True Radicalism

The Roots of American Order, by Russell Kirk (Open Court, 1974, 534 pp., $15), is reviewed by Thomas Howard, professor of English, Gordon College, Wenham, Massachusetts.

The key words in the title of Russell Kirk’s book, “roots” and “order,” are germane to any Bicentennial reflections on what America is and where it is going.

The political left has pre-empted the word “radical.” Indeed, a case can fairly easily be made that as the word is used in popular politics now, it means merely “drastic.” It pertains to a view of things that, while proposing sweeping changes in social and moral conditions, seldom has the patience and modesty to go to the radix, the root. In other words, “radical,” at least as we know it in the United States now, means its own opposite: superficial (viz., the student revolts of the late sixties, or the various brands of “new” politics that appear weekly).

The other word in Kirk’s title is equally germane. Order. Any society—feudal, Maoist, or Jeffersonian—has to have some understanding of the nature of its own ordering of things if it is going to preserve and defend that order. Order is what makes moral and social existence—in fact existence itself—possible. Chaos and anarchy stand, not just over against moral and social order, but over against existence. Mao knows this as well as Genghis Khan.

In this study Russell Kirk goes all the way back. His thesis is that order is necessary to any existence called human, and that this order is moral. He asserts that this thesis has been demonstrated in history.

Kirk begins historically with “The Law and the Prophets.” The Old Testament is not always included in discussions of American democracy. Indeed, popular imagination often sees, no doubt, an antinomy between this democracy and the dreadful, absolutist, supernaturalistic, legalistic, Yahwist order in ancient Israel. But this is to miss our debt to Israel, which is at the very least the understanding that God is the source of order and justice, and that what binds a healthy society together is covenant, not just between man and man, but between those men and God. The prophets kept alive the ethical meaning of human existence by their shrill denunciation of sin—not just of fornication, as is often suggested in caricatures of the prophets, but of all forms of violence, corruption, oppression, indulgence, and so forth. A great legacy from Israel to us is the notion of man under God, and the corollary notion of the impossibility of any humanly constructed utopia.

The history of Greece furnishes us with a “cautionary tale” of class conflict, disunity, and internecine violence. “The ancient Greeks failed in this,” says Kirk: “they never learned how to live together in peace and justice.” Kirk argues that, while Plato and Socrates were not direct influences on our founding fathers, yet their vision was there, in the fabric of Western tradition, “reminding some men that there endures a realm of ideas more real than the realm of appetites … insisting that if men’s souls are disordered, society becomes no better than a cave or a dust-storm.” On the other hand, “the Greeks’ conviction that religion and culture must be bound up inseparably with the city-state went against the grain of American individualism.… The Greeks would have been astounded that such a nation-state [as America], unconsecrated to the gods, could endure for a decade.”

Our debt to the Roman ideas of ius civile (law for the franchised citizens), ius gentium (for all the people), and ius naturale (fundamental principles founded on ethical norms) is well enough known, and Kirk emphasizes this. His account of the decline of Rome, with the insoluble problem of centralization, and the increase of taxation and bureaucracy, and the draining off of the ancient religious order into the vagaries of emperor worship and the mystery cults, is self-evidently relevant to our own experience. Over against the public moral decline stood the lonely figure of Marcus Aurelius, the Stoic emperor, whose view did not carry the day.

The Christian order, such as it was, supplanted the Roman order in the West. The chaotic nature of the “Christian” centuries itself may bear out the Augustinian canon that we live in a sinful world, and that there is no salvation to be looked for from the political order. To the Christian outlook the American fathers owed their ideas of individual worth, of the equality of all men before God, and of the limitation of earthly authority. The medieval patrimony of law, of slowly developing representative government (especially in England), of the effort to achieve a balance between church and state, of language, of commerce, and of learning (viz., the great universities) “was so much taken for granted by the men who founded the American Republic that they did not even trouble themselves to praise it so much as they should have done,” Kirk observes.

The American fathers shared the Reformers’ rejection of the Renaissance as a blending of “licentious paganism with corrupt Catholicism.” But among the legacies of the Reformation to America, we must also include the great energy and individualism that characterized the formative years of our civilization.

In seventeenth-century England we find Hobbes, whose influence on English and American thinking was enormous, divorcing as he did politics from religion; and Bunyan, celebrating the meaning of individual life as a pilgrimage towards God; and Locke, urging the ideas of natural contract and the right to property. In our own colonial order we find a growing toleration of religious and philosophical outlooks, a rejection of aristocracy (notably in South Carolina), the rise of representative assemblies, and the appearance of Deism, which, despite the influence of Wesley, Whitefield, and Edwards, eventually dominated official American imagination. In the eighteenth century, influences that Kirk touches among others are those of Hume (politics as the art of the possible), Blackstone (the notion of precedent as a determining factor in jurisprudence), and Edmund Burke (civil liberty comes, not from Nature, but from experience, convention, and compromise).

