Context
I’m reading the 9/11 Commission Report. There's a link here, but I'm reading the hard copy Official Government Edition. Chapter 2 starts with a description of the “fatwa” (more about those quotation marks later) issued by Osama Bin Laden and four other men in 1998. In essence it said, “it is the duty of every Muslim to kill every American they can whenever they can.”
Commentary
First, the quotation marks. The 9/11 Commission Report states: “A fatwa is normally an interpretation of Islamic law by a respected Islamic authority.” So the Islamic equivalent of a Talmudic writing or a papal bull, I guess. Even his most ardent supporters would probably put Bin Laden in more of the “soldier” than “scholar” category, so the quotation marks represent my skepticism that he has much authority to offer interpretations of Islamic law. In fact, I imagine that the average Muslim, if she/he heard about this obligation to kill Americans before 9/11, probably said to her/himself, “yeah, ok, whatever you say, oh crazy person.”
There are people who fault Muslims for this, saying they need to be quicker to distance themselves from extremists. Why? I don’t feel a strong obligation to distance myself from the Phelps family. I just assume people understand the difference between being a traditional Christian and being, well, a member of the Phelps family.
I worry a little, though. Perhaps those of us with moderate viewpoints (now there’s a word I never thought I’d use to describe myself!) spend a little too much time gaping in astonishment at the Bin Ladens and Fred Phelps’ of this world, and not enough time saying, “there really is another viewpoint.” People who never tire of speaking out are a perfect match for the news media, who need a constant flow of stuff to report. So if one measures by sheer volume of coverage, inflammatory opinions might end up looking like the voice of the mainstream.
So for the record, God doesn’t hate anybody, Osama Bin Laden has no authority to interpret Islamic law, and my husband is empowered to make medical decisions for me if I’m unable to do so. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.
What did you see today?
10/06/2006
I saw some impressive church buildings
Context
I live in a lower-middle-class neighborhood that is right next to an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Today while I was waiting for the bus, I noticed people doing work on a very nice, very large Christian (Disciples of Christ) church building. I then looked at the spire of a very nice, very large Episcopalian church building that is less than two blocks away.
Commentary
I think the most impressive thing about the two church buildings I was looking at today was not their beauty or their size, but the sense of permanence about them. I drive through the poorer parts of Shreveport on a regular basis, and church buildings in these areas tend to be numerous, tiny, and impermanent looking. In reality, they often are “here today, gone tomorrow” kinds of operations.
It’s possible this means people in these less prosperous neighborhoods do not commit to their church, but just skip around looking for the most palatable message. Jesus illustrates this kind of behavior when He talks about the seeds that fall on rocky ground and have no root. The big impressive churches close to my home look like they have some roots, some endurance.
But in the very next verse in Matthew, Jesus talks about seeds sown among thorns as representing those that get choked by the cares of this world. Sometimes when you’re in a nice, permanent church building, other things get in the way of your passion for the Gospel, like making sure your building stays nice and your status quo stays permanent. Perhaps people in the poorer areas are smart enough to tear down and start over at the first sign of these thorns that will choke off their faith.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into the differences in buildings. They’re just edifices, after all. But I wonder if the inhabitants of each type might have something to teach each other.
What did you see today?
I live in a lower-middle-class neighborhood that is right next to an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Today while I was waiting for the bus, I noticed people doing work on a very nice, very large Christian (Disciples of Christ) church building. I then looked at the spire of a very nice, very large Episcopalian church building that is less than two blocks away.
Commentary
I think the most impressive thing about the two church buildings I was looking at today was not their beauty or their size, but the sense of permanence about them. I drive through the poorer parts of Shreveport on a regular basis, and church buildings in these areas tend to be numerous, tiny, and impermanent looking. In reality, they often are “here today, gone tomorrow” kinds of operations.
It’s possible this means people in these less prosperous neighborhoods do not commit to their church, but just skip around looking for the most palatable message. Jesus illustrates this kind of behavior when He talks about the seeds that fall on rocky ground and have no root. The big impressive churches close to my home look like they have some roots, some endurance.
