Having read and loved David McCullough's biography John Adams, my husband and I were very excited to watch the HBO version when it came out on DVD. We were not disappointed. John Adams is one of my favorite historical figures, and this series does him credit. What is it about John and Abigail Adams that I love so much? Author McCullough said it best in a televised interview with Charlie Rose: It's the caliber of these people. John Adams is brilliant and so very honest, a man of the utmost integrity, and his relationship with his wife is delightful. She is wise, and she truly helps him to be great.
Director Tom Hanks remains true to McCullough's excellent historical research. The author told Rose how Hanks gained his confidence: At their first meeting, Hanks produced a dog-eared copy of the biography, numerous bookmarks fringing the top and notes and underlining marring most pages. This thoroughness is evident in the vividness of the scenes and attention to detail in the film. (Although some details were too graphically portrayed for my taste, such as a man being stripped, then tarred and feathered; some gruesome knife shots of vaccinations being performed; and what appears to modern eyes as a barbaric operation on the Adamses' daughter.)
Especially well-done is the portrayal of Adams' role as the defense attorney for the British soldiers who had killed five Americans in the "Boston Massacre." Adams was not a popular man in America after he agreed to defend the Redcoats who had fired on a menacing mob. But he agreed that it was important for the colony of Massachusetts to uphold English law by making sure these soldiers were given a legal trial, and he skillfully and wholeheartedly pled their case. This indeed is an important point, showing that the colonists were willing to do for England what they wanted England to do for them: to abide by the legal system already put in place by the Mother Country herself.
The portion of the series set in France contains some of my favorite scenes. Adams meets with Franklin there after being sent to help negotiate a treaty with that country. The trip across the Atlantic is harrowing, and Adams has risked not only his life but that of his young son, John Quincy. Understandably, Adams is disgusted to find that the treaty has already been signed by the time he gets there. "But, Father, the treaty is a good thing, isn't it?" asks John Quincy. "Yes, yes, yes, yes..." mutters his father. Adams' ardor for independence can never be in doubt, but he is clearly irritated that he has been cut out of the treaty process and that his expertise has not been taken into account -- not to mention that he has braved the seas for nothing. The film, like the book, does not shy away from painting all the complexities of Adams' character. Is this pride or selfish ambition rearing its ugly head? Or is it a reaction that can be justified by legitimate concern over the details of the treaty? Or, more likely, a little of both.
His blunt personality does not always win him friends, especially in France. Adams is repelled by Franklin's immorality and his appearance of idleness. Yet Franklin is beloved and embraced by the French. (At a dinner party, Adams lifts up his plate to stare at the profile of Ben Franklin -- to his evident disgust.) Indeed, God used Ben Franklin to charm this country and forge an alliance, even while the man appeared to be doing absolutely nothing. But for Adams to play a similar game is not even a possibility. He charges forth, demanding to hammer out the specifics of the treaty, pointing out that not nearly enough French ships have been committed to help the American cause. He says what he thinks -- while Franklin plays coy, adjusts to French ways and ultimately gets his own way. Adams' dogged impatience, so imperative to making things happen back in the colonies, is an utter flop in France, and it only makes us love him more.
It is so easy for historians to caricature John Adams as ambitious or vain or bitter. I have read several biographies that characterize him in this light. But his story, told best in his well-known letters to his wife, his "Dearest Friend", shows that of an extremely honest sinner, fighting to mortify the indwelling sin while pressing on. This is the kind of man I most admire.
