2009 Reading List

In an attempt to keep track of the books I have read, I am going to start doing an annual reading list.  Here are the books (those I can remember) that I read in 2009, in alphabetical order:

• 7 Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling
• A Conflict of Visions by Thomas Sowell
• Capitalism and Freedom by Milton Friedman
• Charm School by Nelson DeMille
• Common Sense* by Thomas Paine
• Darkness Falls by Kyle Mills
• Economic Facts and Fallacies by Thomas Sowell
• End the Fed by Ron Paul
• Extreme Measures by Vince Flynn
• First Family by David Baldacci
• Founding Brothers by Joseph J. Ellis
• Free to Choose by Milton Friedman
• Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
• Letters to a Young Conservative by Dinesh D’Souza
• Male and Female by Margaret Mead
• Men and Marriage by George Gilder
• Mere Christianity* by C.S. Lewis
• Pursuit of Honor by Vince Flynn
• Solving the Riddle of Self by John Powell
• The 5,000 Year Leap by W. Cleon Skousen
• The Cato Handbook for Policymakers by The Cato Institute
• The Closing of the American Mind by Alan Bloom
• The Constitution of the United States: Its Sources and Its Application by Thomas James Norton
• The Discipline of Grace by Jerry Bridges
• The Divine Conspiracy by Dallas Willard
• The First American: The Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin by H.W. Brands
• The Law* by Bastiat
• The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown
• The Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen
• The Quest for Cosmic Justice by Thomas Sowell
• The Revolution by Ron Paul
• The Road to Serfdom (Reader’s Digest Version)* by F.A. Hayek
• The Tempting of America by Robert Bork
• What Has the Government Done to our Money* by Murray Rothbard
• Windows of the Soul by Ken Gire
• Wounded Healer by Henri Nouwen

*Available online for free from Google Scholar or other sources

Substitutes

I've been working on training my new puppy, Coco, to not bite my hands (which has been rather difficult) and have found that it is important to have something for her to bite on as a substitute for my hand.  If I simply grab her nose and tell her not to bite me, but give her nothing afterward, she tries to bite me again (note that this is all playful biting and not 'you look like lunch' biting).  She is much better about not biting me when I give her something else to bite on.

There is a spiritual lesson here (actually, this is a general life lesson that applies to everything).  If I want to stop a habit, it will be more effective to have something else to replace it with instead of just stopping it and doing nothing more.  I struggle a lot with stopping some things and I think one reason why is in some cases I am not replacing them with anything, so I fall back into the old habits rather quickly.  I need to find myself a bone or pull toy :).

What about you?  Do you have substitutes?  Are they effective?

Perspective

The church I attend just finished a series on the life of Joseph, one of the Old Testament characters who was sold into slavery by his brothers, bought by an Egyptian captain, sent to jail because the captain's wife lied about an attempted rape, and finally, over 17 years after being sold by his brothers, elevated to being second on command of all of Egypt.  One thing that has stayed with me about the series was the idea that periods of his story don't make sense when viewed from the perspective of Joseph.  For his faithfulness, he was sent to prison.  Favorite son, sold into slavery for 17 years.  Locked in prison for years because of a lie told by a spurned woman.  Large parts of his life are a mess and going through them I think would have been not only extremely difficult, but very easy to lose faith.  How is one to hold on to hope in the midst of such circumstances?  I think one way is by realizing that my story is only a small part of the larger story that is about God.  Just as picking a random page in a book would very likely be confusing to read because it is out of context, so viewing my life without any eternal, bigger picture, could easily cause me to get lost in my problems and struggles.  A puzzle piece is meaningless without the puzzle, a chapter lacks the context of the book that contains it, organs function as part of the whole body, and my story is only a tiny part of the grand story of God.

