Chip Shots

We didn’t know any better. After all, what kid would question the opportunity to go play at a friend’s house? “I’m going to drop you off at so and so’s for a while. You boys play while I go shopping,” Mom said. “Does that sound like fun to you?” What’s not to like about that? After all, these were the days (please don’t call Child Protective Services) when it was fairly common for Mom to leave us three boys in the car while she bought groceries. (Not that I recommend it, mind you!) Even so, playing at a friend’s house beats shopping any day of the week. (Come to think of it, that’s still true.) She dropped us off, we played together, she came back, and we went home. End of story. A week later all three of us had the chicken pox. Why would Mom play such a sinister trick on us? Why would she deliberately expose us to disease? Because she knew that this short-term childhood pain would result in long-term physical health. Moms have a way of knowing such things. I often wear a T-shirt that ...

Eschew Obfuscation. Two words, bold white letters, light blue background. I saw them on a poster while studying in my high school library. Eschew I thought I knew; obfuscation was unclear. Ever inquisitive, I looked it up in the dictionary. Thirty years later, I have forgotten neither it nor the ironic library poster. In an effort to eschew obfuscation, then, let me be perfectly clear: the key to Christianity is found in your honest answer to this question, “Who is Jesus, and how will I respond to him?” Jesus is a universally admired figure. Virtually every religion or spiritual belief system acknowledges his life and teachings. Many consider him a prophet, a visionary, a great teacher, a worthy example. Christians acknowledge these things. But we go a significant step further: we believe Jesus was God Incarnate. Jesus was unique in all history: no one like him before or since. He was fully human and fully divine. He died, was buried, rose from the dead, is still alive, and will someda...

Some people swear because they are angry; others swear because they are stupid. That at least is my opinion. I state it merely for shock effect, for calling someone stupid is practically the same as swearing at them. Angry swearing I can understand. I can see why, for some, “shoot!” just doesn’t capture the moment of frustration. For my part, the guilt of saying something unseemly would outweigh the satisfaction in saying it. Ned Flanders would be proud. Mindless swearing is simply … mindless. It’s the kind used so commonly that it loses all meaning, the kind that merely evidences a lack of vocabulary, the kind that loses all sense of propriety in a public place. I encountered it while traveling home from vacation yesterday. We stopped into Arby’s for a bite to eat. The gentleman in front of me, and I don’t dare try to publish the words he used, was frustrated because the person across the counter didn’t catch his order the first time. In edited form he said, “Isn’t there an American w...

In her novel, Death Comes for the Archbishop , Willa Cather crafts a fascinating portrait of a nineteenth century Jesuit priest. Born and bred to a scholar’s life in France, Father Latour served instead in the obscurity of the wild and woolly New Mexico Territory. He battled harsh conditions, primitive superstitions, and renegade priests while building a thriving diocese in the greater southwest. Now retired, he enjoyed a life of repose in his desert hideaway, the fruit of a long and productive ministry. Unfortunately, due to bad weather and an ill-timed trip, he picked up a terrible, hacking cough. Calling his loyal assistant to him, Father Latour asked him to secure permission from the current Archbishop, his successor, to return to his old study for a few days. It is apparent that Father Latour believes he does not have much longer to live. His assistant is happy to oblige but says to the aged Father, “You should not be discouraged; one does not die of a cold.” Cather’s text continu...

Let’s just say it wasn’t a good day. The beautiful monsoon storm that dumped 1 ½ inches of rain in Cave Creek? I loved it, but my septic tank certainly did not. It will cost me several thousand dollars to have it fixed. Ouch! I feel like suing somebody. I am really angry to be put in this situation after less than a year in my brand new home. In times like these, my Christian faith is decidedly inconvenient. I rather wish I had no conscience. I want to lash out, to make threats, to rant and rave. I see people do it all the time and it doesn’t seem to bother them. Why should I be any different? That little voice inside my head, the one that says, “Be careful, Steve. You don’t want to go there” – you know that voice, don’t you? – it drives me crazy. I wish it would just go away. But it doesn’t. So I fork out money I do not have to pay for problems I did not create. And it makes me mad. Does that ever happen to you? I suppose it does. In times like these, I derive a lot of help from the r...

It was 4:30 in the morning. I was driving down Cave Creek Road. Half asleep, I balanced a hot cup of coffee in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. I was traveling 62 miles per hour. I know, because that’s what the officer told me. He also mentioned that I had neglected to signal when changing from the left to the right lane. He gave me a little piece of paper to remind me never to do it again. As you might expect, I wasn’t too pleased. Are we ever? I suppose it’s therapeutic, but I’ve been musing (and commiserating) about this experience for a few weeks now. Why do we need speed limits? Why do we blatantly violate them? And why are we so offended when we get caught? What does it say about human nature? I can name that tune in one word: Depravity. Or two: Original Sin. I know these are not very popular ideas today. We prefer to think that humans are inherently good. We like to believe that self-centeredness is the result of poor upbringing, or poor education, or poverty, or su...

Tamar. Rahab. Ruth. Bathsheba. Mary. These extraordinary women are members of an exclusive club, one usually reserved for men: they are listed in the Bible as ancestors of Jesus (Matthew 1). You might imagine that these women had to be pretty special to be included in the official record of Jesus’ lineage. And they were. But not for the reasons you might expect. For example, Tamar got on the list by disguising herself as a prostitute. She did this to trick the father of her dead husband into having a baby by her. She succeeded; the resulting child became one of Jesus’ early ancestors. (The boy’s name was Perez. His father and his grandfather were the same man!) And Rahab? Whereas Tamar only pretended to be a prostitute, Rahab made a career of it. She left her wayward ways behind before she became one of Jesus’ grandmothers, but she never lost the nickname, “Rahab the Harlot.” Perhaps even more startling is the trait that Rahab shared with her future daughter-in-law, a woman named Ruth....