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Issue 016
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Volume 4 No 3 August 1998 >next>
Issue 018 |
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On Being Seventy Five “Whatsoever things are...lovely...think on these things” Philippians 4:8 Today I am seventy five. Exactly half way between the Bible’s vaunted “three score years and ten” and the “four score” years which “by reason of strength” get meted out to a few. It is a milestone calculated to invoke mellowness, if a body could only keep from nodding off. Old Omar Khayyam hit the nail on the head: “The Bird of Time has but a little way to flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing.” I have to tell you, I can feel it in my bones. Somewhat. Yes.
The wise old man of Ecclesiastes had himself been there and done that.
Else he could hardly have understood the situation well enough to
chronicle so insightfully the vivid realities of these yellow leaf years. The
Secret Life of the Perfect Suburb Glen Ridge is a tranquil town in Essex County, New Jersey, a squeaky‑clean, manicured community of 7,800 citizens, the antithesis of gritty Newark only five miles away. Its central values of propriety, orderliness, discretion, and continuity are enshrined in its faithfully attended churches, tree‑shaded streets, spacious parks, and commodious homes. Its 666 gas lamps cast a warm glow over what one editorial writer called a "second edition of the Garden of Eden". Above all, Glen Ridge reflects a culture of achievement, a place where winners are "assertive but not belligerent, self‑confident but notboastful, and determined but not driven". In short, it is a little slice of the American dream just like Mountain Brook, Alabama. But on March 1, 1989, somethinghappened that would shatter forever the carefully guarded
tranquillity of this bucolic borough. It was the kind of thing that could happen
at any time in Glen Ridge. Indeed, it was typical of the way in which the
quintessential lifestyle of this privileged community exploited the tension
between power and vulnerability. But this time, to everyone's surprise, the
secret was exposed for all to see. Eventually, the deepest values of this very
private and protective neighborhood were caught in the relentless glare of
national media attention throughout a prolonged criminal trial at which
"Glen Ridge's test of character became America's test of character".
The award‑winning author, Bernard Lefkowitz, spent seven years plumbing
the depths of this undiagnosed disease. Let us use his brilliant work, Our
Guys, as a case study of the moral
malignancy of our time. A Measure of
Faith: George Gallup, Jr. When George Gallup, Jr. joined the family polling firm, the church lost a prospective priest but the world gained a Spirit-filled layman. Mr. Gallup, who is chairman of the George H. Gallup International Institute and executive director of the Princeton Religion Research Center, chose a secular path for a religious call. But he can twirl a rubber band as deftly as a Catholic prays the rosary. “I was drawn to the church and thought about being an Episcopal priest,” said Mr. Gallup, whose deep bass voice would have rung appealingly from any pulpit. “But I decided Dad’s field offered an opportunity to find truth, to see how people respond to God and to explore their religious lives. When I started surveying in the early 1950s, this was virgin territory.” That the once-virgin territory is now well-explored is due, in no small part, to Mr. Gallup’s zeal. Over the years, Gallup polls have measured belief in God, angels, miracles, born-again experiences, biblical inerrancy, and heaven and hell. Among his recent projects is a survey on gratitude commissioned by Thanks-Giving Square in Dallas.
Recently, Mr. Gallup discussed his findings during the institution’s
annual celebration of the National Day of Prayer. The Banker Who Heard Voices Shirley Humphries is a banker. She has been a friend and client for nearly 20 years. Like most bankers, Shirley has a “no nonsense” attitude when it comes to money. Shirley is a very deeply committed Christian. On this particular day, she wasn’t in a very “holy” position. Her hands were in the soapy dishwater of the kitchen sink. She looked out the window and saw Carroll, her husband, gripping the handles of the tiller as he prepared the soil for the spring garden. “I heard a voice,” Shirley told me later. “I’m not given to this kind of thing, but it was very clear to me.”
God spoke, she told me, “Take care of my disciple, Davis.” 525,600 Minutes One of the great surprises of the Broadway theater is the current musical, “Rent.” The play started on a dirty side street in New York City. They call it Off-Off Broadway, which means the musical had little chance of making it to the big time. But then something happened that nobody predicted. The musical just exploded. People started packing the house every night. When the awards were given, “Rent” came away a winner. Even after two years it is still hard to get a ticket to this play. Something about “Rent” touched a nerve and spoke to the heart. It could be that the intensity of the young author spilled
over into his work. He was very
sick as he wrote the play and died just before opening night. The centerpiece of the musical is a song that comes in the
second act called “Season of Love.” Critics
say this song may be one of the reasons that “Rent” continues to fill the
theater night after night. Boys and Boats Some time ago four of our grandchildren—ages six to less than one year—spent several days with us. They left Lawanna and me bushed, battered, and bruised; but we’ll survive—on heaps of love and lots of memories. Somehow spilled milk, fingerprints on windows and doors, and early morning awakenings (very early) now blend into something beautiful. I guess that’s the way love is. You remember the best. Just as they left for the airport, John-John, then age 4, climbed up into my lap, put his arms around my neck, snuggled up close and said, “Goose, I want to stay with you ’til I die.” Gulp. Silence. A tear. I was too choked up to speak, but words weren’t necessary. We clung to each other for a moment, and then I remembered yesterday. Lawanna had fixed a picnic lunch (peanut butter sandwiches, no less) and we’d gone down to White Rock Lake, a short distance from our house. It was a good outing. We were surrounded by wobbly ducks looking for bits of bread, egrets who stood like statues knee-deep in water, and squirrels who scampered all over (including our picnic table) for hand-outs.
