't go messing it up by asking questions.) So I sneak up behind them with my sword in hand. Wouldn't that scare them silly? Imagine being greeted by an angry Italian 220-pound tattooed bodybuilder wearing only his BVDs, and wielding a sword. Now that's fear.
So I told R.C. about it. And in his usually optimistic way he says, "Well, isn't that nice, bless your heart; but what if they're not scared? Wouldn't it be better to have a 9mm?" I should have told him not to interject his logical queries into my quixotic fantasies.
But he got me thinking. Would they be scared of me? Would they be scared of R.C.? Has R.C. ever scared me? Yes he has. How? By being diehard passionate about his role and duty as a husband and father. You would have to kill him three times over to get between him and his family. I wouldn't dare try. And I've seen it in Daugherty, Chwastek, Roegner, Windham, and every God fearing man who knows his patriarchal role in the family. It's not the gun or sword, the ugly looks or nationality that will scare the fools invading our homes. It is the righteous indignation flowing from our duty to protect that which God has entrusted to us.
Caveat for the fool who would threaten our homes and families: Whether you are greeted by an Italian 220-pound tattooed bodybuilder in his BVDs swinging a broadsword, or a short balding Scot in his Homer Simpson boxer shorts waving a 9mm, your reaction will be the same, no question about it. You will be scared.
Entering Normal
Though I have been through it countless times, it never ceases to amaze me how swiftly we move from astounding blessing to status quo. Every raise quickly turns into my salary. Every time I purchase a new car (that is, new to me, I've never owned a "new" car) I try to force myself to hold onto the joy. But soon my ride is just that, my ride. As I write I'm sitting in first class, the happy result of being a comparatively frequent flier. The happy descriptive, "I could get used to this" is both understatement, and not happy. It may happen that I will get used to it, that this will become normal, and coach will become hardship.
Getting fat and happy is a perennial temptation, one that rears its ugly head wherever we turn. It could be anything from flying first class, to a hot shower, anything from meat at every meal to central heat. The solution, of course, isn't to adopt a pious asceticism, Rather the answer is to adopt a giddy gratitude. (The flight attendant just handed me a square of Ghiradelli chocolate. How sweet is that?) Indeed the very pathway to joy is to remember the right answer to three important questions- What am I due? What do I have? And What am I promised?
The font of joy is gratitude, the font of bitterness expectation. The key, of course, is to notice, to step into the shower and think, "Mercy, me but this hot water is cool." The temptation is to step into the shower and to yawn. God showers us with blessing, and the devil entices us to boredom. What delights God, as John Piper has reminded us, is, as the font of obedience, is joy, gratitude. The oldest trick in the serpent's diabolical bag is ingratitude, "Though they knew Him as God, they did not acknowledge Him. Neither were they grateful." May we never enter Normal; may we pitch our tents in surprised by joy.
Race War
You might just call me a biblical racist. How so? I believe there are only two races in the world, and that one is better than the other. A superior race not by nature, but by grace; yet still superior all the same. There exists a war on earth on the basis of race: the seed of the serpent versus the seed of the woman; the city of man versus the city of God. To the disgust of the neo-evangelical world I am a bigoted combatant in this present race war. Yes, I have an agenda. No, I don't desire to live and let live. I desire to live and see life brought out of death through the preaching of the gospel. I desire to see Christ's and my own enemies slain by the sword of the Spirit. Regardless of how "world friendly" (read accommodating) my evangelical friends tell me to be to the lost; I refuse to lose sight that it is us versus them, and I'm not on the losing side. It is Christ's army of red and yellow, black and white warring against Satan's army of red and yellow, black and white. It is this question of race that really matters.
We've been to long fooled by prophets that cry "peace" between the two races! Between the two peace is impossible, and ardent war is the order of the day. I too once listened to the sirens. Those who seek to make the gospel user friendly. The voices that tell me to share the love of Christ apart from the scandal of believing the gospel (1 Cor. 1:22,23), a rigorous call to discipleship (Luke 9:23), and incorporation into the Church (Matt. 28:18-20). Someone tell the sirens to put a sock in it. It is either kill spiritually or be killed spiritually, and we fight not only for ourselves, each other, and our families, but for our race as a whole and for He who is our King. With that be a racist, lift up the banner of our people, and wage a holy war.