Driving smug

I must confess that when I see the blond chick, in her red sports car, getting ticketed at the side of the road, I drive by with a very smug smile on my face.  The "girls just wanna have fun" crowd just got nailed.  It doesn't take long on the gendarme force to learn the phoniness of that flirty wink and silly grin with which ditsy girls hope to avoid the traffic citation.  I used to ride along with the sheriff, and believe me that approach only fires the constabulary ire.

The driver who whips his car out from behind me and maneuvers right in front of me, only to jam on his brakes for the stoplight, stirs primal emotions from my gut.  I am mature enough not to lash out with road rage.  I don't even carry a gun.  But I confess to another moment of that smug smile when I see that same car caught in a slow pocket of traffic when I make the next signal and he doesn't.  Okay, shame on me.  It has to be another disguise of sinful pride, but it feels so good.  Yes, I know, there are many sins that "feel" so good for the moment.

The broadest smile of smugness crosses my face when I see miles of parking lot traffic on the freeway headed in the opposite direction.  There are times and days that everyone must know when there are too many cars and not enough road.  When one has employment that requires his presence at certain hours, and his home is remove from that locale by several miles, there is nothing he can do about this flow (or rather lack thereof) of traffic.  It's naughty of me, I know, but I feel smug as I speed along on the opposite side.

If I were truly spiritually mature, I would pray for their growth in patience.  I might pray that they will have a nice dinner date with their significant other.  But all I can think is how glad I am that I'm not caught in that traffic horror.  I'm thinking that we may be at our most vulnerable show of spiritual immaturity when we are driving.  Or am I only embarrassing myself?

Biblical marriage

I recently used that phrase on FaceBook, and was disappointed at the response it evoked.  Advocates for redefining "marriage" to include homosexual relationships don't react well to the phrase "biblical marriage".  In fact it quickly becomes apparent that there is an angry rebellion against anything "biblical".

But the interesting response I am thinking about just now is the one that makes snide references to David and Solomon et al. who had multiple wives.  David is even spoken of by God as the man "after my own heart."  This is supposed to prove that biblical marriage can be bigamy and have God's blessing.  So what's so problematic about gay marriage?

Such reasoning, of course, comes from a source that is not the least interested in what the bible teaches, unless (of course) that teaching can be shown to be silly or embarrassing.  It comes under the category of a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Now it doesn't require a Masters degree in logic to understand the point I am about to make.  Any fair minded approach to the bible (or any didactic literature) must ask the question, "What is this document trying to say?"  That there are examples of multiple wives taken by those who are even heroes of the faith does not prove that this is biblical marriage.  It only proves that the bible is honest about the sinful lives of even the best of men.  It records such as historical fact.

Rather the question is "What is the kind of marriage that the bible prescribes as ideal and proper."  Does the bible say that men should have many wives?  When Jesus was accosted by bible teachers who wished to justify divorce, Jesus went back to basics.  He said, "Have you not read that He who created them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, 'Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.'?" (Mat. 19:4-5)

Whatever one reads in the bible, he should ask himself, "Is this a normative text?"  That is to say, is this what the bible is telling me how I should conduct my life?  Or is it another instance of recording the hard truth about people?

In any case, dear reader, you must realize that the bible is at heart a message of the love and grace of God.  It tells us how God is very holy, and we are not.  If we are desirous of living in God's presence in heaven, our sinful record needs to be erased and our sinful hearts need to be changed.  Jesus, God's one and only Son, can make those changes, but he will only do it for those who recognize their sin and ask Him for salvation.

Please don't ever make the mistake of thinking the bible presents us with some sort of moralistic ladder by which we climb our way to heaven.  There are high moral standards presented for sure.  These are intended to make us realize we are sinful and cannot save ourselves.  These moral teachings are also there to help those who already have been forgiven and changed to understand what kind of living pleases God.  One of the sure signs that one's heart has been changed is that he now wants to keep God's commandments, especially to love God and others.

And only one of those moral standards is that marriage is a lifetime relationship between one man and one woman.

