Archive for November, 2004

Who Is John Stott?

Many of you have heard me talk before about one of my heroes, John Stott, an evangelical minister and writer in the Anglican Church. I once preached to a small gathering in Florida of ministers that included him. I wanted to stop in the middle and say, “I’m sorry. This is wrong. Mr. Stott, would you please come do this right?”

I love this editorial in today’s NY Times.

November 30, 2004
OP-ED COLUMNIST
Who Is John Stott?
By DAVID BROOKS

Tim Russert is a great journalist, but he made a mistake last weekend. He included Jerry Falwell and Al Sharpton in a discussion on religion and public life.

Inviting these two bozos onto “Meet the Press” to discuss that issue is like inviting Britney Spears and Larry Flynt to discuss D. H. Lawrence. Naturally, they got into a demeaning food fight that would have lowered the intellectual discourse of your average nursery school.

This is why so many people are so misinformed about evangelical Christians. There is a world of difference between real-life people of faith and the made-for-TV, Elmer Gantry-style blowhards who are selected to represent them. Falwell and Pat Robertson are held up as spokesmen for evangelicals, which is ridiculous. Meanwhile people like John Stott, who are actually important, get ignored.

It could be that you have never heard of John Stott. I don’t blame you. As far as I can tell, Stott has never appeared on an important American news program. A computer search suggests that Stott’s name hasn’t appeared in this newspaper since April 10, 1956, and it’s never appeared in many other important publications.

Yet, as Michael Cromartie of the Ethics and Public Policy Center notes, if evangelicals could elect a pope, Stott is the person they would likely choose. He was the framer of the Lausanne Covenant, a crucial organizing document for modern evangelicalism. He is the author of more than 40 books, which have been translated into over 72 languages and have sold in the millions. Now rector emeritus at All Souls, Langham Place, in London, he has traveled the world preaching and teaching.

When you read Stott, you encounter first a tone of voice. Tom Wolfe once noticed that at a certain moment all airline pilots came to speak like Chuck Yeager. The parallel is inexact, but over the years I’ve heard hundreds of evangelicals who sound like Stott.

It is a voice that is friendly, courteous and natural. It is humble and self-critical, but also confident, joyful and optimistic. Stott’s mission is to pierce through all the encrustations and share direct contact with Jesus. Stott says that the central message of the gospel is not the teachings of Jesus, but Jesus himself, the human/divine figure. He is always bringing people back to the concrete reality of Jesus’ life and sacrifice.

There’s been a lot of twaddle written recently about the supposed opposition between faith and reason. To read Stott is to see someone practicing “thoughtful allegiance” to scripture. For him, Christianity means probing the mysteries of Christ. He is always exploring paradoxes. Jesus teaches humility, so why does he talk about himself so much? What does it mean to gain power through weakness, or freedom through obedience? In many cases the truth is not found in the middle of apparent opposites, but on both extremes simultaneously.

Stott is so embracing it’s always a bit of a shock - especially if you’re a Jew like me - when you come across something on which he will not compromise. It’s like being in “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood,” except he has a backbone of steel. He does not accept homosexuality as a legitimate lifestyle, and of course he believes in evangelizing among nonbelievers. He is pro-life and pro-death penalty, even though he is not a political conservative on most issues.
Most important, he does not believe truth is plural. He does not believe in relativizing good and evil or that all faiths are independently valid, or that truth is something humans are working toward. Instead, Truth has been revealed. As he writes:

“It is not because we are ultra-conservative, or obscurantist, or reactionary or the other horrid things which we are sometimes said to be. It is rather because we love Jesus Christ, and because we are determined, God helping us, to bear witness to his unique glory and absolute sufficiency. In Christ and in the biblical witness to Christ God’s revelation is complete; to add any words of our own to his finished work is derogatory to Christ.”

Politicians, especially Democrats, are now trying harder to appeal to people of faith. But people of faith are not just another interest group, like gun owners. You have to begin by understanding the faith. And you can’t understand this rising global movement if you don’t meet its authentic representatives.

Not Falwell, but Stott.

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November 21 was the 10th anniversary of Megan’s death.

