bloviate
Bloviate- to orate verbously and windily
CULTURE, CONTENT, CHOICES, CONTENTMENT
Culture vs Content: The Battle for Contentment
Almost daily I feel the American culture pulling against my lifestyle as a Christian. It is everywhere. I see it in the glaring lights of Hollywood and the people around me who worship actors with their money, time, and interest.
Although they are in public eye constantly, most actors are not good role models. Many don’t care a wit about the covenant of marriage. Some never make promises to each other to stay together for life. Also interesting to note, that most of them are very liberal in their politics, very bent on saving earth and animals, and very devoted to the “rights” of women to have abortions. Actors are so powerful that it seems they set the standard for what is right and acceptable in our culture. Their voices are so loud, and at times, it may seem that they drowned out foundational truths in our society.
The media is another cultural pull that wars against who I am as a believer. Many journalists and writers today are liberal as well. Some are nominal in their church affliation, and some are agnostic or aetheistic. I agree that these are private choices in life, but they influence what the media writes about and allows to be published or filmed. Television and movies elevate the triumph of the human spirit, free from the provision of God, free from responsibility to each other or God. There is a strong pull away from God and the purity of marriage and the rightness of family through the media.
Although the movie, “Love Story” is practically ancient now, it introduced a mindset that continues to be repeated through the media: “Love is never having to say you are sorry.” That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. But Hollywood keeps the theme going with many sister spin-offs. To the believer, love is not the helpless pawn of feeling;and for love to live, in beauty and truth, it means saying, “I am sorry,” over and over and over. It is the most loving attitude to take toward a loved one.
“Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” also releases society from the act of taking responsibility when a mistake is made. Everyone makes mistakes, but Hollywood continues to perpetuate the idea that it is okay to let love blot out mistakes without words of repentance. If you hurt someone you love, it is right to admit the mistake and say you are sorry. I even like to take it step beyond by adding, “Will you please forgive me?” I have never seen a line like this woven into any screenplay, ever. Words are powerful tools to bring healing.
I really feel this same war in our educational system that teaches against God and the Bible. It is wonderful to know we still have private educational systems available, and we still have choices. But the pull against what I believe is evident and strong. In fact, I could fill pages and pages with the contridictions in American culture today from what it was designed to be originally.
Some people say the biggest culprit is Americans’ craving for materialism. Some say this is our God. But with the limited travel I have done and the cross-cultural experience, I would say that materialism is not America’s number one enemy that keeps her from God and reaching out to others in love.
I believe it is isolationism. The root of isolationism is apathy–caring only about that which pertains to me and/or my family. “To hell with the rest of it,” seems to be the mantra of American life. “I am going to take care of me and mine.”
It is so rare to find people who are not holed-up in their private, beautiful kingdoms (homes), who are not hell-bent on fulfilling their personal dreams to acquire better houses and cars and including more time for leisure and pleasure, and who are instead genuinely concerned and compassionate about pleasing God and reaching a hurting world.
The American culture is worshipping money and fame too much, but it is contentment for which we yearn. We have grown apathetic to our God and our neighbors, yet we long for deep satisfaction. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow won’t buy contentment.
The kind of contentment that American culture provides is illusive and temporary. Our culture is abstract, although it feels concrete surging against us in mighty waves of influence. Our choices are concrete, although they feel abstract against the tide of humanism that engulfs us.
There are absolutes, and those aboslutes anchor us against the battering waves of a tumultuous society. From the anchor of biblical truth we are invited to make our choices. We create the contentment of our lives by those choices.
How do we find and keep contentment? How does our culture and all that entails: fables, forms, folklore, family, and faith influence contentment?
The secrets of contentment are locked within our choices which transcend the content of our culture. But we must make sure there is eternal content in our choices. There is a plumbline from which we measure all things in life, and it is rooted in eternity.
Christians are becoming despised in our culture. And sometimes I wonder if we could ever became hated to the point of a Holocaust like the Jews endured in Europe, or if we would suffer slavery like the Africans?
It only takes a few flaming sparks to ignite an inferno of hatred.
On a trip to New England a number of years ago, I wrote the poem below about how I feel making choices hopefully and prayerfully with eternal content in mind–content that is contrary to my culture–yet that leads to my contentment. In fact, it leads to much more contentment, but eternal life itself.
Pilgrim
Stark against society’s
post-modern moving,
I pass as an ancient Bedouin,
nomad upon the desert.
Archaic curiosity
laughingstock,
a pilgrim wanderer
in search of higher ground,
not more.
Impassioned with a flaming heart
and light feet, I am
a pioneer who will not gather.
Shunned by the bleeding elite,
the tolerant intolerant,
the jealous,
the almost persuaded.
I count the spurn
privilege for joy’s hope
before me
to travel unhindered
unencumbered
upward
homeward bound.
MEDIA
Shaking a Fist at God
Every time I turn the television on, there are about five programs airing on various channels about crocodiles. Each one features the fierce creature thrashing and turning in the water with several men risking their lives to tame him.
There is a crock craze that continues to sweep the media world and those hooked on the media it produces. Certainly the wild and risky antics of Steve Irwin from Australia–from wrestling to whispering sweet things in their ears to kissing his beloved crocodiles, drew worldwide interest and attention to the swarthy reptile.
This may surprise you, but the Bible has a lot to say about crocodiles!
One whole chapter in the book of Job (some say this is the oldest biblical book written) is devoted to questions that God asks Job about the creature:
“Can you put a cord through his nose or pierce his jaw with a hook? Will he keep begging you for mercy or speak to you with gentle words? Can you make a pet of him or put him on a leash for your girls?” (Job 41:2,5)
I love the sarcastic edge of our Creator!
