Dear Sen. Obama: Why I Can't Vote For You -- Reason #1: You Have Not Denounced Idolatry

Dear Senator,

Blessings -- again -- to you. I recognize that tonight is a difficult one for you: you may be on the very threshold of something new and wonderful, but the death of your grandmother must surely sting. I bid you well.

I know I have plodded along in five other essays outlining why I cannot vote for you. Forgive me. I do have my reasons, not least of which is that I want to demonstrate that I disagree with you not because of who you are (I actually like you a great deal). Rather, I disagree with you on the issues, the philosophical issues, that are before us. Our disagreement is really about ideas, and ideals.

Sir, I know you call yourself a Christian. I am not here to divine whether that is true. I know you even said to Christianity Today that you "believe in the redemptive death and resurrection of Jesus Christ." I recall hearing you talk about Reverend Wright leading you to faith in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. I understand that sort of language; I, too, accept the truths of the ancient creeds.

But here's my issue, sir, and perhaps someday you and I shall have a chance to discuss this face to face. My issue is with the clearly messianic language you and your supporters are using in this campaign. My issue is with your use of New Testament passages to ground your economic plans. Perhaps I have this wrong, perhaps I should be saying my "issues," for I obviously have more than one.

Let me ask you: When you tell us that America's grave sin is that it has forgotten Jesus' teaching that "whatsoever you do to the least of My brethren you do also to Me," are you under the impression that Jesus is talking to the American secular and civil state? I don't see how you can be, but I am open to the possibility that I am wrong. But how can I be? I heard what you said, and it was clear: you've even talked about the Sermon on the Mount being normative and prescriptive for American culture; I've also heard you urge Americans to remember that we are to be "our brother's keeper." Why would you do this? Are you sure you should be planning on leading this country by Christian principles?

And what, pray tell, has become of the Democrats' many fears about right-wing theocracies? Egads, Senator Obama, you're perhaps the most theocratic-sounding candidate of my lifetime. You make Pat Robertson sound like a rather viable candidate: you've said things on the campaign trail that are every bit as "religious right" as his many campaign statements. Somehow, however, you've not been vilified by the media or your party for such declamations. You are free to quote the Bible from the podium any time you wish. But what place does the Bible have in forging the policies of the secular state?

For the life of me, Senator, I particularly do not know how you can for one minute stand the idolatry happening before your very eyes. Your supporters have deified you, and all you are is a mere candidate for president. There is nothing divine about you; you are not the messiah. And yet you somehow reconcile your claims that Jesus is Lord with letting others treat you as if you were a lord yourself. How do you do that? And haven't you heard that the Christian's "Great Commission" given by your Lord Jesus Christ is to go out into the world and tell others that He -- not you or the state or the nations united, not peace or prosperity or fair taxes -- that He, Jesus Christ, is the only hope for each and every human soul? How is it that you have not asked people to tear up those signs bearing your likeness under which are inscribed "hope," and "progress," and "change", when you, by your own faith proclamation, cannot EVER be hope? And even if you are a mere messenger of hope, surely you know that any message of hope that is not rooted in and centered on Christ Himself is not hope at all, but an idol?

I wonder why when Louis Farrakhan actually called you the messiah I did not hear from you, shouting from the very rooftops, your denunciations of such blasphemy. I know Mr. Farrakhan has been honored by your own church and its pastor; I know you have denounced both in a variety of ways. But what I have not heard is you stand up and defend the Messiah you said saved you. How is it that you would not every day denounce these sorts of appellations, these sorts of idolatrous blasphemies of the One Lord into Whom you have been baptized?

In short, Senator, your weakness at denouncing these sorts of remarks; your tepid response to the thousands of people who have elevated you to a position that you know is not yours to hold, actually frightens me. Why this silence and complicity from you, a fallen man who claims to know the one true and only Messiah?

I could hear and see this idolatry early on in your campaign; I blogged about it long before this worship of your person was well-known. I am not claiming that I was anywhere near first to notice, I am simply pointing out that you have permitted a cult of personality to be formed around you like no one I've ever seen in American politics, and somehow you have let your Christian faith accept what is not yours to accept.

For that reason alone, sir, I cannot vote for you.