Saw Blades and Cigarette Butts

I was walking my puppy this afternoon and as we were walking down the sidewalk, she came across a broken saw blade, which she promptly tried to pick up. I reached down and blocked her from picking it up with her mouth and we continued the walk, with her for a few seconds straining at the leash trying to still get to it. We continued on and a few minutes later she found a cigarette butt in the grass that she started chewing on and I removed it from her mouth and threw it away. She did not seem too happy about that being taken away either. I know my intentions towards her and my care for her motivates me to take things away from her that I know will hurt her. I do this, not because I am some mean spoil-sport that delights in ruining her fun, but because I love her and can see the danger in some things that she does not understand. While a saw blade to a two month old puppy looks like something fun to chew on, it would quickly land her at the vet with stitches and several weeks of pain. A cigarette butt isn't exactly something I want her to eat because the chemicals would not be good for her stomach.

As I was thinking about my reasons for taking these things away and trying unsuccessfully to explain to her what I was doing (she's a terrible listener), I was struck at how this is how I relate to God. What are my saw blades and cigarette butts that I whine and complain when He takes them away from me? Does He, the perfect Father, not do so out of love and infinite knowledge for my good? Why do I kick and scream, or pout because He took away something that I thought would bring me joy? What I want is for my dog to trust in my love for her and that my goodness towards her will bring her greater happiness than she on her own could possibly experience. Is this not what God wants for me? Should I not be willing to surrender my saw blades and cigarette butts to Him, knowing that a greater fun awaits, and even if not immediately, that what He is taking away is for my good?

What are your saw blades and cigarette butts that you find so difficult to surrender to Him?

Reality and Faith

One of my biggest struggles is with trying to understand the relationship between reality and spirituality. I feel a lot of frustration at times with what I perceive as "spiritual" ideas or concepts because I don't feel like these reflect an accurate picture of reality and thus won't be successful or practical in the long run. A conversation with a good friend last Tuesday brought this issue back up again and as I was thinking about it the following morning, I came across a passage that beautifully gave what might be the answer.

Without become weak in faith he [Abraham] contemplated his own body, now as good as dead since he was about a hundred years old, and the deadness of Sarah's womb; yet, with respect to the promise of God, he did not waiver in unbelief but grew strong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully assured that what God had promised, He was able also to perform. (Romans 4:19-21)

Here is a man, called the "friend of God" by God Himself, who considered and accepted reality -- he and his wife's inability to have a child -- and yet even in embracing and accepting that reality (and I might even say because of his acceptance of this reality), his faith in God grew stronger. When one sees the impossibility of the situation, one is faced with either despair in the circumstance, or, in the case of the believer, hope and faith that only God has the power to work through the situation. This is what I mean by the acceptance of the reality being a partial catalyst in his faith growing stronger. Neither he nor his wife were getting younger and they were well past their child-bearing years. Yet this fact, this real situation, caused him to cast his hope and faith even more onto the God who had promised and who he believed could perform his promise.

What do I do in the different situations where I see a seemingly hopeless situation that I don't have the power or ability to change? The stories written were for our edification and encouragement -- look and see what happened to them and what God did in their lives. If God took a man and his wife and enabled them to conceive and have a son decades after that time had past, could He not change my heart and my life? Is anything too hard for Him? What will I do when faced with reality? Will I turn towards Him and increase my hope and faith in Him, or cry that the giant is too big, not seeing the greatness of God that makes any giant but a grain of sand on the seashore? Could not He who formed the earth and spoke everything into existence have the power to mold me into the image of His Son? Oh me of little faith, or as Dr. Bailey pointed out in the translation, oh little faither!

C.S. Lewis Conversion

As I was reviewing my notes in preparation for facilitating another table group study through Mere Christianity, I was reminded again of why C.S. Lewis and others (Chesterton, MacDonald, etc.) are so near to my heart:
 

"Remember, I had always wanted, about all things, not to be "interfered with."  I had wanted (mad wish) "to call my soul my own."  I had been far more anxious to avoid suffering than to achieve delight.  I had always aimed at limited liabilities.  The supernatural itself had been to me, first, an illicit dram, and then, as by a drunkard's reaction, nauseous.  Even my recent attempt to live my philosophy had secretly (I now knew) been hedged round by all sorts of reservations.  I had pretty well known that my ideal of virtue would never be allowed to lead me into anything intolerably painful; I would be "reasonable."  But now what had been an ideal became a command; and what might not be expected of one?  Doubtless, by definition, God was Reason itself.  But would he also be "reasonable" in that other, more comfortable, sense?  Not the slightest assurance on that score was offered to me.  Total surrender, the absolute leap in the dark, [was] demanded.  The reality with which no treaty can be made was upon me.  The demand was not even "All or nothing."  I think that stage had been passed, on the bus top when I unbuckled my armor and the snowman started to melt.  Now, the demand was simply "All."