John Adams spoke his mind, and when a man does that, he tends to make some enemies along the way. (You always have to wonder about the person whom everyone love: "Woe to you when all people speak well of you." Luke 6:26) But God used John Adams and while his praise among men may be overshadowed by other Founding Fathers, such as Jefferson or Franklin, great is his reward in heaven.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Moral Absolutes are Gifts
I have often said that when I get to heaven, I want to tell C.S. Lewis how very much he helped me. We recently read his book The Abolition of Man in our study group. I was so grateful to once more hear these ideas on education expressed so clearly. How important it is to teach children not just the facts, but the correct emotional responses to those facts. You cannot truly teach and ignore morality, or you end up with "men without chests," trying to rule their bellies (instincts, lusts, etc.) with their head. As an educator, you may concoct some "reason" for them to do the right thing, (i.e. why they should die for others) but ultimately that concocted reason will not be enough to affect their behaviors in the heat of the moment. Lewis says that you rob a piece of their soul by failing to awaken in them the proper sensibilities, to teach them to correctly recognize what is objectively right and good and beautiful and awe-inspiring -- and also what is evil and hideous deadly. By stripping them of the "passions" and teaching what you think are only "facts", you leave them vulnerable to propaganda when someone comes along and whips those untrained emotions into a frenzy and channels them in a direction that suits the propagandist. The Bible says that all men have the moral law written on their hearts -- that there indeed do exist "objectively correct" emotional responses to facts and objects, i.e. we are repulsed by cowardice, we are in awe of a powerful waterfall. (God's Word is the ultimate standard undergirding these emotional responses.) But by making all emotional responses nonsense and debunking them, modern educators kill humanity itself. Lewis says, we laugh at honor and then are surprised to find traitors in our midst. We debunk transcendent design and God's soaring purpose for Man, and then wonder why teens kill themselves. If they don't buy into the concocted "alternate" reasons that educators come up with to replace God's own -- then they see no reason to be honorable or to go on living or whatever else we are trying to teach them. Ultimately, when this kind of education is carried out, students learn to "see through" everything, which is to "see" nothing. (As Lewis, says, debunking is good when it eliminates what is false in order to see what is true -- that is, it is important for the window to be transparent -- but when the garden and the trees are transparent too what are you left with?) If students are not taught the givens -- or even that there are certain givens, on which everything else hangs -- they are left with nothing, the abolition of man. I left this book praising God for His "datum". Derived from the Latin word for "give", a datum is a "gift" -- a given or absolute that God has graciously provided. I praise Him for His gracious generosity to us, giving us Truths on which we can stand firm and teach our children with confidence. When we educate, we must do so in light of these unchangeable Truths or we have done nothing.
"See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world, rather than according to Christ." (Colossians 2:8)
"See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world, rather than according to Christ." (Colossians 2:8)
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Help from Godly Teachers and a Puritan
Three sources have been helpful to me recently in building a better understanding of sanctification. This subject has caused me concern, because I have never felt like the reality I saw fit completely with my understanding of the Bible, so I knew my understanding must be off somewhere. I understood that little by little, I was being changed to become more like Christ. I was to work out my salvation with fear and trembling, while at the same time God would be working in me to will and act according to His good purpose. I was to fight the sin that so easily entangles and obey God's Word, and the Holy Spirit would gradually make me more like Christ. The work would not be complete in this life though -- not until I faced Jesus would the work be finished. To me, this sounded as though the effect should be cumulative: My understanding was that, as I worked out my salvation, these sins should be decreasing and plaguing me less and less.
In the early days following my salvation, that seemed to fit my experience, and I did see myself becoming what I thought was better and better, taking on good habits like going to church, reading the Bible, controlling my temper and lusts, serving others, and letting go of sins I had enjoyed, such as flirtation, indulging in excesses and making work and achievement my god.
But as I went on in life with Christ, I began to perceive correctly the depth of my sin. The motives I had thought were pure, were not totally pure. There was sin mixed into everything I did. I could see that some sins still were lurking, ready to flare up in a moment, like my self-exaltation, jealousy and selfishness. Although I had learned to fight them and seemingly conquer them, they could still rise up horribly, seemingly without warning. I could see that sin was not just "doing," but "being". I was tortured as I became more aware of just how deep the sin issue went. The more I learned about the holiness of God, the more aware I was of my own lack. I actually seemed more aware of my sin and more plagued by it 17 years after salvation than I had been 5 years after it.