Lastly, let me note that one could make the case God has raised you up to be a transformative character in America. Of course, you know all too well that those whom God has raised to play a mighty role are often prone to fall, and fall terribly. Many a good man turns his back on God, pride eating away all sense of gratitude and humilty that remain in him. Let it be said that God has raised you up, that God is leading the way and you are the banner of His new direction (Christian homosexual activists have argued that the Holy Spirit is indeed changing what it means to be a married human being, among other things). But haven't we heard others say this about themselves, too? Didn't George W. Bush get lambasted and berated by your own party for believing that God was at work in him?

How then, dear Senator, is it possible that your party has suddenly accepted that God and you are somehow one in purpose?

In the end, Senator Obama, you may be a Christian, and I certainly believe you are, but I have no idea what sort of Christianity you embrace, as you seem utterly indifferent to the high place you've allowed people to place you. But the Lord I've known in the quiet and simple and tragic moments of my life, has told me that such a high place is already taken.

Jesus the Christ, born of Mary the Virgin in the town of Bethlehem, has been raised to the Highest Place where idols are not welcome. He is the Chief Cornerstone on which all false gods are shattered. He Alone is Progress and Change and Hope. He is the Uniter.

Jesus the Christ, God Incarnate.

"In the beginning was the Word," and the Word was not any one of us.

Peace to you.

©2008. All Rights Reserved.

AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT: Existence, Faith, and Atheism

[What follows is drawn from a comment I made at Debunking Christianity in response to an essay, "The Cost of Atheism." I was sharing my thoughts with a person from Illinois and Wisconsin who writes under the lovely screen name, GoPrairie. Our exchange was fun and gracious.

I've used this argument -- it is really more a puzzle, perhaps even a proof -- many times before. I have used it on the web several times; and it played a central role in Part 1 of a book I wrote (still no publisher). In April, it appeared in an exchange I had with atheist-novitiate Luke Buckham at his blog, O Machine.

I thought that some of you would find it fun, though some of you may find it frustrating. Those of my readers given to debates about theism might find it helpful, for it "proves" a very serious thing. I'll let you read for yourself what that thing is.]

[UPDATE, 12.5.07: Because what follows was originally drafted as a comment -- submitted in a discussion elsewhere -- it was hastily written and edited. As a result of some confusion, and some of my own disappointments with the piece, I am emending it to more closely resemble a well-written essay. Thanks. BG]

FOR FUN: THE SPEED OF LIGHT AND YOUR EXISTENCE

Let me note this: If the speed of light is finite, and yet it is the "fastest thing" (186,000 miles/sec) in the universe, then it follows that there is no present, there is no "present tense." Every perception MUST be delayed; we only know the past, irrespective of how quickly light reaches our eyes. From object to eyeball, from fingertip to wine glass, there is a delay; even the body's neurology operates at a finite speed. Hence, we only know a present by inference; but such an inference is rooted in faith. †

Let me go with this further. If the speed of light is finite,†º then know that when you look at the stars in the night sky over Wisconsin none of those stars "exists." Only their light "exists;" their fiery furnaces may have gone out long ago. Every single one of them may be gone, burnt out and dead in some distant explosion or some crushing implosion. We CANNOT "know" they are there, we can only know that they once were there, or so we induce from the light we see.

Now, go with me even further. All your life light has been bouncing off of you, traveling about the earth. Imagine for a moment that the light from your skin travels out from the earth and into space. Assuming that you are only about 40-years-old, then you are, in a very real sense, 40-light-years old, too. What does this mean? It means at least this: to the overwhelming majority of the universe, YOU DO NOT EXIST. Anyone 100 light-years away CANNOT know you exist. But, and here's the rub -- YOU DO EXIST. So, alas, we have a problem: Most of the universe cannot even know that life on earth exists -- and yet it does. Nearly every quadrant of the universe could never -- ever -- be shown ANY evidence of your existence, and yet you are in fact a very real being. What does this say about our sense of knowledge? What does this say about our demands for proofs for the existence of God? For if you exist and yet the universe cannot and does not "know" it, then perhaps God exists and you cannot know it -- or do not know it -- yet.