There is very little similarity between the American and the French revolutions, in Kirk’s view. The American Revolution attached itself always to history and experience rather than to slogans and utopian ideas. Our Constitution reflects the tension between order and freedom, and presupposes religious belief. Our fathers insisted on a government of laws, not of men.

Kirk advances his last chapter with a small demurral. It is entitled “Contending Against American Disorder.” This might appear to be going beyond the terrain he set himself in his title, but, he argues, it is necessary “to say something about the troubled reality of order, and the idea of order, in nineteenth-century America.” This is fairly familiar to most of us, but Kirk provides an angle on it that very, very few of us will have encountered in our schooling. He advances the name of Orestes Brownson as perhaps the most perspicacious critic of nineteenth-century America. Brownson, a New Englander, moved through most of the varieties of American religion (Congregationalism, Presbyterianism, Universalism, Unitarianism, and the like) in his search for authority. He was finally received into the Catholic Church, a very un American move in those days. But his move makes sense, though it may have cost him the attention of American historians. He criticized the merely democratic suppositions that were at work in American imagination (suppositions that no orthodox Christian can quite buy), and he insisted on a fixed moral order as necessarily underlying any healthy political life.

Kirk has chosen an astute commentator on American life for the ending of his book. Brownson’s observations need no updating.

Two things remain to be said. First, Kirk has included a large chronology, bibliography, and index to his book—always welcome in a work of this magnitude. Second, anyone who wishes to reflect and talk on the topic “America,” and especially any Christian who wishes to do so, will do himself a favor if he reads Kirk’s book.

World Religions And Political Revolutions

Religion and Revolution, by Guenter Lewy (Oxford, 1974, 694 pp., $17.50), is reviewed by James Tinney, Ph.D. candidate in political science, Howard University, Washington, D.C.

By examining case studies of the interrelationships between religion and revolution in more than a dozen countries, Lewy seeks to test the often repeated charge that religion is a political opiate of the people. While he does not think it is possible to identify any certain number of variables that would enable one to predict the “revolutionary index” of a particular religion, he does note three ways in which religion often contributes to revolution: (1) by supplying a sense of militant nationalism when a colonial regime is indifferent to indigenous religion; (2) by seeking to preserve the legitimacy of its own mission or leaders when they are threatened with replacement by political regimes; (3) by developing theologies of revolution.

While Lewy develops a strong rebuttal to the argument that religion is anti-political or anti-revolutionary, he is careful to balance his arguments with case studies that also have been used by his opponents. The major conclusion is that religion may serve equally as a protector of the status quo and as a revolutionary force. It both integrates and disrupts society. It bars and promotes change. The same set of facts and circumstances may be variously interpreted by religious leaders, and used either to sanctify or overthrow rulers-that-be.

Some differences are observable in the political roles of the major religions, however. Lewy concludes that Hinduism offers no basis for social change or protest since it does not view human beings as equal before God. Pre-Muslim India knows of no successful popular revolt, he claims, although Hinduism does hold that kingship is subordinate to divine law and, if not representative of divine law, may justifiably be overthrown.

Confucianism teaches that the difference between the ruler and the bandit depends entirely upon who holds power (the ruler) and who does not (the bandit). They are positioned as they are because of their virtue, or lack of it, though their roles might be reversed. In such cases, the coups are generally bloodless because of Confucianism’s emphasis on kindness and peace. Only the ruler can petition heaven itself; the people are given a plethora of lesser gods to petition. If the people were to pray to heaven directly, this would be interpreted as a plea for political power.

Buddhism accepts inequalities and teaches, much as Protestant fundamentalists do, that any transformation of society must be the result of personal transformation of individuals. Good rulers might become future Buddhas, and the monks’ collection of much property leads to royal pat onage. Thus whoever becomes an enemy of Buddhism also becomes an enemy of the ruler.

Judaism teaches strict adherence to tradition and law, and the perpetual reign of David’s throne, says Lewy. This is not divine kingship in the perfect sense, though the ruler carries God’s blessings in administrating the theocracy. The nation is messianic itself and eschatological, but some look for an eschatological messiah to usher in a perfect kingdom.

Islam sees no division between the church and state, politics and religion. The country is a commonwealth where God and his word are supreme; Muhammad was his vice-regent on earth. The caliphs who followed often died an unnatural death. When this happened it was interpreted as God’s judgment (indeed, whatever happens is, in Islamic teaching, justified). Islamic sects include the Seceders (who killed all who disagreed), the Shi’a (non-Arab Muslims who seek equality and look for the return of a personal messiah or Mahdi), and the Isma’ilis (whose secret knowledge supposedly frees them from obedience to the law of the land).