A passing comment by John Piper caused me to wonder about my assumptions on sanctification. At a speaking engagement he briefly said something to the effect that he used to think that sanctification had a cumulative effect, that after 30 years, he would be 30 years less impatient. His point was that this was not the case, but he didn't elaborate, so I was left to wonder what he meant. Why wouldn't he be 30 years less impatient after 30 years of working it out with fear and trembling?
Recently, I heard John MacArthur preaching on "At the Same Time, Just and Sinner." He painted this picture: At salvation, you are justified before God, declared righteous (justification). But you are still a sinner. You are like a dung-heap covered in snow. You have been declared righteous on the basis of the righteousness of Christ. But you are by no means righteous. You have been given a "new man," a new nature,(regeneration) that is able to fight the sin. But nothing has been taken away. Sin still hangs on you, pervading everything. It is like a rotting corpse strapped to your back, polluting all that you do, and issuing bile and poison that will kill you if you are not constantly working to kill it, slash it, rip at it. He said that the "new man," given by God's grace, is what enables you to fight, giving you a desire for the righteous and a hatred for sin. But the putrid sin is still there.
Then I read Puritan John Owen, and more of the picture seemed to come together. The sin remains for one purpose: to conform you to the image of Christ (sanctification). You fight sin by building the godly trait that opposes it. So you fight pride by cultivating humility. You fight selfishness by cultivating selflessness. Maybe pride itself NEVER decreases (although sometimes it does). But either way, your arsenal of humility grows and grows and you win more and more battles. And when you see Christ, and that wretched load of prideful sin drops off, all that is left is the humility, the selflessness. We are supposed to fight sin as though we could root it out. But we realize that the real goal of the battle is to be conformed to the image of Christ. It is like the man commanded to push against a 1,000-pound boulder everyday for 10 years. At the end of 10 years, maybe the boulder has not moved, but the exertion has produced muscle in every inch of his body.
This explanation of sanctification has brought me such joy in the battle. The topic is vast, and I will always be learning more, but I praise God for these wise teachers helping me along in my understanding and freeing me to fight the sin and recognize its depths without despair.
In the early days following my salvation, that seemed to fit my experience, and I did see myself becoming what I thought was better and better, taking on good habits like going to church, reading the Bible, controlling my temper and lusts, serving others, and letting go of sins I had enjoyed, such as flirtation, indulging in excesses and making work and achievement my god.
But as I went on in life with Christ, I began to perceive correctly the depth of my sin. The motives I had thought were pure, were not totally pure. There was sin mixed into everything I did. I could see that some sins still were lurking, ready to flare up in a moment, like my self-exaltation, jealousy and selfishness. Although I had learned to fight them and seemingly conquer them, they could still rise up horribly, seemingly without warning. I could see that sin was not just "doing," but "being". I was tortured as I became more aware of just how deep the sin issue went. The more I learned about the holiness of God, the more aware I was of my own lack. I actually seemed more aware of my sin and more plagued by it 17 years after salvation than I had been 5 years after it.
A passing comment by John Piper caused me to wonder about my assumptions on sanctification. At a speaking engagement he briefly said something to the effect that he used to think that sanctification had a cumulative effect, that after 30 years, he would be 30 years less impatient. His point was that this was not the case, but he didn't elaborate, so I was left to wonder what he meant. Why wouldn't he be 30 years less impatient after 30 years of working it out with fear and trembling?
Recently, I heard John MacArthur preaching on "At the Same Time, Just and Sinner." He painted this picture: At salvation, you are justified before God, declared righteous (justification). But you are still a sinner. You are like a dung-heap covered in snow. You have been declared righteous on the basis of the righteousness of Christ. But you are by no means righteous. You have been given a "new man," a new nature,(regeneration) that is able to fight the sin. But nothing has been taken away. Sin still hangs on you, pervading everything. It is like a rotting corpse strapped to your back, polluting all that you do, and issuing bile and poison that will kill you if you are not constantly working to kill it, slash it, rip at it. He said that the "new man," given by God's grace, is what enables you to fight, giving you a desire for the righteous and a hatred for sin. But the putrid sin is still there.