When half of you is in pain

I was dramatically reminded that I am only half a person without my sweet wife.  She fell and broke her hip April 3.  She is repairing in rehab now, but I know what guys mean when they refer to the wife as "my better half".  It's not really surprising.  Scripture clearly teaches that the man leaves his father and mother and cleaves to his wife and the two become one flesh.  When that half is in pain, you are also in pain.  That pain is not as sharp, that's true, but it is severe discomfort nevertheless.

We were coming out of the nail salon following our pedicures.  Since I refuse to have my toenails painted, I am always the first one finished.  I waited in the car.  When she emerged from the shop she suddenly tripped over something and fell to the pavement.  I jumped out of the car and offered her my hand to get her to her feet, but she begged off, saying she wanted to wait until the pain subsided.  It didn't.  I offered again, and when she declined again I began to entertain the idea of a broken hip.  I tried to push it out of my mind, but there it was.

Many times when I was still a kid I remember hearing of some old geezer who broke her/his hip.  It wasn't much later that I heard of the passing of this geezer.  A broken hip seemed like a death sentence for anyone who qualifies as an old geezer.  But things in the medical field have improved a great deal since I was a kid.  Cruelly as it seems to be, they get you out of bed and walking right away.  The pain, though more than unpleasant, is not fatal.  Inactivity, however, is fatal.  Bed sores, pneumonia, locked joints, shut down organs et al. settle into your body and it's all over.

All this to say Barbara is my heroine for gritting her teeth and walking what looked to me like home plate to first base (90 feet).  She hopes to be home by Saturday.

When all the nail salon people came rushing outside, someone said they would call for 911.  But Barbara cried out, "No, no, no...they will only charge us a lot of money and they won't take me where I want to go."  So here she was, lying on the cement with a crowd around her, and no one quite knowing what to do.  So the girl who had just finished working on Barbara ran back inside and came out with the bottle of polish and began to repair her sullied toenails.  Get the picture?  Here is this lady, lying on the sidewalk, probably with a broken hip, and the girl was busy touching up her nails.  It seemed like a rather ludicrous option of priorities.

Next to arrive were two girls who worked at the Subway shop two doors down from the salon.  They were sweet and solicitous, expressing great concern.  Well it turns out that they were as strong as they were sweet.  Someone brought out of the salon one of the chairs with wheels.  These two girls lifted Barbara right up off the pavement and into the chair.  They wheeled the chair to the car, and then lifted Barbara out of the chair and into the car.  From there I knew what to do.   Barbara wants to find those girls as soon as she is able, and shower them with all the Avon they want (and more) as a "thank you" for their efforts and their sweet concern.

I drove to Kaiser's Emergency Room, went inside and told them that my wife may have a broken hip and I can't get her out of the car.  I let them take it from there.  They did seem a bit puzzled as to how she got into the car in her condition, but no one pressed the issue.

James E. Moore

 


There are several turning points in everyone's life.  Some you recognize right away, but most you appreciate more as time gives a better perspective.  One of those turning points in my life was found in the person of the Rev. James Erskine Moore.  He became my pastor shortly after I became a Christian, and he taught me the distinctives of the Reformed faith, right from the Bible.

In the providence of God I met this man at the funeral of my beloved uncle Walter Saumert.  I vividly remember Mr. Moore reciting from memory I Thessalonians 4:13-18 as though God was speaking to me directly.  The episode was dramatically enhanced by the fact that, as a new Christian, I had not yet read much of the Bible.  The fact that this was the first time death had struck down someone I loved also increased the impact of the moment.  God was working.  Anyone who knew Jim Moore will also understand that he had a flair of unaffected drama in his preaching and recitations.

Again I must attribute to divine providence the fact that my father decided the family needed to move about that time, and our move put us in the same area as the Westminster Orthodox Presbyterian Church and its pastor, the Rev. James E. Moore.  My mother and I began to attend the church, and that is when I first joined the O. P. C.