Finally, I was able to speak. “That
would be nice, John-John,” I said. “Then
we could go to the lake…and feed the ducks….and chase the squirrels….” How to Win at
Work
Between the ages of 25 and 65, most of us spend more time working than sleeping, eating, playing, or doing anything else.
Consider this recent humorous look at work in the form of a Top Ten list
of signs indicating that your company is planning a layoff. (Work is hard, but is there anything wrong in laughing about
it?
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Carlyle Marney
as Ethicist Early in his life Carlyle Marney knew the kind of man he wanted to be.
The words were from John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, but they characterized the thrust of Marney’s ethical ministry. Marney died five days before his sixty-second birthday. He was born July 8, 1916, as Leonard Carlyle Marney. To all except immediate family, he was always “Marney.” He died in his office in Lake Junaluska, North Carolina, on July 3, 1978. He suffered a heart attack as he was preparing to leave for a week of lectures at the Pastor’s School at Furman University.
Marney’s birthplace was Harriman, Tennessee.
His parents, John Leonard and Sara Victoria Mays, were tenth generation
Americans whose family had moved but once since 1720.
His father, a turnplow designer, never went to school.
His heritage, Marney said, put him on the underside.
His East Tennessee upbringing provided a laboratory for all the
contradictions of southern religion. His
earliest memories were of Sunday afternoons at his grandfather’s home when the
family debated the hottest issue of the day—evolution.
The Scopes monkey trial of 1925 was making headlines around the country. “The Knoxville Sentinel,
which we read, was on Jesus’ side,” Marney once recalled, “but the Cincinnati
Post, which Grandpa read, was on Darrow’s side.
A little boy of eight years old, I was torn apart by this.”[ii] Whatever Happened
to “Overcome Evil With Good”
You don’t have to look far to find evil. It is “couching (lying in ambush) at the door” (Gen. 4:7). It is all around us. Living in a fallen world, we are confronted on every side with the reality of evil--in our world, in our nation, in our city, in our neighborhood, in our family. How are we to respond to this evil around us? Paul addressed that question in the twelfth chapter of his letter to the Romans. He presented both a defensive and an offensive strategy.
Miracle on West Avenue Our Congressman, Chet Edwards, called me on the phone and said, “B, I would like to ask you to meet me at 3:00 on Monday.” I said, “Where?” He said, “One of my aides will be there to direct you where to go.” Well, you can’t say “No” to a congressman or at least not to Chet Edwards. We got in the car and started driving. In 10 to 12 minutes, we were at 1525 West Avenue. It was “just a building.” I said to Jim Hogersson, the Executive Director of our Foundation who was accompanying me, “I have never been here before.” He said, “This is the Larue Learning Center.” I said, “Okay.”
We walked in and there were a group of three-year-old boys and girls,
dressed immaculately with their eyes bright and their cheery smiles ear-to-ear.
I went up and hugged one, and then a bunch of the others came up and
wanted to be hugged. All of this
occurred before I even met the leader. Capital
Punishment: An Open Letter Dear David, You have asked me
to provide my views on capital punishment and in particular the place for
clemency in public policy. Specifically, you urged my participation
because in some measure you believe that my training and experience as a
theologian might serve the Christian community in our witness to the state.
Before you invited my participation, I had already revised the course outline in
my Christian ethics course to include two class periods for reflection and
discussion on capital punishment. My delay in responding is partly due to
the need for time to reflect on my view. But I also held off because I
wanted some lively discussion with students as we sought to formulate a
normative judgment based on the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. One Nation Under God A massive political campaign is underway in an effort to achieve religious and political control of crucial American policies and institutions, an effort which the popular press and television have virtually ignored. It was inspired by the Vatican and has been carried out over a period of years under the supervision of the National Council of Catholic Bishops. The bishops have created the impression that they speak for 59 million Catholics, which makes them a formidable political force, able to influence or intimidate presidents and other public officials. For example, they had an important and close relationship with President George Bush. Within a month after Bush took office, he included all five of the U.S. cardinals in meetings at the White House and, thereafter, Cardinals Bernard Law of Boston and John O’Connor of New York spent overnights at the White House as guests of the president.
Doug Wead, a special assistant to the president, was quoted in the
December 29, 1989, National Catholic Reporter as saying that Bush “has been
more sensitive and accessible to the needs of the Catholic Church than any
president I know of in American history….We want the Church to feel loved and
wanted, and we want them to have input.”
That relationship and input was maintained through the cardinals. Wead also boasted that “this administration has appointed
more Catholic cabinet officers than any other in American history.”
There were, however, a number in the Reagan administration, as well. I Got Old Much
Sooner Than I Had Expected
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