Christianity has been variously interpreted by its followers, says Lewy. Some have proclaimed Christ as a Zealot revolutionary bent on destroying oppression by Roman imperialists. Others have looked for his messianic return to set up a millenarian paradise and/or accomplish an eschatological judgment of nations. Followers have been sometimes defenders of the just war (such as Aquinas), separatists, or establishers of church-state linkages.

Lewy pays particular attention to “revolutionary millenarianism.” This is an admixture of several trends; he defines it as “a religiously inspired mass movement seeking imminent, total, ultimate, this-worldly, terrestrial, collective salvation” to be achieved through both human action and the aid of a supernatural agency.

Lewy also devotes a chapter to the development of liberation theology among Latin American Christians. His own conclusion, supported by Jacques Ellul, is that Christian intellectuals specialize in joining struggles that are virtually over.

Enough struggles continue in this world, however, and this author believes that religion will play a role in many of them, as it has in others in the past. This book provides a very comprehensive treatment of the subject.

BRIEFLY NOTED

Two nineteenth-century evangelicals who were among the most influential not only in their own time but down to the present have finally received appropriate biographical treatment. Fanny Crosby (1820–1915), by Bernard Ruffin (Pilgrims Press, 257 pp., $8), is about a blind woman who is best known today for some of her 9,000 hymns but who did far more than write. George Müller (1805–1898), by Roger Steer (Harold Shaw, 351 pp., $7.95), is about the Prussian immigrant to England who is chiefly remembered for his huge orphanage houses and the unsolicited gifts that sustained them. However, his activities were of far wider scope. Both of these books belong in church and school libraries. They require a little more effort to read but are much more inspirational than the “pop” testimonies by contemporary personalities.

Tolerance and Movements of Religious Dissent in Eastern Europe, edited by Béla Király (Columbia University, 227 pp., $12), contains a dozen essays focusing on particular aspects of conflict from the sixteenth through nineteenth centuries in the region now largely Communist. It serves also to show precedents for more recent persecution. Religion and Atheism in the U.S.S.R. and Eastern Europe, by Bohdan Bociurkiw and John Strong (University of Toronto, 412 pp., $17.50), presents twenty essays largely concerned with post-World War II developments. Both books consider persecution of other religions than Christianity. (There are, for example, probably no more than 500 working mosques in the U.S.S.R for a Muslim constituency of some 40 million.)

Bicentennial fare from three denominations: Notebook of a Colonial Clergyman, by Henry Melchior Muhlenberg (Fortress, 250 pp., $3.50 pb), selections from the journals from 1742 through 1787 of a leading Lutheran; Bibles and Battle Drums, by Truett Rogers (Judson, 158 pp., $7.95), about David Jones, a Baptist pastor who served as a chaplain with Washington’s army; and John Witherspoon: Parson, Politican, Patriot, by Martha Lou Lemmon Stohlman (Westminster, 176 pp., $5.95), an informal biography of the Presbyterian leader who was the only minister to sign the Declaration of Independence.

The key paradox of the American ideal, the legacy of which still affects the nation momentously, is the subject of two scholarly but readable studies, Slavery and the Churches in Early America 1619–1819, by Lester Scherer (Eerdmans, 163 pp., $5.95), and American Slavery, American Freedom, by Edmund Morgan (Norton, 454 pp., $11.95). Morgan focuses on Virginians, who were leaders in drafting the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, who served for all but four of the first thirty-six years of the American presidency, and who held 40 per cent of the nation’s slaves.

What does the Bible really say about the role of women? And what are the applications of biblical principles for today? Four evangelical women offer their answers. In Search of God’s Ideal Woman, by Dorothy Pape (InterVarsity, 370 pp., $4.95 pb), is a thorough examination of all the New Testament passages and is probably the most important book on this subject so far this year. Up From Eden, by Kathryn Lindskoog (David C. Cook, 139 pp., $2.95 pb), and A Woman’s Worth and Work, by Karen Helder DeVos (Baker, 101 pp., $2.95 pb), are more informal and focus on the present with flashbacks to relevant Scriptures. The Magna Charta of Women, by Jessie Penn-Lewis (Bethany Fellowship, 103 pp., $ 1.50 pb), reprints a 1919 exegetical study by a widely traveled woman preacher.