It was at this church that I came--albeit kicking and screaming--to be convinced of predestination.  Here also I was to meet the spunky girl who became my dear wife.  Barbara had been taught much of this good stuff, growing up in the home of an OPC minister, but in God's timing we were both prepared to grow under the ministry of Jim Moore in our understanding of Christ and his church.  Barbara and I both were impressed with Mr. Moore's preaching, but his manner required some acclimation.  He had an engaging, conversational style, and his voice was pleasant.  His vocabulary and syntax invited our thoughts to follow him easily.  But he flexed his jaw with certain words that made it appear he was trying to hold his teeth in his mouth.  This was most memorable when he pronounced the word "chuch" (or at least it sounded like that to me).  It took at least one full sermon, more for others, before one could actually hear the message without distraction.  Once acclimated, however, we were strongly edified by this dear man's preaching.

The church was very small, and the youth group was accordingly small.  The Moore's son, David, his sister Gwladys Ann, John Molloy, Dorris Stegemeier, Barbara and I were the regulars.  In addition there were some occasional visitors.  Younger kids included Katie Moore (now Mrs. Yaegashi, a missionary in Japan).  David Moore served many years as a missionary in Japan also, and now uses his Japanese language proficiency to serve as a translator for emergency calls with the phone company.

Jim Moore made his home a friendly and inviting place for us all.  His beloved wife, Maglona, was no small part of this pleasant environment.  They always had ice cream to dispense, and we habitually played "up Jinx" (a team game which included slapping a quarter on the table in stealth so as to keep the opposing team from guessing which hand lay upon the quarter).

Sometimes we sang hymns in this home, sometimes we had prayer.  It was in the Moore home that I first met Professor John Murray.  Mr. Murray was in the area to deliver a series of lectures to Fuller Seminary on the subject of Christian ethics.  Those lectures were later published as "Principles of Christian Conduct".

Mr. Moore taught us to be careful Sabbitarians.  He had definite convictions about the church and that the bible only knows of two perpetuating offices.  As a brash new Calvinist I once made comment about a minor baseball injury, being glad that was over, but Mr. Moore chided me not to make light of providence.  He was indeed a man of propriety and integrity, and a man of firm convictions.  Unfortunately it was his conviction that it was sin for me to get married before I attended seminary that drove a wedge between us.  We never experienced as close a relationship after that.  But we respected each other to his dying day.

He was brought into my life at an important time, and God used the Rev. James E. Moore to bless my life immeasurably when I needed him.

Van Til and Me

Cornelius Van Til was at least one of the most important thinkers in the field of Christian apologetics of the twentieth century.  He was part of the original faculty of Westminster Theological Seminary, Philadelphia.  And I had the privilege, in God's providence, of sitting at his feet from 1959-1961.  In those days I was somewhat aware of the historic blessing that was mine, but only years since then have I fully realized just how blessed I am.  There were other great names among these men, but this post is about Dr. Van Til.

I was overwhelmingly intimidated by the prospect of attending Westminster in the first place.  I, the kid who was told in the ninth grade that he wasn't college material, was actually entering my first year of seminary work.  I had flunked my English entrance exam in college.  I was reminded by my pastor, and even professors at college, just how demanding the work would be at Westminster.

When we drove old route 66 and the Pennsylvania Turnpike into Philadelphia back in September of '59 I was certain I would flunk out of Seminary if I didn't experience a miracle.  What was I thinking?

The day before classes began I drove to the campus to look around, and behind Machen Hall many trees had been felled in preparation for the installation of a major highway, so I was to learn.  As I strolled around I spotted a tall, greying and distinguished gentleman, his long coat flapping in the breeze, just standing there contemplating the fallen grove.  When we were near enough to speak Dr. Van Til remarked, "Isn't it a shame that all these beautiful trees had to go?"  We exchanged names, although I think the faculty was already familiar with the names of all the entering class before now.  I was sufficiently in awe of my professor that we only exchanged small talk pleasantries.  But I was to discover that this brilliant mind belonged to a Dutch farm boy whom the Lord called and gifted to be here.  The comfortable presence of the farm boy was inviting.