Then I read Puritan John Owen, and more of the picture seemed to come together. The sin remains for one purpose: to conform you to the image of Christ (sanctification). You fight sin by building the godly trait that opposes it. So you fight pride by cultivating humility. You fight selfishness by cultivating selflessness. Maybe pride itself NEVER decreases (although sometimes it does). But either way, your arsenal of humility grows and grows and you win more and more battles. And when you see Christ, and that wretched load of prideful sin drops off, all that is left is the humility, the selflessness. We are supposed to fight sin as though we could root it out. But we realize that the real goal of the battle is to be conformed to the image of Christ. It is like the man commanded to push against a 1,000-pound boulder everyday for 10 years. At the end of 10 years, maybe the boulder has not moved, but the exertion has produced muscle in every inch of his body.
This explanation of sanctification has brought me such joy in the battle. The topic is vast, and I will always be learning more, but I praise God for these wise teachers helping me along in my understanding and freeing me to fight the sin and recognize its depths without despair.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
On Donuts and Pursuing Holiness
I love Mother's Day because I love being a mom. This year, my family didn't do their traditional breakfast in bed, since we decided that none of us wanted to get up that early. Instead, we did breakfast on the couch at midnight. (Breakfast always consists of a cup of coffee with my favorite Krispy Kreme donut -- chocolate on top and white cream in the middle. I only eat them on Mother's Day and my birthday.) But my kids did still make cards, with notes inside. John has taught them well that you don't just sign a card -- you write a note. I hope they never stop doing that. Their notes are my most precious gifts, encouraging me in a way nothing else ever could. My son thanked me for spurring him to godliness, Leah called me her mother and friend. These words I store away in my heart as treasures.
I still remember looking at my babies in wonder that God would give me such a precious trust. How honored and humbled I felt to be the one they depended on for love and discipline. My heart was full because I knew this was my life's work -- I had been born to be their Mommy. My fierce but foolish love determined that I would be the perfect mom and they would be perfect children -- or I would die trying. And indeed I have died. Many times. How self-exalting and vainly ambitious to set such a ridiculous goal in the first place. No job is better suited than motherhood to battling these very sins.
My love is as fierce for my children today as the hour I first held them, even though long ago it became evident that perfection was out of the question for either of us. I realize that that is not a cause for sorrow. Our imperfections rub against each other and scrape off the self-centeredness here, the pride there, the independence from God in other places. My children force me to see myself as I really am -- and I am accountable to do that and so much more for them.
When the dust settles from this Divine work, we will face Him as He is, we will have the likeness of the humble servant, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross scorning its shame. I can only say I am so thankful for these unique children -- John, our strong lover of all that is just and logical; Leah, our dreamy songbird, just drifting along. At times the work is wearisome, and I am tempted to let up. At other times the joy is sweet, as I see glimpses of what by faith they are becoming. Together we pursue Holiness in a way only God could orchestrate.
I still remember looking at my babies in wonder that God would give me such a precious trust. How honored and humbled I felt to be the one they depended on for love and discipline. My heart was full because I knew this was my life's work -- I had been born to be their Mommy. My fierce but foolish love determined that I would be the perfect mom and they would be perfect children -- or I would die trying. And indeed I have died. Many times. How self-exalting and vainly ambitious to set such a ridiculous goal in the first place. No job is better suited than motherhood to battling these very sins.
My love is as fierce for my children today as the hour I first held them, even though long ago it became evident that perfection was out of the question for either of us. I realize that that is not a cause for sorrow. Our imperfections rub against each other and scrape off the self-centeredness here, the pride there, the independence from God in other places. My children force me to see myself as I really am -- and I am accountable to do that and so much more for them.
When the dust settles from this Divine work, we will face Him as He is, we will have the likeness of the humble servant, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross scorning its shame. I can only say I am so thankful for these unique children -- John, our strong lover of all that is just and logical; Leah, our dreamy songbird, just drifting along. At times the work is wearisome, and I am tempted to let up. At other times the joy is sweet, as I see glimpses of what by faith they are becoming. Together we pursue Holiness in a way only God could orchestrate.
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