One aspect of the widespread interest in the role of women is their status as religious leaders. Christianity has traditionally offered a much greater leadership role than have other religions, but many contend that what it has offered is not good enough. Toward a New Theology of Ordination, edited by Marianne Micks and Charles Price (Greeno, Hadden. 111 pp., $3.95 pb), presents nine essays with biblical and theological bases for ordaining women to the Episcopal priesthood. Carter Heyward, who was one of the eleven supposedly so ordained in 1974, tells her own story in A Priest Forever (Harper & Row, 146 pp., $6.95). In the United Presbyterian Church, women have full ordination rights; Elizabeth Howell Verdesi tells the story of power bases in official agencies won and then lost twice in this century within that denomination in In But Still Out (Westminster, 218 pp., $3.95 pb). Although concerned with women, this study of denominational politics will be of interest to others who feel left out. A variety of denominations, including Judaism, are represented in chats with some thirty women who are engaged in pastoral ministry in Women in the Pulpit, by Priscilla and William Proctor (Doubleday, 176 pp., $6.95). The varying motivations, experiences, and frustrations, rather than heavy theology, are the subject.

In the wake of books advocating change it male-female patterns there are still many defending a more traditional role. Three from Christian Herald House are Marigold Mornings, by Dorothy Evslin (213 pp., $6.95) Where the Heart Is, by Florence Roe Wiggins (131 pp. $5.95), and Let Me Be a Woman, by Tyndale (190 pp., $5.95). A similar book is A Woman’s Place, by Mark Kinney Branson (Accent, 160 pp., $1.95 pb).

The Liberated Palestinian, by James and Marti Hefley, is the story of Anis Shorrosh, a leading Palestinian evangelical born in Nazareth (Victor, 172 pp., $2.95 pb). He is now in full-time evangelism. His story illuminates the less-known side of the Israeli-Arab conflict.

Following the post-World War I challenges from neo-orthodoxy in academic circles and from fundamentalism at the grass roots, theological liberalism and the related social-gospel movement were thought to be dead, both in theory and in practice. Not so, according to these two fine studies by supporters of the movement. The Social Gospel: Religion and Reform in Changing America, edited by Ronald C. White, Jr., and C. Howard Hopkins (Temple University, 306 pp., $15, and $6.95 pb), intersperses primary and secondary sources in a running narrative review of nineteenth-and twentieth-century religion-based social activism. In The Modernist Impulse in American Protestantism (Harvard, 347 pp., n.p.), William Hutchinson finds there was indeed a definite theology of liberalism and of social reform rather than merely an attitude of “openness.” which is what fundamentalists contended all along. The author finds himself now more sympathetic to that theology than he was in earlier days when he was influenced by neo-orthodoxy.

Christian teaching in the first few centuries after the apostles is the subject of three expensive but essential books for theological libraries. Maurice Wiles and Mark Santer have arranged fifty-eight excerpts from the major church fathers into the traditional categories of systematic theology in Documents in Early Christian Thought (Cambridge, 268 pp., $22.50). A Scripture index would have helped. Ethical Patterns in Early Christian Thought by Eric Osborn (Cambridge, 252 pp., $21) focuses on Clement, Basil, Chrysostom, and Augustine. Osborn examines various aspects, such as love or natural law, in the light of current discussion. A widely heralded classic on the history of Christology is now available in a major revision: Christ in Christian Tradition, Volume One: From the Apostolic Age to Chalcedon, by Aloys Grillmeier (John Knox, 599 pp., $22). About one-third of the book is new material.

Three notable books about blacks and prayer: The Prayers of African Religion, by John Mbiti (Orbis, 193 pp., $7.95), and Prayer in the Religious Traditions of Africa, by Aylward Shorter (Oxford, 143 pp., $7.95, and $2.95 pb), gather by subject scores of prayers from the tribal religions; The Prayer Tradition of Black People (Judson, 142 pp., $6.95) has more interpretation and treats Christianity-based praying of Afro-Americans.

Jerome, by J.N.D. Kelly (Harper & Row, 353 pp., $15), is the first major biography in English of one of the most influential figures for early and medieval Christianity.

What happened before the events of the book and movie, The Hiding Place? See Corrie ten Boom’s In My Father’s House (Revell, 192 pp., $6.95).

NEW PERIODICAL

Books, cassettes, visual aids, and other communications resources available to religious educators are noted and continually reviewed in Religious Media Today, which began quarterly publication with the April, 1976, issue. Catholic participation in the project is high, but liberal and conservative Protestants are involved also (432 Park Avenue South, New York, N. Y. 10016; $8/year).

Carl called me aside at the end of a committee meeting. I knew from his face that he found it hard to speak.

“You haven’t seen Pete around much lately, have you?” he asked. Before I had a chance to respond, he hurried on. “I thought you ought to know. Apparently you offended him by something you said.”

I had noticed that Peter had not been regular the past several weeks. I had also noticed that he was not particularly friendly when he did come.

“Offended him?” I asked, wondering what I could have done.

“One Sunday after the service he was trying to get into the church office and the door was locked. You came by and said something like, ‘Hey, Pete, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you trying to get inside the church. Usually you’re one of those trying to get out.’ ”

I vaguely recalled the incident. I remembered that Pete had laughed and had made some humorous retort as I unlocked the door for him. In fact, as I replayed the whole scene in my mind, the first part of it became clear. He had actually started the lightness by saying something like, “Some people can’t wait to get home for dinner. They lock the doors as soon as you say the last amen.”