Dr. Van Til had friends in California, and he often referred to Ripon in his homey illustrations.  When he would stop me in the hallway to make a comment about this California boy, wearing brick red trousers, it was always with playful appreciation.

During my middle year, actually the day after finals, I underwent an emergency appendectomy, and became a ward patient in the local hospital.  Two professors came to visit me in bed there, and one of them was Dr. Van Til.  Later I was to learn that it was customary for him to visit patients at any one of the nearby hospitals.  He would approach the bedside of a patient and say, "Hello, I'm a Christian clergyman, and if I may, I would like to read a little scripture for you."

I heard Dr. Van Til lecture on the foibles of secular philosophy, leaving my head spinning.  And I heard him preach the gospel simply and clearly.  Since his apologetic was legendary and academically challenging, I read his book, "Defence of the Faith" before I got to Westminster.  I thought I got it, but there was always something big that seemed distant.  I mostly got "2"s from him (corresponding to "B" in most grading systems).  I was quite content with that.

When we were invited to the Van Tils for dinner one time, the first thing I noticed was a set of Karl Barth's "Kirchliche Dogmatik" (Church Dogmatics) in the original German, with worn and dog-eared pages, prominently displayed on an end table.  His lovely wife was wonderfully hospitable, and this night he had invited a contingent of California boys and their wives.

During lectures Dr. Van Til was likely to pick up his podium, still building profound sentences, then pump the podium up and down above his head as though he were doing push ups.  While fielding questions, he might lie on the table and listen with rapt attention, encouraging the distracted questioner to "go on."  More than once we saw him toss small pieces of chalk over his shoulder randomly as others might handle what they wanted to call "brute facts".

Voluminous papers earned higher grades so regularly that urban myth claimed that he threw the papers down the stairs, assigning the higher grades to the ones that drifted farthest down.  Confirmation of this myth was claimed when he returned all the papers in such a short time.  Some of the boys tested him.  They might staple two pages together to see if Van Til pulled them apart in order to read them.  Of course when the paper came back the staple was still intact.  One boy wrote in a bracketed sentence, "Dr. Van Til, if you are reading this, I owe you a coke."  He would never mention the offer.  The surprise came when he quoted some of the papers during his lectures.  "As Albert said in his paper...."

A long standing yearning of Dr. Van Til's was realized when Bill Krispin set up an academy opportunity for Westminster faculty members to teach inner city pastors with whom Bill was working in south Philadelphia.

His zeal for evangelism was also seen in the photo of him with Jack Miller preaching the gospel in the heart of Wall Street in New York City.

Here was a brilliant man whose presuppositionalism still challenges those who try to explain it.  He simply refused to give up any biblical truth for the sake of making a point of contact with an unbeliever.  He knew the unbeliever already knows God is there, but he is denying the truth to sidetrack his responsibility to believe the gospel.  Epistemology is actually that simple.

For all the erudite argumentation Van Til generated, he was at heart a sweet farmer's boy who intensely loved Jesus.

Music Appreciation

If you're old enough to remember listening to the Lone Ranger on the radio, I have a question for you.  Yes, there was a time when we sat, or laid on the floor, in front of a large radio, staring into the speaker as intently as kids stare at their TV programs today.  Even though we didn't see anything but this curve-topped Philco radio, we stared at it like it was going to move any second.

If you were especially good at observation, you might notice the decorative sheet of cloth which covered the speaker vibrate ever so slightly.  It may have been especially noticeable when the music was climactic and fortissimo.  But other than that tiny vibration, the radio didn't move.  There was a lot of action, but it was flashed onto the screen of your mind by the drama in the words spoken, rather than the actual sight of figures moving on a screen before you.  Those of us who had the most vivid imaginations saw the most action.

Citizens who were rescued by this hero were often heard to ask at the end of the episode, "Who was that masked man?"  He may have been given a silver bullet as a calling card, and likely a more informed citizen standing near him would identify "the Lone Ranger!"  But our shy hero was already on his way, urging speed to his mount by calling out, "Hi ho Silver...away!"