But in the very next verse in Matthew, Jesus talks about seeds sown among thorns as representing those that get choked by the cares of this world. Sometimes when you’re in a nice, permanent church building, other things get in the way of your passion for the Gospel, like making sure your building stays nice and your status quo stays permanent. Perhaps people in the poorer areas are smart enough to tear down and start over at the first sign of these thorns that will choke off their faith.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into the differences in buildings. They’re just edifices, after all. But I wonder if the inhabitants of each type might have something to teach each other.
What did you see today?
10/03/2006
I saw an e-mail about death
Context
I belong to an e-mail list called Fiction-L, which covers reader’s advisory issues. A discussion of “books so good you read them over and over again” led to an exchange between a colleague and me regarding Charlotte’s Web. Some snippets follow:
Colleague - People who don't cry at the end of Charlotte's Web worry me. They are the same people who don't cry when Bambi's mother dies.
Me - Them's fighting words, [name omitted]! Charlotte dies in the natural course of nature, which is a little sad, but in more of a "sighing" than "crying" way. Bambi's mother is brutally murdered by stupid human beings! I not only cry; I tend to leave the room so I can pound my fists on something!
Colleague - They're both tragedies--since when is the loss of a friend to natural death any less painful than one to murder? In either case they are gone, and they aren't coming back. Death is no less final for being natural.
Commentary
I was surprised that my reaction to death was so different from my colleague’s, so I’m trying to figure out where the difference comes from. Is it because I don’t believe death is “final” for anyone? Yes, I’m not only a Christian, with the Pauline view of our demise, but a person who thinks that All Dogs go to Heaven. It scarcely seems worth calling it “heaven” if there won’t be critters there.
That can’t be the only reason for the way I feel though, because then I would have the mirror image of my colleague’s opinion: murder is an equal cause for celebration as succumbing to natural causes.
So why are the circumstances surrounding death important? I think it’s because I also hold the “other” Christian viewpoint on mortality: that it infects all of creation because of human sin. We were made the stewards of Earth, so everything on it suffers the same fate we do. So let’s recap: it’s our fault that animals die in the first place, and in Bambi’s mother’s case, we hasten the process along by setting fire to her habitat.
I think the last piece of the puzzle is this: I’m much more likely to cry about things that make me angry than those that make me sad.
What did you see today?
I belong to an e-mail list called Fiction-L, which covers reader’s advisory issues. A discussion of “books so good you read them over and over again” led to an exchange between a colleague and me regarding Charlotte’s Web. Some snippets follow:
Colleague - People who don't cry at the end of Charlotte's Web worry me. They are the same people who don't cry when Bambi's mother dies.
Me - Them's fighting words, [name omitted]! Charlotte dies in the natural course of nature, which is a little sad, but in more of a "sighing" than "crying" way. Bambi's mother is brutally murdered by stupid human beings! I not only cry; I tend to leave the room so I can pound my fists on something!
Colleague - They're both tragedies--since when is the loss of a friend to natural death any less painful than one to murder? In either case they are gone, and they aren't coming back. Death is no less final for being natural.
Commentary
I was surprised that my reaction to death was so different from my colleague’s, so I’m trying to figure out where the difference comes from. Is it because I don’t believe death is “final” for anyone? Yes, I’m not only a Christian, with the Pauline view of our demise, but a person who thinks that All Dogs go to Heaven. It scarcely seems worth calling it “heaven” if there won’t be critters there.
That can’t be the only reason for the way I feel though, because then I would have the mirror image of my colleague’s opinion: murder is an equal cause for celebration as succumbing to natural causes.
So why are the circumstances surrounding death important? I think it’s because I also hold the “other” Christian viewpoint on mortality: that it infects all of creation because of human sin. We were made the stewards of Earth, so everything on it suffers the same fate we do. So let’s recap: it’s our fault that animals die in the first place, and in Bambi’s mother’s case, we hasten the process along by setting fire to her habitat.
I think the last piece of the puzzle is this: I’m much more likely to cry about things that make me angry than those that make me sad.
What did you see today?
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