Surely I can at least make this concession: if it is extremely hard for me to prove my own existence to myself,† and if it is hard for me to prove my existence to you, then surely it would be hard for me to prove God's existence at all.

But you do ask for "proof " for God's existence, and I have none. But what if I said that the sun is God? You might counter that the sun is nothing more than a fusion reactor where the helium atom is smashed about. But what if I said this: How do you know God is not a fusion reactor? How do you know God is not a big ball of gas? What I am saying is that just because science has "explained something," it does not follow that science has not described the evidence which points to God; a thing explained is NOT God explained away. God may be proved by my pointing to a prairie dog. How do you know that such evidence is not evidence?

†[To explore this further, please see my essay, "A Letter to Christopher Hitchens;" therein I examine the impossibility of the self proving its existence -- to itself. The main examination occurs following the sub-head, The Transcendental Ego.]

†º[It should be noted that if the speed of light is instantaneous, then there is no delay except that between our senses and our perception. But let's assume that there is no delay even here. With that said, light that is instantaneous removes from us the ability to determine the age of the universe.]

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I would like very much to thank Chris from "Sorry We're Open" for his kind support and many encouraging words over the last several days. He particularly liked this "proof," and so I felt obliged to share it with the rest of you. If you hate what I've written, well, then direct your ire at Chris. Of course, I jest. But I'd surely love to know what you think.

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This New York Times piece by physicist Paul Davies is interesting -- especially if you draw your worldview from science. See? Faith is not so bad.

Peace.

Bill Gnade

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

Your Comments, Dinesh D'Souza, Atheism And Faith

There have been some great comments here of late, and I want to thank you all for that. Your input makes things far more interesting -- at least for me.

Recently I recommended a book to you all, and now that I have finished that book (last Saturday), I would like to recommend it again.

What's So Great About Christianity, written by Dinesh D'Souza, is superb. But I will guess that -- at least to some Christians -- the book's major flaw, if there is one, might be its title. For this is not so much a celebration of Christianity as most Christians might celebrate it. It is more a look at theism's contribution to Western culture. Yes, the emphasis is on Christian theism, but the case for theism in general is more aptly made. In other words, while Mr. D'Souza's work might edify lots of Christians by his excellent defense of the role Christianity has played in the world, his book might not convert people to follow Christ. Of course, I admit this is probably not Mr. D'Souza's intent. And I know that some skeptics will indeed find in this book answers to many or even all of their questions. This book is an excellent polemic; it is a great contribution to Christian apologetics. But this book is not a companion to, let's say, the Gospels; this is not a piece like Romano Guardini's amazing and MUST READ classic, The Lord. Nor is it really that much like C. S. Lewis' Mere Christianity. For both of these great works feel far more "churchy" or Christian than what Mr. D'Souza has given us. So, the book might very much edify and interest, but I don't see it as an integral part of a discipleship program. That, too, was not Mr. D'Souza's intent.

None of this, for me, detracts from Mr. D'Souza's book. What I particularly liked about What's So Great... is that Mr. D'Souza explores epistemology, with Immanuel Kant as his centerpiece. This, as I've said before, is an excellent thing: Kant is a great starting point. Mr. D'Souza makes very clear what Kant himself could only manage to write about in an abstruse manner. Kant (if I have this right) made a compelling case that we cannot know "things-in-themselves," we can only know our perceptions of things. For Kant, our senses even corrupt what we experience: I say a lemon tastes tart when in fact "tartness" is not a quality of the lemon, it is a quality of my experience of the lemon. My taste buds create tartness; from them, I infer a cause of that experience, namely the lemon. But I cannot know the lemon as it is; in fact, my senses prevent me from doing so. In sensing an object, all we can know is that we have sensation. We experience phenomena. But the cause of the phenomena -- the thing-in-itself -- we can't know.

But that is just part of the argument, and I must give Mr. D'Souza high marks for how he presents it, especially as it opens the mind to the idea that faith is foundational to all knowledge.