"You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet.  That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me.  In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all of England.  I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms.  The Prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet.  But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape?  The words compelle intrare, compel them to come in, have been so abused by wicked men that we shudder at them; but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy.  The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation." (Surprised by Joy, 220-221)

So much of this sticks out to me as I read this.  I think one of the things I most identify with is his statement: I had been far more anxious to avoid suffering than to achieve delight.  If there was a statement that would sum up my life, this is it!

But even if He does not...

I was reading through the book of Daniel and came across the passage about the fiery furnace and the response to Nebuchadnezzar regarding his demand to worship him:

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter.  If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king.  But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3:16-18)

So these three men are threatened with death by fire if they do not bow down to the king and worship his image of gold.  What struck me about their statement is not their faith that God will save them, but that His saving them from the furnace was not a condition of their obedience to Him.  They were going to obey God regardless of what God did.  If He saved them great; if He did not, they still would obey Him.  What a great example! 

In this story, God did come through.  They were saved from the furnace.  Yet there is another story, celebrated this week, where God did not save His Son.  God the Son "emptied Himself, taking on the form of a bond servant, and became obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." (Phil. 2:7)  He did so, enduring the fiery "furnace" of the cross, and the rejection of God in order that you and I might be saved.  Here we find that Christ's obedience to the Father was not conditioned upon being saved from the cup that the Father made Him drink--He surrendered His will to the Father and drank it.  "Not my will, but yours be done." (Luke 22:42)

Is my obedience to God conditional upon certain things?  What things are these?  Why am I allowing those things to separate me from Him?  It seems that greater faith is grown through the surrender of expectations and the abandonment of one to Him.  Even if He does or does not, will I follow Him?  Will you?

Wounded Healer Reflection

I recently finished The Wounded Healer by Henri Nouwen and was really convicted by much of what he had to say. The emphasis on the book is not so much trying to heal others as it is to get the reader to understand that without the mutual identification of wounds and entering into the hurt of another, healing cannot take place. I like what he says in the third chapter:

"Who can take away suffering without entering it?" The great illusion of leadership is to think that men can be led out of the desert by someone who has never been there... we have forgotten that no God can save us except a suffering God, and that no man can lead his people except the man who is crushed by its sins.

He then quotes from Carl Rogers, who writes:

[W]hat is most personal and unique in each one of us is probably the very element which would, if it were shared or expressed, speak most deeply to others. This has helped me to understand artists and poets who have dared to express the unique in themselves.

I tend to forget about my wounds, and move on to what I consider bigger things, while losing the memory of where I once was. I think this is one of the reasons you see the pattern in the Bible of telling stories over and over. It is to remind the person of where they came from, what God did in his or her life, and who he or she once was. God commanded the children of Israel to remember:

Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the LORD your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. (Duet. 5:15, see 7:18, 8:2, 8:18, 15:15, 16:12, 24:18, 24:22)

My favorite scene in The Two Towers has Sam saying:

By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you.

Remember where you came from. Remember what He has done. Ministry to others depends on it!

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. (Is 53:5)

Religion

 Dr. Peck in his well-known book, The Road Less Traveled, has this to say about religion:

 

There is clearly a lot of dirty bath water surrounding the reality of God.  Holy wars.  Inquisitions.  Animal sacrifice.  Human sacrifice.  Superstition.  Stultification.  Dogmatism.  Ignorance.  Hypocrisy.  Self-righteousness.  Rigidity.  Cruelty.  Book-burning.  Witch-burning. Inhibition.  Fear.  Conformity.  Morbid guilt.  Insanity.  The list is almost endless.  But is all this what God has done to humans or what humans have done to God?  It is abundantly evident that belief in God is often destructively dogmatic.  Is the problem, then, that humans tend to believe in God, or is the problem that humans tend to be dogmatic?  Anyone who has known a died-in-the-wool atheist will know that such an individual can be as dogmatic about unbelief as any believer can be about belief.  Is it belief in God we need to get rid of, or is it dogmatism? (M. Scott. Peck, The Road Less Traveled, my emphasis)

I couldn't agree more. 