“Why, Carl, I was only kidding him.”

“I know. That’s the way Pete is. He’s touchy. He can hand out the banter and even hurt people himself. But you’re on pretty thin ice when you turn around and kid with him.”

“How did you find out?”

“He told his brother-in-law, who told Bill Rosen, and Bill told me.”

I nodded my head. Typical story. Someone gets offended in the church and by the time the information gets to me, it has been filtered through three or more other people.

“Thanks, Carl,” I said.

The conversation bothered me. First, of course, I had hurt someone, though unintentionally. I reviewed the conversation over and over in my mind. It just didn’t seem to me that anyone would have misconstrued it. Yet Pete had.

“Then he ought to come to me!” I remember telling the Lord as I drove home. “Jesus said that if your brother offends you, you go to him!”

And I could hear the words echo back, “He ought to.…”

“Lord, I’m tired of this. Innocent remarks get twisted around and misinterpreted, feelings get hurt, and I’m always supposed to be the reconciler. People don’t seem very disturbed when they hurt my feelings!”

For the five minutes that it took me to drive home, I railed against Pete in particular, church people in general, and the inequity of being a pastor. I didn’t feel a lot better when I reached the house. “It’s still his responsibility to tell me!” I said as I slammed the front door. I wanted to dismiss the matter. It was Pete’s move.

But I knew I couldn’t leave it at that. I had gotten the message. And while I felt I had done nothing wrong, the fact remained: Pete was hurt.

Forty-five minutes later I rang Pete’s doorbell, reminding myself of Jesus’ words, “Blessed are the peacemakers.”

I straightened it out.

That incident and several others that have happened since then have made me do some serious thinking. The fact that I had had to hear the information through the grapevine method made me angry. It also forced me to examine myself and realize that I had played the game, too. Perhaps not in the touchy way of Pete, but my guilt had to be dealt with.

Like the time Bert complained about the youth leader. “He’s just not doing his job with those teen-agers. I’m not going to allow my boys back in the youth activities until he’s there when he should be. There’s no proper supervision, no leadership from him half the time when he is there.”

And what did I say to all that? “Bert, I’m sorry you feel that way.” From there I began working with Bert on his feelings. Later I talked with the youth director about his leadership and control. Bert’s name was never mentioned.

I know what I should have done: I should have made Bert face up to his feelings and then talk them over with the youth director.

My chance came recently. Patsy complained about the kindergarten program. “It’s absolute bedlam! I don’t want my twins in there with that confusion! I send them to learn how to live like Christians. They’re learning to behave like devils!”

“Patsy, have you ever told Gloria that? Since she’s the department head, she ought to know how you feel.”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell her. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“But you want me to tell her so I can hurt her feelings.”

Patsy blushed slightly and said, “Well, that’s not what I mean. You can do it so much nicer and—”

“Wait a minute, Patsy. If you were the head of the department, wouldn’t you want a parent to tell you if she or he were unhappy?”

“Sure. But … it’s kind of hard to tell someone that.”

“I know.”

She fidgeted for a few seconds before I spoke again. “One more question, Patsy. Do you care—I mean, really care—about the kindergarten program? Or are you just upset over the lack of control? If you care about the program and about the children, then you’ll face Gloria and tell her. Perhaps you could volunteer to help keep order.”

Patsy never talked to Gloria. I wish she had.

Patsy acted the way a lot of people do. We pass the buck when we’re upset. But if we care about what happens and about the people involved, then we can’t let matters slide or pass the complaint on.

Caring means being honest with people, confronting them when necessary. I’m learning to encourage people to do that. Dealing honestly with one another is a vital step in our maturity as Christians. It used to be that when conversations like these came to me, I kept the names confidential. When I had to confront a third person, I’d skirt the issue by saying, “Someone told me that …” or “I’ve heard that.…”

“Who told you?”

That’s a reasonable question. And I’m tired of dodging it. I can help the situation most by urging the offended to face the offender.

In fact, we have actually twisted it all around from the principle Jesus gave. He said, “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother” (Matt. 18:15). But in practice, it often is handled differently, as in a situation that happened to me last week.

Fran cornered me after the evening service. “Go see Rita this week.”

“I’d be glad to,” I said. “Any particular reason?”

“Well, she’s hurt.”

I took a deep breath. “What did I do wrong?” I asked as evenly as possible.

“You didn’t ask about her father. She was gone all last week. She had told you he was very sick, and you had prayer for him. Now she’s back and you didn’t ask about him.”

“Fran, I’m sorry. Frankly, I forgot. But if she was concerned to let me know, why didn’t she tell me herself?”