Pertinent to this is the quite interesting fact that no atheist seems to have refuted this argument -- ever. I have asked dozens, perhaps hundreds of atheists to reply to my "Letter to Christopher Hitchens." Not one has done so. My letter, too, as noted above, incorporates ideas gleaned from Immanuel Kant. To date, no atheist has expended any effort here to even debate it in any analytical way (except perhaps this comment by JW Haws). Granted, this does not mean it -- or Mr. D'Souza's argument -- is irrefutable. My piece may be so much fluff and bluster; I know that I have lots of blind spots in my psyche. But one would think that someone would rise up and dismiss what should be quite easy to debunk if, in fact, I have written fluff and bluster.† (I further note that no one has rebuffed the ideas presented in "Speaking In Parables," a short-story I penned in mid-September. I think some skeptic out there would have a counter-argument.)

Now, back to your comments for a moment. A recent comment in this D'Souza thread left by reader Luke Buckham has made me unsure of something I drafted. I wrote:

"most of D’Souza’s detractors will not read any or all of the book. Many, in fact, will not expend the requisite intellectual strength necessary to read the entire thing."

Luke Buckham responded thusly:

"I agree, totally. This is a big problem in our culture: most of ANYONE'S detractors don't bother to read the whole book. I vow to be an exception."

Now, I am flattered Luke agrees with me. But, for whatever reason, I heard something ironic in his words. I confess that I may have added the irony; Luke probably did not intend it.

What I am saying is that I am not sure I agree with myself. Admittedly I averred what I did about Mr. D'Souza's detractors' laziness merely to be provocative -- appealing even to readers' vanity and conceit ("Well, I have what it takes to read the whole thing!"). But that only can be defended so far. Why? Because I think a reader can critique parts of some collection as long as the critic does not assume the parts make up the whole. I can critique argument A if I've not read B -- but only as long as I am sure my interlocutor has conveyed that B has nothing to do with A, or vice versa. Critics do this frequently. Egads, I do this frequently. And, yes, sometimes I get it right. But sadly I also sometimes get it quite wrong: I commit the fallacy many critics commit. In fact, this fallacy is one of the most popular and pervasive fallacies. It is the fallacy that argues that one false part nullifies not only whole sets of arguments, one false part nullifies the totality of the person making the arguments. If Mr. Smith is wrong about X, well, he must not only be wrong about Y and Z, he's really wrong about everything!

Besides, not being critical in Part A while waiting for Part B can lead to absurdities. If I can't denounce Mr. D'Souza before I get to the end of his current book, then it should follow that I can't denounce him until he gets to his LAST book. After all, he might emend things later on; he might even change his mind in his next volume, and the next one after that. Surely I should wait until he is finally done?!

So, all this to say that I am not sure I really believe myself on this one point.

Have a great life!

†Other puff pieces can be found here and here.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

On Maundy Thursday: A Reply To A Brother

Today is Maundy Thursday, that holy day when Christ mandates that we love each other a new way: we are to love each other as He loved us. It is the day for celebrating this new commandment; it is also the day we meet with Him for the first feast day, when the cup of salvation and the bread of heaven were first consecrated and given to the Church. It is also the day of betrayal, when dark forces entered into the heart of Judas Iscariot, tempting him to turn Christ over to the political powers, perhaps, sadly, to force the Savior's hand to deliver Israel from the Roman occupiers. But as we know, Jesus would have none of that scheme, nor would He bow down and worship the idols of power, authority or even earthly acts of righteousness.

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Who Are The Saints?

Earlier this morning I read an essay, "The Canonisation [sic] of John Paul II: The Denial of the Gospel," critical of the seemingly imminent canonization of the late-Pope John Paul II. It was written by David Ould and posted at the Anglican website, Stand Firm. It is a challenging essay in many ways. And I left a rather lengthy comment with Mr. Ould that I would like to share with you. It follows below. Of course, I will add some further thoughts at the end of this post. I think, in many ways, it is all a fitting Maundy Thursday meditation.

The context of my comment has less to do with the actual canonization of the Pope and more to do with God's love for His people and the mysteries of Christ's sacrifice on the cross. There is virtually no technical language in my reply; there need not be to make the sort of points I wanted to make. But it must be stated first that while Mr. Ould is offended by much of Roman Catholic teaching about canonization, the bulk of his umbrage is directed at the Church's teachings about what it means to be saved and sanctified. I do not think it necessary that you read his post first, but it will surely not hurt if you do.