Wounded Healer (update)

I've been thinking about what I wrote previously and it bothers me for several reasons: I don't like people who write that way, it is very generic sounding and impractical, and it is very intellectual and "high-minded" which I feel is very arrogant. So I want to make a couple of observations on the Nouwen paragraphs that I hope will be more reflective of me.

I liked what Nouwen said because so often I feel like the approach a Christian gives to those outside the church can be very impractical and mystical. We say that "Christ has the power to change you" and that you can "do everything through Him" and yet I wonder just how well something like that speaks to someone who is unchurched. When we speak about our faith to others, sometimes we make assumptions of mutual understanding that very well may not be there. As one who works in computers, I may speak of such things as tags and markup in describing web pages to someone who has barely used a computer as a word processor, much less surf the internet, and therefore my words have no meaning to this person because he or she can't relate to what I am saying.

This is why I love what Nouwen says. It is critical for us to present the Christian message in a way that is practical and relevant to people in their every-day lives. And for this to be true, I think it has to be practical and relevant to our own lives. Only when we've gone through the discipline of working through Christ's message and applied it to our lives, in our current culture and present context, are we then in a better position to share that same message to others.

Wounded Healer

Why should a man marry and have children, study and build a career; why should he invent new techniques, build new institutions, and develop new ideas--when he doubts if there will be a tomorrow which can guarantee the value of human effort?

Only when man feels himself responsible for the future can he have hope or despair, but when he thinks of himself as a passive victim of an extremely complex technological bureaucracy, his motivation falters and he starts drifting from one moment to the next, making life a long row of randomly chained incidents and accidents.

When we wonder why the language of traditional Christianity has lost its liberating power for nuclear man, we have to realize that most Christian preaching is still based on the presupposition that man sees himself as meaningfully integrated with a history in which God came to us... But when man's historical consciousness is broken, the whole Christian message seems like a lecture about the great pioneers to a boy on an acid trip.

Christianity is not just challenged to adapt itself to a modern age, but is also challenged to ask itself whether its unarticulated suppositions can still form the basis for its redemptive pretensions. (Nouwen in Wounded Healer)

This is a profound set of observations. In an era of post-modernism, meaning has been removed and one is left with nothing. It is difficult to present hope to one who feels as if nothing matters. The last sentence above is one of the best, in my opinion. We cannot simply present the gospel without being aware of our underlying assumptions and beliefs that others do not share and thus changing the way we approach the presentation of the hope of Christ. Our message is meaningless to those who do not share, in Nouwen's words above, a view of ourselves as "meaningfully integrated" in history.

Do you understand your assumptions, your presuppositions, the foundation of your beliefs? How do these differ to what the post-modern man thinks? In reflecting on the differences, what might change in your approach to speaking about your beliefs in a way that might be relevant to the post-modern man?

NOT Evangelism

On Monday, my coworker told me about a conversation he had with a man at a flea market over the weekend. The man put a tract in his hand, asked him if he had ever disagreed with his parents, and told him he was going to hell because he had violated one of the commandments. My coworker is Muslim and politely told the guy that he did not agree and after a few more minutes of conversation, left. I have shortened the story intentionally, because I don't want to focus on the story, but on the method.

I don't even know where to begin with this. This "evangelist", for lack of a better term, makes me sick. How can one even think that approaching someone and telling them they are going to hell will change a lifetime of beliefs? If one's beliefs are swayed so easily, I might question the certainty of one's belief. I'd like to go over the absurdity of this approach.

Being in violation of God's law, in the example of disagreeing with parents, means that you are going to hell and therefore in need of Christ.

