Question: Do we really want truth? 

Example: It’s probably one of the most viewed clips in film history. It’s of USMC Colonel Nathan R. Jessep (played by Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men). You remember, right? I can still see Nicholson’s veins pulsing in his neck and the way he held his head and neck and torso in front of the attorneys and the jury. Adamant, defiant, and intractable to the core (pun intended). And he spoke lines that are some of the finest in screenwriting:

Kaffee: Colonel Jessep, did you order the Code Red?

Judge Randolph: You don’t have to answer that question!

Col. Jessep: I’ll answer the question!

Col. Jessep: [to Kaffee] You want answers?

Kaffee: I think I’m entitled to.

Col. Jessep: You want answers?

Kaffee: I WANT THE TRUTH!

Col. Jessep: YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

[pauses]

Col. Jessep: Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know; that Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, *saves lives*. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall. We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it! I would rather you just said “thank you” and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don’t give a *damn* what you think you are entitled to!

Kaffee: Did you order the code red?

Col. Jessep: I did the job I…

Kaffee: [interrupts him] Did you order the Code Red?

I don’t think I have to complete the next line for you that Col. Jessep blasted. If you saw the film, you probably recall the line. 

Follow-up Question: As a patriot to my core, I understand why Jessep authorized what he did and why he said what he said. That’s not to say I condone it, certainly. He authorized violence against a Marine for the sake of the Marines. He authorized scapegoating one for the sake of the many. 

Connection to the Gospel: We are amidst the holidays in the West. The derivation of that term holidays is rooted in holy days. But the pagan West has decided to deracinate and uproot holidays from their historical roots. We want the capital that Christianity provides but don’t want Christ. It’s that whole, “You can’t handle the truth” thing again. Because to flee to Christ as Lord humbles us; it demands seeing that Christ is on the throne of the cosmos, not one of us fallen sinners.

Just give us holidays but jettison the holy. Just give us Christmas break, but not Christ. Just give us Santa bearing gifts, but not Immanuel, God with us. 

 A Personal Reflection: Thanksgiving is among my very favorite times of the year. Why? Because I’m able to be with those I most love. I’m able to gather and give thanks. But to whom do we render thanks if we jettison the very author of benediction? If we don’t humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God and render thanks to Him, what are we doing but living on capital borrowed from the very storyline of redemption? It’s that whole truth thing again, like Colonel Jessep talked about in A Few Good Men. 

I know not everyone is a chaplain; I know not everyone knows the contents of the Bible; I know that there is no shortage of silliness and downright godless error that parades as Christianity … so I will say this as lovingly and clearly as I can: In Christianity, it is clear that there is only one good man, and it’s the God-man: Christ Jesus. 

You remember Jesus’ conversation with the Rich Young Ruler, right?

And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18, ESV). 

Or how about Paul’s words to Timothy: “For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 2:5, ESV). 

Secular man shakes his fist at the heavens and curses the God he denies. And we are reaping the whirlwind now because the seeds of secularism bloom not in flowers but in blood. We are in cold civil war in the West because we have denied our Creator and God is giving us over to our own folly as a way of judgment. 

Encouragement: But here is one more way that Christianity differs from every other worldview: God in Christ reconciles sinners; we can be forgiven and restored. But it is not by any Code Red from a sinful commander. No, we sinners can be reconciled to the consummately holy God through the cross of Calvary wherein the God-man bore the wrath for our sin, died in our place, and triumphed over Satan, the grave, and hell—all as demonstration of His once-for-all substitutionary atonement for all who will flee to Him in the gospel. 

In short, He says, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Come, and welcome to Jesus Christ, the one and only truly good man.” If you want that truth—that truth of redeeming grace–it is offered to you in historical, crucified, risen, triumphant power. 

Introduction: I am on a Don DeLillo kick again. The DeLillo bug bites me at intervals and thus return to his oeuvre repeatedly. Why do I do it? I think it is because DeLillo has understood and written about what so many in the world refuse to see and/or grapple with until it is too late: terrorism is normal now.