Fran shrugged.

“I’ll see her this week. But you can help me if this kind of thing comes up gain. Urge the person to speak to me directly.”

“Rita would be embarrassed and say it’s such a small thing—”

“But not too small for her to get her feelings hurt.”

Fran flashed a smile at me. “You’re right, Cec. I’ll try next time.”

That’s how the twist operates. The one who did the wrong may be unaware of the effect created. Nonetheless the offended person waits for the offender to smooth it all out.

Perhaps that’s the way the wisdom of this world works, but it’s not the way Jesus instructed his followers to deal with hurts. If I’m hurt, then I have a moral obligation to tell the person who offended me.

I said something like this recently to Mark, who had been angered by something his teacher said to him in class.

“He knew he rubbed me the wrong way. I’m not going to him. He’s the one who said the things. Not me.”

“You mean you’d rather sulk about it, lose your peace of mind, keep yourself stirred up inside while you wait for him to come around? First of all, he may not even be aware that you feel this way. Second, you really ought to think about Jesus’ words in Matthew 18:15. And third, what’s more important: putting the blame on him or getting differences reconciled?”

Mark is a very open young man. He talked to his teacher. I don’t know what happened. But I did notice Sunday morning that when they walked out of the classroom together, the teacher had his arm around Mark’s shoulder. And they were smiling as they talked.

As a pastor and as a Christian, have I allowed people to shirk their responsibility to one another? Perhaps even encouraged it by being the man in the middle? The Apostle Paul writes about speaking the truth in love. A lot of us need to read that verse—Ephesians 4:15—often.

So I made a promise to myself. I’ll no longer bear the second-hand messages. I’m going to urge people to confront one another. I intend to care enough to help them be honest and faithful.

I don’t enjoy saying hard things to people; I’m as uncomfortable about it as the next person. But Jesus spoke the truth in love. So did the Apostle Paul. I know I can do it, too, if I really care about the people involved.—CECIL B. MURPHEY, pastor, Riverdale Presbyterian Church, River dale, Georgia.

Have you ever been in a storm at sea? Thunder mingles with the roar of waves beating against the side of the boat. Lightning zigzags across the sky and seems to pierce the froth of the wild breakers. Passengers slip and slide and clutch at rails at the side of the corridors, or collide with furniture as they try to cross a cabin.

The sailors in the ship where Jonah was peacefully sleeping below did everything they could to keep their boat afloat before they began their search for someone to blame for the storm. It was Jonah’s fault, you remember, because he had turned from the word of God to him at that time to do an exactly opposite thing. His refusal to believe that God’s word to him was of primary importance, and to act upon it in that moment of history, affected not only himself but other people—the sailors at that dramatic moment, and also the people of Nineveh. Jonah was the “troubler,” responsible for a physical storm affecting other people, and responsible for spiritual ignorance on the part of a whole city.

Happily for the sailors, and for Nineveh, Jonah learned a tremendous lesson within the great fish’s belly. Jonah had a great change within, and God answered his cry for deliverance. He gave Jonah another opportunity to consider the importance of His word to him, and to act upon it. Jonah’s proclamation of the word of God to Nineveh affected the people of that city to the extent that they repented, and their history was changed.

For whom are we in danger of causing trouble? What people are we plunging into a storm at sea? Is “compassion” simply a musical sounding word in our mouths? Are we unwilling to pay a price to act compassionately toward those who are affected by us?

Another person in the Bible spoke about “troubling”: “Art thou he that troubleth Israel?” A drought had brought famine for a long time, and the one asking the question was King Ahab, who accused Elijah of being the cause of this trouble. The answer was swift and spoken with the authority of a prophet of the living God: “I have not troubled Israel; but thou, and thy father’s house, in that ye have forsaken the commandments of the LORD, and thou hast followed Baalim” (1 Kings 18:18). (In chapter 16 we were told that Ahab had made altars to worship the false god Baal, and had done more to provoke the Lord God of Israel than any other king of Israel.)

It is right at this point in First Kings 18 that we have the marvelous story of Elijah’s confrontation with the 450 priests of the false god Baal. The children of Israel, these who have been led astray by Ahab their king, gather around. “And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two opinions? If the LORD be God, follow him: but if Baal, then follow him. And the people answered him not a word” (1 Kings 18:21).

Elijah then told the prophets of Baal to put a bullock on the altar and then call upon their god to send fire to burn it. He said he would take a second bullock and do the same thing, calling upon the living God to send down fire.

All day long the prophets of Baal called, cried, shouted to their god, even going into a frenzy and slashing themselves with knives to make their pleas more effective. Nothing happened. Elijah mocked them and told them to cry louder—perhaps, he said, your god is asleep, or taking a journey. Their cries and self-mutilation continued until the evening, but there was no answer, because there was no one to answer.