But, amazingly, that anniversary marker is now filled with wonderful memories for us. Diane and I spent five days at Sundance in Utah for a wedding. We enjoyed lots of time hiking on trails and soaking up the beauty. But we also enjoyed reconnecting with Arkansas friends: Phil and Annette Herrington, Glen and Nancy Blue (along with their children and daughters-in-law), and Jimmy and Andee Cone.

It was especially nice to be with my cousins, Steve and Kathy Stevens and their daughter Juliana. Their home in Little Rock was a fun escape place for us during the Searcy years, so it was nice to have someone to remember Megan stories with.

On that morning, I spoke to the little wedding crowd that was gathered at Sundance. Then, I performed the wedding later that morning for Phil and Annette’s second daughter. In the evening we all gathered in the private screening room to watch — what else? — “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

Here is my journal entry from that day:

It’s 10:16 a.m. I’ve just spoken to everyone at a communion service, centering thoughts on the theme “A River Runs Through It.” I wanted to mention Megan and how God’s unending stream of mercy has washed and revived us again and again these past ten years. But I didn’t. I could tell that if one word came out, I would crack and crumble.

But I remember so well this very minute on 11/21/94. I thought maybe I’d be obsessing more this morning on all those details. But really–since getting up at 4:00 this morning–I’ve been thinking about what a blessing Megan was.

I can’t help but wonder what her last ten years would have been like. I keep thinking about “Searcy Megan”–the energetic little girl who couldn’t slow down. But the “Abilene Megan” would have continued to battle sinking health and abilities.

I had a daughter. I’m so blessed. I had a daughter who was beautiful and loving. The years will continue to roll on, but that blessing will never fade. And I’m ten years closer to seeing her than I was!

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Home again!! Home from Utah. Now home from Missouri.

Too tired to blog. Just this . . . Today, Jantsen Barrett Cope, one of the most faith-filled, life-affirming, fun-loving kids I’ve ever known, would have been 21 today.

So . . . happy birthday, JB. Your uncle will never, ever forget you. Your absence makes me long for my real home.

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It’s Thanksgiving morning in Missouri. After the return trip that wouldn’t end, we turned around yesterday and drove from Abilene to Neosho. We met Matt and Jenna at Pappasito’s (can you travel from Abilene to Missouri without a Pappasito’s stop?), left their car somewhere, and drove up together.

This is a tough time of year. We just passed the 10th anniversary of Megan’s death (Nov. 21 — I’ll probably write more about that later), and it’s around the date when my nephew Jantsen would have been 21.

And yet we are all together. My parents, my brother and his family (who live here), one of my two sisters and her family (from Conway, AR), our family, and various other relatives.

One turkey is in the oven. The other will soon be deep fried. Pumpkin pies are baked. Peanut brittle will be made (by Dad). Sticky buns were awaiting us this morning.

Life is good.

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We’re baaaack.

It was just a wee bit late, of course. We left Utah (one of my new favorite states!) early yesterday morning. The flight to DFW went fine. We were supposed to switch to American Eagle and be in Abilene by 4:15. But there’s something about the lethal combination of bad weather, DFW, and American Eagle.

We finally got to Abilene at 2:15 this morning. On a bus.

Our flight had been cancelled. So we went standby on another flight that finally took off. We got about halfway to Abilene and ran into bad (and I mean B-A-D) weather. So we looped back around and, for the second time in the day, landed at DFW. At 7:45 they told us a bus would be right there to pick us up. And it was. About three hours later.

So much more to write about later. I will mention how much fun it was to read the billboards in Salt Lake City on the way to the airport yesterday. Those wacky Mormons! One read: “Meet LDS [Latter Day Saints . . . or Mormons] singles. Hotsaints.com. Chase and be chaste.”