“If you lay a hand on him, you will remember the struggle and never do it again. Any hope of subduing him is false. The mere sight of him is overpowering.” (Job 41:8:10)
“No one is fierce enough to rouse him, who then can stand against Me? Who has a claim against Me that I must pay?”
Now this is more than an edge of sarcasm. God is making a point that if the crocodile can make us shudder, stand back, because the One True God of the universe who created the crock, is more awesome and terrible in power than this fearsome creature.
The media perpetuates the attitude that God is in heaven throwing down problems and calamities, that He doesn’t answer prayer, and that He is too busy counting the hairs on our heads really to care and love us. When something goes wrong, it is not unusual to see the star of a film shaking their fist at God asking, “Why did you do this to me? I don’t deserve this!”
The Creator and Redeemer of the universe is entitled to a little sarcastic edge from heaven the way He is treated.
The truth is the crocodile is feared for his fearsome power and might. Man is no match for him.
God delivers the afflicted by way of their affliction (Job 36:15).
Next time you are tempted to shake a fist at God, remember the awesome crocodile and stand back.
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 1:7).
Society
I am intrigued by this art piece rendered in 1893 by Norwegian artist, Edvard Munch, titled, “The Scream.” It is also called, “The Cry” or in Norwegian, “Shrik.” All of these descriptions aptly describe that face and background.
I was more intrigued when I read about Munch’s inspiration for this painting. He wrote in his diary,
“I was walking along a path with two friends–the sun was setting–suddenly the sky turned blood red–I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence–there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city–my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety–and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature.”
When I read that account, I immediately remembered this Scripture:
“All of creation groans awaiting the revelation of the sons of God.” (Romans 8:19). And that is exactly what the painting depicts for me–that primal scream from deep within that yearns for a glimpse of something beyond this life.
Recently, I read again Elie Weisel’s book, “Night,” about his Holocaust journey. When I finished, I understood why he became a Pulitzer Prize winner. Although the subject matter was heinous and heart wrenching, his words rebounded off the page with power and poetry at once.
One poignant description tore my soul above the others. Weisel describes the sound of a cry when they were being transported on a train. It was like the sound of a ”wounded animal.” People were dying, and others knew they would die soon. Someone released a primal scream from the core of their inner man, and others joined in the cry. Weisel writes maybe they didn’t know why they cried, they just cried with all that was within them. The need somehow to right all the inhuman unrights of the death camp was heard in that cry. It caught on and soon hundreds of cries could be heard, echoing from wagon to wagon.
After reading this passage, I put my book down and tried to shake off an agonizing shudder. I imagined myself in that train car, as one who had been brutalized and had screamed at the top of my lungs against the injustice, against the shadow of death. A silent scream rose from my gut.
In the midst of this imagination, I recalled another kind of cry that I had experienced a few years ago at the Pensacola revival in Florida. I heard people screaming out to God for mercy and repenting in loud voices as they ran to the altar. People were doing serious business with God. Some of those shrieks sent chills down my spine. They carried a sense of terror and sweetness at once, terror for the need to repent before a holy God and sweetness because of His grace to forgive. Thousands of people emerged from that altar with radiant faces and joyful steps.
I am amazed when I watch movies or television, and the story takes the main character to a point of crisis–to a place when it is natural to “cry out” to God for help. But…
remember “Cast Away?” Never once did Tom Hanks pray during all those years of isolation and hardship? What about the whole cast of “Lost?” Not one of those bumbling knot heads marooned on a gorgeous island with polar bears and antiquated computers never thought once to “cry out” to heaven for deliverance? Even American hero, Jack of 24, never has time to let out a shriek upward for guidance?
Those who write these things want the human beings to triumph over the evil, alone–without the help of God. They want their heroes to be super humans, who don’t need super-natural intervention.
The truth is humankind needs super-natural help, and it is the impassioned prayer of the desperate that will open the ears of God.
Right now, I don’t know the answer about how God answered the cries of those throughout history who faced terror or death in justice or without justice. But someday, we will have greater understanding.
A story from Mark’s Gospel proves my point: A blind man desperately cried out for mercy when he heard that Jesus was near. Those around him rebuked him. The blind man cried out all the more, and God healed him.
Don’t wait for a Holocaust to scream out to God for help, for justice, for guidance, for provision, for mercy, for restitution.
Jesus is near.
I made a friend once…it changed my prespective about being kind.
When I was a rookie on the Farmers Branch Texas Fire Department, the other men always gave me the menial jobs. I didn’t mind, as it was part of the hazing process that develps esprit de corp within a fire department. There was a kid that would hang around the fire station. He was a fixture, being there every morning to help me, or whomever was on duty, raise the flag and then in the evening to lower the flag. Sometimes he would eat with us. We would buy him candy and cokes from the store next door. We’d buy him Birthday and Christmas presents. I know of at least two bicycles that had been purchased at the time for him. You see his parents were old and tired. We were part of his extended family. Oh…I forgot to mention… Ronnie had Downs Syndrome and he was 16. Well. I left the fire department after having only worked there for 13 months. I was so disturbed to have not completed my probationary period (15 months) that I abruptly left, never to return, or to say goodbye to my co-workers. That was in 1976. In 1996, I was a manager at Furrs Cafeteria in Lewisville, just down I35 from Farmers Branch. I was serving vegetables on the serving line, very busy, when I looked up into the face of RONNIE! One of the firemen had picked him up from home and taken him out to eat. His parents were dead now and he may have been living at the Denton State School. Ronnie smiled matter of factly at me and said “Hi Fwank!” I almost fainted, as it had been 20 years since we had seen each other. It is one of my most precious memories, how that from such a simple and common act of kindness as letting a little guy help me take the flag down for 13 months that he would remember me 20 years hence. I will never forget that beautiful little guy. Frank
Frank,
I love this story… precious. Thanks for sharing it.
Bonnie