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Dear Mr. Ould,

May you have a safe and blessed trip to Singapore. And may this truly be a blessed and holy Easter for all.

At the risk of being facetious, I must make this observation: If all (true) Christians are saints, and if Pope John Paul II is a true Christian, then he is a saint. Hence, I see no reason NOT to canonize him this side of glory. OK. So not all of us other saints get that honor. So? Besides, there are many who believe that the Pope is their spiritual elder, their lesser, even adoptive father. Are we not told by the Lord to honor our elders, and to honor our parents?

Alright. Enough facetiousness, though I don't think my points are useless. Now, I would like to turn to a few things you've written thus far. First you wrote this after your citation of the Catholic Encyclopedia on Beatification/Canonization:

Most worrying is the statement that saints are those "whose holy lives have made them worthy of His special love".

So, to put it clearly, there's more than one type of Christian. There's the ordinary run of the mill sort like you and me, and then there's those who by virtue of what their lives look like are worthy of God's special love.

Please permit me to ask, Is there no distinction in God's love? Prima facie it seems that there isn't. But what of Jesus? Did He, the Incarnate God, show preferences? What of the disciple whom Jesus "loved most"? What of him [tradition calls him the "Beloved Disciple], and what of Jesus' seeming partiality here? Is this not proof that God does not love everyone equally, or in the same way?

Your statement strikes me as akin to the grumbling vineyard workers in Jesus' parable who worked all day and yet were paid the same as those who worked but an hour. "What is that to you?" I hear our Lord ask. I am also reminded of the petulant brother who refused to celebrate the return of the Prodigal Son; he did not seem to understand that the father's love was complete and total, and yet, well, differently distributed: the happy father made distinctions.

Of course, as you said, we are all saints. Sort of like all cities are earthly; and yet we find that God prefers Jerusalem to Salt Lake City. Yes, all of the earth is full of God's glory, and yet God is not dismayed that Abraham builds altars indicating that some places are more glorious than others. Could this not be the way with saints, that all saints are equal, and yet some are more equal than others? Are we not all going to be judged -- and rewarded -- differently? Or does everyone get the same reward after the great purgative fires? Is that true, even scriptural?

You mention purgatory in your essay:

For most of us we will not be pure upon our death - there will still be dung remaining which will need to be burned off in purgatory before we may enter God's presence.

It seems that you hold to some idea of a refiner's fire; this is good, for it is inherently biblical [ref. 1 Cor 3:12ff]: those who pass through the fire, though they shall be saved, shall nonetheless suffer loss.

But later in the comments thread you write:

I trust readers can see clearly what the Roman church thus says about those that are not saints; they are not definitely in Heaven. Apparently, then, Christ’s work on the Cross is not sufficient to get them there directly.

I ask you: if Christ's atoning death on the cross is sufficient, then why should ANY Christian be delayed in the refiner's fire? Do you not contradict yourself here? For if, as you say, Christ's death is totally sufficient for all Christians to enter paradise, then why must they first pass through purgatory?

Had you more fully reported what the Catholic Encyclopedia said about the canonization and beatification of saints, you would have noted that the Church posits that there are people who live such sacrificial and "heroically virtuous lives" that they could be described as "prolonged martyrdoms." Martyrs, as you know, are those who in death immediately pass to heaven; they are not the dead in Christ who "rise first", as Paul proclaims (which suggests that there are saints in the ground and saints that are in heaven: the saints in heaven are those who fought well in the tribulation, no?). I wonder, then, if it is at all possible that there are those Christian brothers and sisters who live such obedient lives that they pass through purgatory -- in this life? Is that not possible, and is this not exactly what Catholics say of some saints?

In response to Dan Martins' comment suggesting that you had not accurately presented the Catholic case, you wrote:

Problem is, the Roman Catechism doesn’t address the issue. Unless, of course, I missed it in which case I would appreciate a reference.