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‘I’ve lost control!’ That is what good people say when bad things happen to them. ‘I’ve lost control of my life!’ I have said it myself, but it is not true. Human beings do not lose control of their lives. What we lose is the illusion that we were ever in control of our lives in the first place, and it is a hard, hard lesson to learn–so hard that most of us have to go back to the blackboard again and again, because we keep thinking that there must be some way to work it out, some way to master the human condition so that there are no leaks in it, no scares, no black holes. As far as I know, it cannot be done. Maybe that is why it is called the human condition. Like asthma or myopia, being human is a condition we live with–a splendid one in most respects–but one with certain built-in limitations. Some things will budge for us and some will not. We cannot fly. We cannot live forever. We cannot control everything that happens to us. That is the human condition, and it can be frightening, because what that means is we cannot choose all the circumstances of our lives. All we can really choose is how we respond to them, and that is why it takes a lot of courage to be a human being.”

- Barbara Brown Taylor

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We’re anxious to see James and Marla Walters, our longtime friends from Searcy days, who’re staying with us Wednesday. James, who is a professor of New Testament at Boston University, will be speaking in “Oasis” from 1 Timothy 6. Even though he and I are about the same age–and, therefore, I’ve never actually taken a class he’s taught–he’s been the most influential Bible prof in my life. (Before his appointment at BU, James worked with Landon Saunders and “Heartbeat” while teaching adjunct at BU and Dartmouth College. And before that he taught New Testament at Harding.)

How about it, blogland? Any former Walters students out there?

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Someone at second service yesterday told me she made it through the scriptures I read from Job, Lamentations, Psalms, Matthew, and John during the DVD with images of grief; through my message giving a “scout’s report” on ten years of grief (since Megan’s death on 11/21/94); through the scriptures that Diane and I read–psalms that had ministered to us through the years; and through hearing Val and others sing “You Raise Me Up.”

What sent her over the edge was during the closing song seeing little Anna Claire break away from her family, run right in front of the worship team, leap into my arms, and press her cheek against mine.

I’d just spoken of losing my little girl. And one of the youngest in the assembly came for me to hold her.

That’s community.

By Their Scars You Shall Know Them

A note to Highland readers:

One year after Megan died, I talked about the year of grief. I was hoping that it would help give words to others who live with grief of one sort or another. And it seemed to. Then, the five-year anniversary fell on a Sunday, so in 1999 I reported again. I described it as being a scout coming back to report on what the trail ahead is like.

This year the ten-year anniversary also falls on a Sunday, but that day (Nov. 21) is our annual food offering, one of the best days of the year at Highland. Diane and I are going to quietly slip out of town for the weekend.

So this Sunday, I’m going to talk about grief. I’ll again try to make sure this isn’t just about us and our story. (I’m still hoping Diane will share a testimony and offer part of her perspective, but so far she’s not inclined to. As I mentioned, November isn’t her favorite month.)

I mention this here, because some of you have friends and neighbors who have experienced loss and grief who might be able to identify. Please see if they’ll come with you. I’ll stay up front after both services to visit as long as people want to.

The title of the message is “By Their Scars You Shall Know Them.”

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arthritis

For as long as I knew her, my Grandma Cope suffered terribly with arthritis. It attacked her whole body. She’d shuffle around because of the stiffness in her hips, knees, and ankles. Her fingers were almost rendered useless. And yet, she decided not to let it stop her. Her constant cooking and sewing just worked around those little inconveniences–like not being able to use her fingers. (Note: In one of the comments two days ago about dessert, someone darted in to leave an anonymous comment about the sugar cookies on Jefferson Street. That was Grandma Cope’s address–the world’s best sugar cookies.)

My dad’s arthritis hasn’t been nearly as severe, thankfully. But several times he’s gotten one of those good old cortisone shots in his ankle. Unless he’s just teasing, they apparently hurt. Enough said.

So yesterday, Dr. Butch, a friend from Highland and an orthopedic surgeon, is checking out my x-rays and preparing to tell me that I have a torn meniscus and should probably have orthroscopic surgery. But then he said, “And there seems to be some arthritis, too.”

For some reason, I can deal with the torn meniscus. I’ve been a pretty active person. Maybe it was one too many marathon . . . or throwing batting practice without stretching . . . or . . . well, who knows? (Actually, I’m afraid it happened last fall when I decided that I could unload a piece of furniture by myself. I couldn’t wait the extra two minutes it would take to call Dickie next door.) But arthritis in my knee? Isn’t that for old guys?