I’ve posted less lately because I’ve found myself in a whole new lifestyle–city to farm–and juggling the newness of school and a work at home daddy.
Everything has changed, and I mean everything.
When things like this happen, you let a few things go until you regain momentum.
Plus, there always seems to be plenty of people talking, and I hate to join the noise just to be noisy. So many opinions these days… it’s overwhelming to sift through the chaff and distill an idea to the essence of what it means. I’m satisfied to do some pondering instead of postulating. (And there’s ample time to do it while riding the Bad Boy mower or picking hornworms off of tomatoes.)
Abraham Lincoln made a statement that hits close to home for me:
“I remember how, when a mere child, I used to get irritated when anybody talked to me in a way I could not understand. I do not think I ever got angry at anything else in my life; but that always disturbed my temper, and has ever since. I can remember going to my little bedroom, after hearing the neighbors talk of an evening with my father, and spending no small part of the night walking up and down and trying to make out what was the exact meaning of some of their, to me, dark sayings. I could not sleep, although I tried to, when I got on such a hunt for an idea, until I had caught it; and when I thought I had got it, I was not satisfied until I had repeated it over and over; until I had put it in language plain enough, as I thought, for any boy I knew to comprehend. This was a kind of passion with me, and it has stuck by me; for I am never easy now, when I am handling a thought, till I have bounded it north, and bounded it south, and bounded it east, and bounded it west.”
Thanks, Abe, for putting it into words, the sleepless hunt for the unbounded thought. The search for common ground for the plebeians and thinkers alike.
I, too, fall asleep trying to box in an idea until my own kids can understand it in plain words.
For a person like myself, it is reassuring to know a fellow like Lincoln also valued wisdom and succinctness born of deep examination. It’s really okay to think things out for a long time before making a dogmatic statement–highly undervalued these days, if you know what I mean.
One of the remarkable things that has happened in the last month, is that my kids are back in a public school system (praise be to Jesus), a year and a half after being let out on a Friday in March with the promise of returning after spring break.
We were dismissed from a Title I city school in a district of 85,000 students and now we have entered a district 800 miles away with 650 students.
I have a Venn diagram in my mind of the commonalities and disparities, and this is just in the school system–not to mention the culture. The differences are so stark, I cannot even attempt to piece it all together, let alone make a blanket statement. When you hear a rant going on about vaccines, face masks, critical race theory, or common core math (just threw that one in there for fun–remember when life was simple?!), I’d like to remind you that some people like their watermelon with salt. It is really a matter of taste.
But then if someone yanks away the watermelon, well…then there ain’t gonna be much fussing over whether it’s salted. Choice is crucial to freedom, isn’t it?
How to explain the weirdness of our world to my own kids? Let me say it: they are figuring it out pretty quick on their own.
We have raised them worldly, and by that, I mean aware of the world. I’m returning their precious souls to the classroom for the purpose of continuing their very important, limited exposure to the world. I’m certainly not sending them on a wish and a whim (though the afternoon school bus ride is a bit of a fingers-crossed situation). I do not honestly expect them to get a robust or comprehensive education, specifically in the areas of history, science, art, or music. Are you kidding? This is why we read books at home, why we teach them to sing hymns at church, why we buy oil pastels and risk a messy living room. It’s why we have instruments hanging on the walls and there are junk drawers filled with clothespins, rubber bands, popsicle sticks, and every random bit and bob a kid might need to use for a “project”.
We turn the television off and look each other in the eye when we eat supper.
Then they get up in the morning and go to school, where they see what people are like and how to deal properly with them.
They return with stories, and it is always interesting to me that most of their tales end with a conclusion they’ve made–an opinion born of experience–and very frequently one that holds truth (BBQ sandwiches have too much sauce, so-and-so shouldn’t interrupt the teacher when he’s talking, don’t open your water bottle on the bus). Then they resume eating their cup of pudding, or they pick up the guitar or book or coloring project and are on their merry way, learning and happy.
I bring up Abraham Lincoln because I found a book on him in our old farmhouse, published exactly 111 years ago. It would have been 44 years after his death, which is the same as our current 2021 viewpoint of the year 1977. I think it’s helpful to remember this as I dive into my nerdy mini-exposition. This little, crumbly, stained with age book wasn’t covering ancient history when it was published. They were writing from the same perspective I have now when I look back on the original Star Wars movies. As in, wow! Can you believe what a big deal that was and how much the world changed because of it?
Of Abraham Lincoln, the little book said,
He had heard the word “demonstrate” as one of the things that were done in geometry. He made up his mind, as he had in his boyhood, that he would learn how to demonstrate his points, that is, make them so clear that men could not help accepting them. He got himself a copy of Euclid’s geometry and, as he rode the circuit, he committed to memory many of Euclid’s demonstrations. He was still learning how to bound his thoughts on all sides. His speech became so crystal clear that men said, “If Lincoln is in the case, there will be no trouble in understanding what it is all about.”
(From Moores’ Abraham Lincoln for Boys and Girls, Riverside Literature Series. Houghton Mifflin Co. c. 1909)
This is so very relevant to our day in age: we must be people who have bounded our thoughts on all sides before attempting to demonstrate we are right (instead of just airing our opinions). We must learn lessons by observing history, people, and the cause-and-effect nature of a person’s actions.
It makes me think of when Jesus was put on the spot by religious leaders and he, being well-bounded in his apologetics (of course, he had the advantage of being God), had the perfect answers. For them, and for us today. I’d like to take note–there are a couple nuggets of wisdom Jesus worked into his speech when he addressed listeners regarding the hypocritical Pharisees of his day. They occurred right before he slapped the leaders with woes harsh enough to bring a sailor to tears. Jesus said,
“The teachers of the Law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach.” (Matt. 23:2-3)
In other words, these were the folks in charge, and the common people did well to respect the laws of the land. But Jesus warned them not to be like them in the way they walked around, clean on the outside but filthy in their intentions. You see, we are all still expected to “rend to Caesar what is Caesar’s” (Matt. 22:21). Jesus expects us to honor our own “caesars” (our country, our parents, our heritage, etc.), but he won’t permit us to hold them in as high of honor nor anywhere near the honor we are to give Him.
There are two extremes to which we are prone to lean:
One is pretending there is no caesar. I’d even suggest some people think you can take America out of America, or pretend things aren’t complicated or nuanced, or disrespect other cultures. For some Christians, it might even be rejecting the logistics of being in the world but not living like it. We think we can maintain a clean outside and a clean inside simply by remaining unaffected. I would argue: living in this world as a believer doesn’t nullify all purpose in participating. And it certainly doesn’t honor Jesus if your trust in him is limited to activities that avoid getting your feet dirty.
The second extreme is assuming it is your duty to uphold the law of such “caesars” for other people. This might look like stirring up contention, or challenging others to toe an invisible line, or bullying a person into denying their own personal little caesars (pizza, pizza!). This is a common trend among unbelievers, who aren’t opposed to incentivizing governmental overreach, as long as it benefits them. But it is also common among believers who do not elevate Jesus to his proper position of authority, and instead think of themselves as social justice saviors on the front lines. Do not do what they do, Jesus said, for they do not practice what they preach!
Here’s what sticks: Jesus acknowledged there are Caesars who are owed something, and this is entirely helpful to think about amid culture wars. But our primary affection must be for Him who loved us enough to give His life for us. Sorry to say it, little caesars, but that dethrones you to second fiddle.
It doesn’t erase our opinions or best intentions, but it does help bound our thoughts, don’t you think?
And hopefully it helps us hold our tongue when we get the urge to wag it.