Now, I wish I knew by "the issue" what you meant. Do you mean the issue of canonization, or that of justification/sanctification? You are correct if you mean the former; you are wrong if you mean the latter. But the very heart and purpose of your whole polemic, and the very context of Fr. Martins' remarks, are all about justification/sanctification and the modus operandi of both. Hence, you must mean the latter; and it must be pointed out that the RC catechism very much enlarges upon Christ's work on the cross (see ¶595-623 here). Christ's sacrifice is described in ¶616 as "redemption and reparation, as atonement and satisfaction", while ¶618 refers to it all for what it truly is, "a paschal mystery." All in all, the language of the catechism here is lovely and orthodox, broad and inclusive, covering much theological ground; it is hard to find fault with it without destroying its mystery by parsing it into so many theologically correct fragments.

The whole debate about justification/sanctification seems often to be more akin to autopsy than theology: it divides terms so meticulously as to leave a corpse with no mystery. But the glories of the faith are powerful and mysterious. One wonders how the myriad faithful of the ancient church could ever have been saved without having Luther's parsing and privileged view of things, or even Aquinas' or Augustine's. The thief on the cross, no doubt, was without much theology, and yet he was ushered -- today, our Lord promised him -- into paradise.

Of course, the thief was given a special privilege. No one else that we know of had such a promise made to him or her. But this promise did not come without a price: the thief still had to die, to hang on that cross, next to a dying Savior who made what must have seemed a wild promise in the fading light of things: the thief hung faithfully on his own cross, his life bleeding into the refiner's fire, the devil calling him to doubt, to deny, to fall faithless into death's cynicism. His entry into paradise was no easy pass. And he was given such life without baptism, or without understanding "prevenient grace" or "expiation" or "forensic satisfaction."

Did God show preferential treatment to the thief, to Lazarus, to Elijah, to Moses? Were they not whisked away, or given a second life, while others were not?

"What is that to you?" I hear Him ask.

I may have a problem with honoring JPII with canonization; it does seem a bit like induction into the RCC Hall of Fame. But I have no qualms with honoring certain brothers and sisters above others; I would be saddened to learn that Billy Graham's funeral (should he have one) is equal to my own. And I have no problem whatsoever believing that all my brothers and sisters, including Pope John Paul II, deserve more notoriety and acclaim as saints in this life, than do I. Love, after all, considers everyone else more important than oneself. In short, love does make distinctions.

Peace.

BG

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Further Thoughts

Much of the debate between Protestants and Catholics about the mechanics of salvation seem rooted in how time is perceived. Am I justified in an instant, or over time? Am I sanctified in a moment, or does it take time, perhaps a lifetime -- and more -- to be sanctified? I guess these are good questions, but it seems to me that if there is a God who justifies and sanctifies, then His sense of time is what ultimately matters. And what is His sense of time, He Who lives in the Eternal Now, outside of time? What is time to Him, what is process, if a thousand years are to Him like a day? Is my lifetime of struggle in the Faith but a moment to Him? Does He not see my salvation, and my sanctification, as He sees all of life, in an instant?

I do not know. But it irks me to no end that churches divide themselves over what are absolute mysteries of the faith. Some gnostic claims to understand the totality of the Incarnation; another gnostic claims to know how it is we are justified -- in toto -- before the eyes of God. Such gnostic ambition is disheartening, to say the least, and nearly always results in some utterly clear, mystery-free heresy. But just think of the countless souls that have been deemed saints in the eyes of God who did not understand complex theological terms! It is humbling, for certain. As it should be. We are called to believe in a Savior, a God-Man; we are called to follow Him, to obey His commands; to eat His flesh and drink His blood; to love each other as He has loved us.

The last thing I believe Jesus ever did, or expected His disciples to do, was to quibble over the language used to describe what even the great councils of the Faith have proclaimed is forever mysterious: how a Man can be God, and God, Man; and how each of us, sinners and enslaved to death, are to be made saints alive in holiness and truth.

The God-Man Jesus the Christ came to deliver me. Can I be delivered without knowing, or even understanding, the exact details how? If exactitude is important, then what of the man who accepts Christ as his Savior and then, suddenly and inexplicably, drops dead?

We see through a glass darkly indeed.

Have a blesséd Maundy Thursday.

BG

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.

On Christian Living: Writing Only For The Faithful?