1. Who said I believe in God?
2. Who said disagreeing with parents was wrong?
3. Why should I accept the Bible as an authoritative source of truth for me?
4. On what basis do you state that hell exists? See question 3 when you respond.
5. If I did believe hell exists, why is Christ the only way?
6. You are stating things that you believe to be true--and I disagree with your beliefs--why do you think you are right and I am wrong?
7. I believe in X (for a Muslim it would be Allah, who is believed to be the same God as the Jewish and Christian God); why am I wrong?
8. Who is to say that what you claim is God's law is actually God's law? My religious books say otherwise.

Frankly, I am embarrassed by this guy's approach to sharing the gospel. It makes me think of the times when I so firmly believe something and passionately try to tell others, only to find them not as receptive to what I firmly believe is true. Perhaps telling people what we believe isn't a very effective way of communicating our beliefs, especially in the context of not knowing the person. I am finding that the older I get, the less I really ought to talk and the more I really ought to listen. And I am really bad about both.

Heaven

I've been reading a book by Dallas Willard called The Divine Conspiracy and in a section where he discusses going to heaven, I found this particularly convicting:

I am thoroughly convinced that God will let everyone into heaven who, in his considered opinion, can stand it. But "standing it" may prove to be a more difficult matter than those who take their view of heaven from popular movies or popular preaching may think. The fires of heaven may be hotter than those in the other place... There is a widespread notion that just passing through death transforms human character. Discipleship is not needed. Just believe enough to "make it." But I have never been able to find any basis in scriptural tradition or psychological reality to think this might be so. What if death only forever fixes us as the kind of person we are at death? What would one do in heaven with a debauched character or a hate-filled heart? (p. 302)

Willard goes on to suggest that unless our belief results in life transformation, we really haven't believed. My actions will follow my belief and if my actions aren't consistent with what I say I believe in, then what I say I believe in isn't what I really believe in.

I find this convicting because in the last several months, almost a year now, I have slowly allowed things in my life to "slide", excusing myself from following through in areas I am pretty sure a whole-hearted belief in Christ would not be excused. In areas I find myself to act selfishly, rather than ruthlessly going after the selfishness and crucifying the flesh, I tell myself that it doesn't matter anyway--I am single so I can be selfish. In other areas of self-improvement, I have grown lazy and thus have regressed to locations below rock walls that I had once scaled.

Why do my actions not match my beliefs? I have no excuse--"[I]n the final analysis we fail to be disciples only because we do not decide to be. We do not intend to be disciples. (Willard)"

Heaven

I've been reading a book by Dallas Willard called The Divine Conspiracy and in a section where he discusses going to heaven, I found this particularly convicting:

I am thoroughly convinced that God will let everyone into heaven who, in his considered opinion, can stand it. But "standing it" may prove to be a more difficult matter than those who take their view of heaven from popular movies or popular preaching may think. The fires of heaven may be hotter than those in the other place... There is a widespread notion that just passing through death transforms human character. Discipleship is not needed. Just believe enough to "make it." But I have never been able to find any basis in scriptural tradition or psychological reality to think this might be so. What if death only forever fixes us as the kind of person we are at death? What would one do in heaven with a debauched character or a hate-filled heart? (p. 302)

Willard goes on to suggest that unless our belief results in life transformation, we really haven't believed. My actions will follow my belief and if my actions aren't consistent with what I say I believe in, then what I say I believe in isn't what I really believe in.

I find this convicting because in the last several months, almost a year now, I have slowly allowed things in my life to "slide", excusing myself from following through in areas I am pretty sure a whole-hearted belief in Christ would not be excused. In areas I find myself to act selfishly, rather than ruthlessly going after the selfishness and crucifying the flesh, I tell myself that it doesn't matter anyway--I am single so I can be selfish. In other areas of self-improvement, I have grown lazy and thus have regressed to locations below rock walls that I had once scaled.

Why do my actions not match my beliefs? I have no excuse--"[I]n the final analysis we fail to be disciples only because we do not decide to be. We do not intend to be disciples. (Willard)"