After putting his bullock on his altar, Elijah poured so much water on the altar that the wood was wet and a trench around the altar was filled with water. Then he lifted up his heart and said, “LORD God of Abraham, Isaac, and of Israel, let it be known this day that thou art God in Israel, and that I am thy servant, and that I have done all these things at thy word. Hear me, O LORD, hear me, that this people may know that thou art the LORD God, and that thou hast turned their heart back again.”

What an answer! “Then the fire of the LORD fell, and consumed the burnt-sacrifice, and the wood, and the stones, and the dust, and licked up the water that was in the trench. And when all the people saw it, they fell on their faces: and they said, The LORD, he is the God; the LORD, he is the God.”

Elijah had his prayer answered, and he was vindicated, right after he had been called “the troubler of Israel.” The result was that many were brought out of the darkness into which Ahab had led them, into the light of the truth.

Centuries later the accusation thrown at Elijah was thrown at Paul and Silas. Some men caught them, brought them to the rulers, and said, “These men, being Jews, do exceedingly trouble our city, and teach customs which are not lawful for us to receive, neither to observe, being Romans.” As a result Paul and Silas were stripped and beaten and with many raw wounds on their backs were thrown into prison.

The result of this confrontation between those who were set on punishing Paul and Silas for preaching the truth of God’s Word and powerful living God himself was not only the earthquake that freed the men from their stocks and chains but the “inner earthquake” that freed the jail keeper of the chains of doubt and brought him to the place of asking what he should do to be saved.

We need to ask the question today, “Who is the troubler of Israel?” First, there are the Jonahs who are believers, servants of the true and living God, but are turning away in the opposite direction geographically, or doctrinally, or turning from some specific message or task, thereby bringing storms on innocent fellow sailors, or depriving groups of people from hearing the truth. Second, there are the Ahabs, who have turned away from God’s Word while in leadership of his people, while at the same time accusing the true prophets of disturbing the peace. Third, there are the Pauls and Silases, who are being persecuted and falsely accused of being “troublers of the city,” while they are obediently speaking and teaching the word of the Lord.

It is important to be sure that in God’s sight we are among those who are falsely accused, rather than in Ahab’s or Jonah’s place. “Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceedingly glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.”

EDITH SCHAEFFER

Representative Of The Year

One does not have to be a brilliant semanticist to know that a representative is one who represents. And no one is more representative of the American people today than the Honorable Wayne Hays of Ohio.

He “portrays” and “typifies” (to use my dictionary’s words) us well. We Americans admire cantankerous, tough leaders. (Didn’t Blood and Guts Patton become a folk hero during the Nixon years?) We appreciate people who understand power and are not afraid to use it. And Hays fits the bill. According to Washington insiders. Hays ran the House Administration Committee and the Congressional Campaign Committee with an iron and vindictive hand.

Hays also represents us sexually. Many of us participate in and wink at sexual indiscretions. We’re like the old man reported by Time magazine who wanted to know Hays’s secret for sexual potency after age sixty-five. We good-naturedly elbow each other in the ribs when we hear of hanky-panky. And evidently Hays hanked and panked. He bragged of his nightly exploits almost daily.

Most of us don’t call such indiscretions sin. We call them “peccadillos,” ’ which means “a slight offense; a petty fault.” (I previously thought peccadillos were assistants to Spanish bullfighters.)

We Americans also admire those who know how to use money to achieve goals. Hays does. The way he wrapped purse strings around power is legendary on Capitol Hill. And Hays typifies us too well when it comes to the use of others’ money for our own ends. (Think through your own use of expense-account, income-tax, and “tithe” money.) But when Wayne represented us too well in this area, we rebelled. He could have his peccadillos, we said, but not with our money. And so the Honorable Wayne Hays has fallen.

When historians sit down to write of his decline, will they say he fell because he bullied people with his power? No. Will they say he fell because he messed around with members of his staff, hustled his secretary back in Ohio, and divorced his wife of thirty-eight years? No. Historians will say he was brought to his knees because the American people rebelled when he used their money to support his mistress.

Wayne Hays represented us too well, and he fell for it. He probably deserved to fall. But he also deserves to be named the American people’s Representative of the Year.

EUTYCHUS VII

For More Poetry

Thank you for the fine article on poetry by Rod Jellema (“Poems Should Stay Across the Street From the Church,” June 4), and for Harold Lindsell’s candid editorial confession that he is “somewhat dull” on the theme of poetry; quite frankly, the magazine reflects his unfortunate attitude in a rather subtle way. It is Jellema’s expressed opinion that the Church isn’t serious in its search for good poetry; it is apparent that Christian journals such as CHRISTIANITY TODAY are also not very serious in this search. The magazine should not only print more poetry, but it should acknowledge when it does so by itemizing poems in its table of contents rather than treating them as journalistic filler. By the way, when was the last time CHRISTIANITY TODAY reviewed a book of poems? Please give us more poetry.