A few weeks ago I wondered aloud to anyone close enough to hear whether I was throwing my pearls beneath my own cloven feet. One of my concerns was that I had somehow forsaken the hope to which I had been called -- the "riches of [Christ's] glorious inheritance in the saints" -- in an effort to earn some other accolade. Specifically, I wondered whether I had been pulled off course by my many vanities, enamored of the idea that I needed to prove to the world that I, a serious and orthodox Christian, was nevertheless intelligent, properly worldly, and satisfactorily clever. Had I forsaken truth and the gospel of freedom merely to advertise that I wasn't a dimwit? Had I engaged in petty and popular polemics solely to impress? Were my many words simply cries for approval, approval from those outside the Christian Church? Did I publish here like a wild dog marks his territory, suggesting some sort of dominion, some sort of mastery to which the learned must show respect?

Even now, in these very words, I wonder: Why am I being so careful, so circumspect, as I type these words? Am I, even in confession's presumed transparency, still clouded by hopes that even in this well-expressed self-doubt, I will earn readers' applause? Is vanity still at work here? Am I still striving to impress those who stand decisively outside Christianity's creedal borders, those who have deemed Christians inferior and dumb?

Years ago I had a dear friend named Ben who would often wear, to the newspaper office where we both worked, a T-shirt listing the names of "Famous Unitarian-Universalists." It was an impressive set of names, though I could not refrain from always noting the shortness of that esteemed list. I also noted that had anyone decided to make a garment listing famous Catholics -- or, more broadly, famous orthodox Christians -- it would be much grander than a simple T-shirt. It would, in fact, be very much like a wedding gown, with a train as long as history.

But I had to admit to Ben that I was using fame differently, for most of the famous orthodox Christians of history are not really famous, at least not in the Henry David Thoreau/Albert Schweitzer-Unitarian-way some people are famous. Fame is not something Christians are called to attain, nor is the doing of good deeds cause for celebration. Good deeds are simply to be done. They are not something that is considered special. They are assumed.

However, it would be faulty to argue that there isn't a penchant for fame-grabbing and fame-naming in many Christian circles. Some of us recall how quickly the evangelical community proclaimed Bob Dylan's declaration of Christian faith in the early 1980's. Christians have their own list, though no Christian dare wear that list in public. Modesty and humility call us to self-restraint. But we literary-types who accept Christ know too well the names we can drop: T. S. Eliot, Graham Greene, J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Dorothy Sayers, G. K. Chesterton, Fyodor Dostoevksy, Evelyn Waugh. Many of us aspire to be similarly listed.

Alas, have I given myself over to this idol, this idol of notoriety and fame? Have I meant to impress the world, without even thinking at all whether I am impressing the God I claim to adore? I have known my share of local notoriety as an award-winning news photographer and journalist; I have felt the pride in having people notice. But I wonder if in writing for a broader audience (here and elsewhere), and in taking on topics not usually within the scope of my interests, I am looking for the approval that sits in high places, the sort of places that serve as apparent gatekeepers of culture: The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books, and, sadly, Oprah.

Last week I almost reached the conclusion to forgo any writing that was not solely directed at a Christian audience. This not because I was suppressing my idolatry, but because I felt I was wasting my time writing to anyone else. How many folks, really, do we need commenting on Al Gore, Harry Reid, Charles Schumer, Sean Hannity and sundry other absurdities? Need I analyze George W. Bush's language when others are not only more qualified than I, they are more astute and even more passionate than I could ever be? Or IS this sort of stuff my passion?

But the theme of my many questions is the search for obedience. My musings need not solely circle around the idol of fame or approval, for there are many idols to which Christians give undue obeisance. There is, for certain, the idol of intelligence, of wits, to which I am particularly vulnerable; at its very worst, I fall servant to the idol that proves I am not as dumb (or mean) as those Christians over there. It is a nasty idol to serve. But how, really, do I obey God here? Simply by not tipping my head or genuflecting when my idols pass nearby? And is it at all beneficial to the Church, to the called faithful, that I spend anytime wrestling with matters where any victory will neither edify nor inform?

I wonder too much, perhaps. Yet I am reminded of the very lucid and simple exhortation given by St. Paul: Whatever you do, do it heartily unto the Lord.

Lord, how I try.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.