aim small, miss small
by Jonathan Daugherty

I have to ask. Why are we so concerned with saving the old apostate institutions or reclaiming ones like Princeton and Harvard? As if there was anything worth saving. Of course, there's nothing wrong with being old. Here the answer probably is simple. It is because we are afraid of appearing foolish to the world. We want the world to think we are smart. Maybe if the world thought we were smarter, they would be nicer to us. I am afraid we do despise the day of small things. We still strategize quantitatively rather than qualitatively. We think that being faithful in little is just encouragement for the unfortunate.

We read in our Bibles that our weapons are not carnal, and we want to believe that our weapons are not physical. We read that our weapons are not carnal, and maybe we want to think that they are not small. Trying to take back culture is why we keep losing, at least on that front. We think that if a lot of people do not see the cultural changes taking place then it just isn't worth all that much. In other words, because we live so much of our lives outside our homes and for the benefit of people for whom we are not naturally responsible, we have forgotten, even forsaken, the very sphere over which we have the most influence. Many of us have such public lives with careers and projects that we start to believe that because we come in contact with more people in that sphere it is that much more influential. These "Think Big, Aim High" aspirations can produce the wrong attitudes. You can almost hear, "Kid, you're bothering me, I'm trying to build the kingdom here." If we don't say that, we say that we need to raise up our children so that they can build the kingdom. And we forget that our children are the kingdom.

Concerned that the world thinks us foolish? "Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you thinks that he is wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is folly with God" (1 Corinthians 3:18,19a). The wisdom of Paul's, "To the Greeks, foolishness," is a badge of great honor.

We most definitely need to raise up great men and artists like Johann Sebastian Bach whose music is so great because he was faithful in little. His musical masterpieces like his Passions and cantatas are played and sung by all the finest orchestras and choruses, but they were created by a pastor for the edification his own local congregation. Others of his great works are performed and studied by the finest solo musicians, but were firstly created by a father for the instruction of his own dear children. If we want our children to be like Bach, then we need to teach them to be faithful in their callings. They need to be faithful in those things we are already responsible.

The devil will cunningly call repentance retreat. Repentance is one of those very big, small tactical maneuvers. But it is no trivial thing. It often takes great courage and strength, and it always takes faith. Then it takes courage and strength and faith to stay the course, especially when the world calls you a retreatist or backwoods fundamentalist. This too can be a badge of honor.

Once, in a land very far away, the people of a small town gathered regularly in their local tavern. They gathered there to celebrate God's providence, enjoy His good gifts, and fellowship. They sang and danced. It was there that wise men discussed and defended great truths. Young men heard their father's conversations and learned great things from them. Visitors and travelers quickly learned to listen long and deeply before speaking for they were far outwitted. That local tavern, for many years, was known as a place to meet the wisest men in all the town and the surrounding countryside.

Years passed and the young men became fathers. Those who moved away told stories to their new neighbors about that old tavern and the people they met and the things they learned. They passed on the songs they had sung, and they taught them to dance. Whenever they came back home to the small town with the old tavern, men took their own young sons to the tavern for a drink or three.

One day, the tavern keeper, a very old man by now, died. His niece from several towns away inherited the tavern. The new owner was smart lady but was quite inexperienced at running a tavern and somewhat unfamiliar with the local townsfolk. Slowly and without any one noticing, at least not enough to mention it to her, she began to dilute the drinks with water and serve shorter glasses.

As many years passed again, the people in the town and the surrounding countryside forgot the wisdom they learned. Those in the town who had once talked and drank at the tavern didn't drink anymore, there or anywhere. And they didn't talk about it, there or anywhere. Those who moved away never came back to the old tavern or the small town. The old tavern passed through many hands, over time, and the small town grew into a large city. One day, the old tavern became the first topless bar in the city.

But many towns away, in another very small town not far from here, people gathered regularly in a local tavern run by an old keeper. They gathered there to celebrate God's providence, enjoy His good gifts, and fellowship. They wrote new songs and sang the old ones. Old men talked about the wisdom their fathers had learned from their fathers in an old tavern many years ago. The young men heard the old men and learned from them and gathered wisdom from their conversations.

What we need to do is think small in order to think big. It's kind of like that old "first shall be last" type of thing. Let's instead build our own culture, as little as it may be. Let us be faithful in small things first. Let us have courage enough to repent whenever necessary.