ALLAN R. ANDREWS

North Shore Community College

Beverly, Mass.

As a Christian who writes poetry for both secular and religious readers, I do not feel that what my poetry “embodies has little to do with [my] opinions or even [my] beliefs.…” To the contrary, … all my perceptions—like everyone else’s—grow out of a personal belief system. Mine, a God-in-Jesus-Christ world, influences my sensory input and how I select symbols to evoke meaning in the receiver. The fact that I am a Christian puts no limit on the subject matter or the technique, but it does impose upon me a prophetic (forthtelling) function to deal with themes of divine purpose, judgment, love, forgiveness, and hope. And that’s the “message” I want to get across, although how it’s said has many variables.

CAROLYN KEEFE

Department of Speech and Theatre

Westchester State College

Westchester, Pa.

I do not believe that “poems should stay across the street from the Church”.… A Christian is “whole,” his awareness is on all levels, “layer upon layer,” permeated with his faith and love, and there is no conflict between his beliefs and his “growing creative vision.” The poetic gift is indeed a gift from God, and is used most magnificently when it glorifies him.… Let us have poetry in the church, and not just across the street.

DOROTHY M. MACLEOD

Willowdale, Ont.

A Break From Brickbats

May I thank you for your very kind editorial about me (“Worthy of Her Hire?,” May 21). In the midst of the pressure and brickbats, your column was like a lovely oasis.

BARBARA WALTERS

ABC News

New York, N. Y.

Better A Hobbitt

Lord of the Rings is no substitute for Holy Writ. Habitual reading of it, and this may be what is disturbing Lionel Basney (Refiner’s Fire, May 21), trains one in trivia, not spiritual maturity. Having said that, however, is not to negate fantasy as a legitimate approach to Christianity. “Hold all things in moderation” applies to fantasy as well as pagan culture. Eliot, Becket, Joyce may very well be authors of greater literary stature than Tolkien. Lewis probably writes better literature than Tolkien. But the question is not literary. It is a question of what may lead a man to Christ. I think that fantasy, when rendered by a redeemed imagination, may very well be a viable avenue.

It has been suggested that without imagination there can be no spiritual maturity. Scripture reiterates that without faith, God cannot be pleased. Imagination, purified, directed, is the vehicle for faith. We “see” what is required of us and move the tangible realities to an adjustment with the imaged qualities of Godlikeness. Generally spoken of in more pietistic terms, it is also an act of the imagination. Instead of creating a subworld, or secondary world, by faith, we see the Primary World and live there, instead of here, at our mailing address and zip code. God created that Primary, spiritual world as well as this one, and he promised us a part in both.

The literature of Joyce and Becket and Vonnegut says our lives are petty, sordid, ridiculous. Yes. We agree. But to say there is no other world is inaccurate. Rejoicing in common humanity may be better than religious isolationism. But in the final analysis, if all are drowning, does it matter if each has his own raft or if we are piled helter-skelter (rejoicing in our common humanity) on one raft? The difficulty with faith and the literature of realism is that despair is the result instead of hope, and the repudiation of the imagination withers the heart of faith.… Yet Satan will lose. Some day. And the relief and pleasure accorded thereby won’t be tainted by skepticism. So Gandalf is a truer guide to Christ than Godot. Redeemed fantasy is a mirror image of the Greater Fantasy that is all life. It is safer reading for an unbeliever, because it awakens the sehnsucht that eventually led Lewis to confront God. It is legitimate enjoyment for a Christian because it is all a parable about the greater Fantasy to which we have committed our own futures. Better to be a Hobbitt in Middle Earth, than to battle Virginia Woolf for a season.

JUDITH L. BROWN

Silver Spring, Md.

The Singles Challenge

I was very pleased with your lead editorial in the June 4 issue: “Serving Singles—Don’t Play Mix and Match.” This editorial brought to mind some important facts and figures about singles and challenged churches to meet the increasing demand for ministry to singles. In addition.… I feel that there is another important area where persons’ attitudes could be changed. This concerns the place of single persons in full-time church or Christian work. Today it seems that many denominations won’t consider a single person for church staff positions.… The single person who feels a call to special service … feels that the local church has no place for him in this respect either. Today many singles are feeling God’s call to special service but must turn to organizations outside the church.

C. DARRELL MOBLEY

Oklahoma City, Okla.

Thanks For Thought

Thanks for “Did We Love Her Out of Hell, Guys?” (Eutychus and His Kin, April 23). It was thought-provoking, which, I assume, was the intent.

STAN DREW

Instructor

Christian Education

Northwest College

Kirkland, Wash.