Now, my question is this: What was the music background for this program?  Of course even those who never actually heard a broadcast of this show can identify, The William Tell Overture.  Okay, but that is not the music to which I refer.  The William Tell Overture was the trademark theme of the Lone Ranger,  but there was another piece of classical music that was used as incidental music in the middle of the program.

I never did identify it until much later in my life when my wife introduced me to a wider repertoire of classical music.  I'm thinking about this now because it has become one of my favorite pieces to hear while riding my stationary bike.  It is Les Preludes by Franz Liszt.  Pull out the CD sometime (or seek it on YouTube) and see if you don't remember it during the narrative portion which followed the commercial in the middle of each episode.

Now I love that piece.  All the musical preparations are strategically leading to the final crescendo of the major theme.  This time that theme is played with all the stops pulled out, so to speak.  The symbols crash and the horns cut the air with a pleasing and effective conclusion.

Then that made me think of the fact that I learned parts of many pieces of classical music in all the cartoons that were shown between double features at the local theater.  Buggs Bunny taught us to appreciate Hungarian Rhapsodies or the Can Can.  Someone must have researched and catalogued the many classics that we heard in cartoon sound tracks.

Guns

Don't let me have a gun!  I am afraid of guns.  Let me explain.

When I was a kid, about 9 years old, my uncle gave me a 20 gauge shotgun and took me hunting for rabbits.  He taught me to respect the gun, and how to handle it carefully.  We went hunting several times, and I always handled the gun responsibly.  So how did I get from there to where I am now?

I read the paper and have had about 70 years of experience with people since those days.

When the subject of protection is the context, guns seem so deadly a solution.  So often it is a family argument over something very unimportant that has been settled so permanently by a bullet.  It was the heat of uncontrolled anger that pulled the trigger, but there are no do-overs.  It's too late to say, "Sorry".

We have always had the problem of "road rage" since the invention of the horseless carriage.  But today, if I accidentally cut off a driver, I may well expect a bullet riddled car (or head?) as a result of that rage.

Then there is the joy riding shooter who just thinks its fun.

If I had a gun for self protection, I can imagine several frightening scenarios that reinforce my resolve not to have a gun in my house.  I can imagine me confronting an intruder in the dim light of my living room with my gun.  Since I am reluctant to take the life of another human being (life is a sacred gift from God) I know I will hesitate long enough for the intruder to see my gun, consider me a threat, and shoot me first.  In this scenario the gun has been the cause of my wound or death.  Had I no gun, my intruder might have only bound me and robbed me of mere possessions.

Or (less likely for me) I might learn to "shoot first and ask questions later" and find out the "intruder" was really was my son who needed help but lost his phone.  Probably even more terrifying than the first scenario.

I realize that it is far too late to ban guns.  Everyone knows in that case only criminals would have guns, and indeed they would have them.

I realize that our founding fathers wished to protect themselves from an oppressive government, and were they alive today might argue for state of the art weapons for that purpose.  This would likely be repeating assault rifles with multi-bulleted cartridges.  The very instrument that is at the top of the list for elimination by vocal advocates of gun control.

Many years ago we borrowed my dad's little RV to take a trip.  It was just my wife and I.  As my wife lie in bed, I found my dad's 22 hand gun.  I didn't know this gun, but looked at it and thought it was without ammo.  I wasn't certain, but I was stupid enough to squeeze the trigger.  Barbara was shocked and said, "What was that!"  I was shocked even more than she was when I realized what I had done, and what might have taken place.  Then I began to worry that I might have struck something vital for the operation of the vehicle.  I was relieved to discover the bullet had pierced the pillow of the couch and smashed itself on the metal framework.  I am still embarrassed to tell that story, as you can well imagine.  But I am old enough to realize that this experience cannot be unique.  Accidental shootings appear in the newspaper almost weekly.

So whatever side you find yourself arguing concerning gun control, by all means, don't let me have a gun!