I am currently completing my reading of DeLillo’s novel The Names. Though not my favorite of DeLillo’s works, it is essentialist DeLillo territory in that it focuses on the power language, cults, and the dark underworld (forgive the overt DeLillo allusion). When I was reading these passages over recent days, especially in light of the terrorist attack today at the border crossing between New York and Canada, DeLillo’s work again struck me with a blast.

After I read about the terrorism at the New York-Canada border, I then read a healine where a man in California beheaded his ex-girlfriend with a sword in broad daylight. Yes, you read that correctly. Here’s the article: https://www.foxnews.com/us/california-man-guilty-beheading-mother-samurai-sword-broad-daylight-jury-rules

Then I read of how thugs looted a Nike store. Yup, nothing to see here. Just another day in the West in 2023: https://www.foxnews.com/us/flash-mob-ransacks-nike-store-los-angeles-steals-12000-merch-police

This is what DeLillo understands and probes–the wickedness of the human heart when it is unrestrained by the grace of God. One way to think of DeLillo’s writing is as an exploration of what a culture looks like when God has given it over.

Quote 1: “It was the nightmare of real things, the fallen wonder of the world,” (339).

Quote 2: “Air travel reminds us who we are. It’s the means by which we recognize ourselves as modern. The process removes us from the world and sets us apart from each other. We wander in the ambient noise, checking one more time for the flight coupon, the boarding pass, the visa. The process convinces us that at any moment we may have to submit to the force that is implied in all this, the unknown authority behind it, behind the categories, the languages we don’t understand. This vast terminal has been erected to examie souls.

It is not surprising, therefore, to see men with submachine guns, to see vultures squatting on the baggage vehicles set at the end of the tarmac in the airport in bombay when one arrives after a night flight from Athens.

All of this we choose to forget. We devise a counter-system of elaborate forgetfulness. We agree on this together. And out in the street we see how easy it is, once we’re immersed in the thick crowded paint of things, the bright clothers and massed brown faces. But the experience is no less deep because we’ve agreed to forget it” (254).

Like the writing of Cormac McCarthy and William Gay, Don DeLillo’s writing is not for the weakminded or callow. It is, however, important and beautiful, and full of warning for those who will hear and attend.

P.S. In some reading I am doing on the ascension of socialism and the Nazis in Germany in the 20th century, I came across this in Funder’s excellent book All That I Am:

“The most civilized nations are as close to barbarity as the most polished iron is close to rust. Nations, like metals, shine only on the surface” (Antoine de Rivarol).

Question: Ever been reminded of the power of music to remind you we are connected? 

Context: Recently a buddy of mine who amazes me with his ability to keep abreast of new talks/podcasts/lectures, etc. on YouTube sent me a link to a writer I admire. Paul Kingsnorth was speaking in Wisconsin on the “The Blizzard of the World.” You may be thinking, “So what? Who cares?” Well, it’s that phrase. “The Blizzard of the World” is a line from a song from one of my favorite lyricists, Leonard Cohen. In Cohen’s song, “The Future” (you may know the song from the soundtrack to Oliver Stone’s film Natural Born Killers). The lines that Kingsnorth borrowed from Cohen’s song “The Future” go like this:

Give me back the Berlin wall
Give me Stalin and St. Paul
I’ve seen the future, brother
It is murder

Things are going to slide, slide in all directions
Won’t be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
Has crossed the threshold and it has overturned the order of the soul

Connection to Us: I don’t watch much, if any, TV. When I do have a hankering for a movie or play, I will stream it on my computer or, if a good one is in town, go to a play/show with my wife. I love seeing plays done well. I remember seeing Of Mice and Men done on stage and it affected me profoundly. I feel the same about Miller’s Death of a Salesman. Simply profound. Anyway, when Greg sent me that video of Kingsnorth speaking in Wisconsin, I was touched. And I was reminded. Because even though he (Kingsnorth) spoke on topics fraught with peril, issues dividing the West like an existential zipper, when he referenced Cohen’s “The Future,” you could feel the tension in the room exit with a collective Whoosh!

That’s the power of music. Even in our divided states of America, the power of song is a unifier whereby we reconnect with our humanity. 

When I read the news online, I am grieved on multiple levels, probably just as you are. First, there’s a loss of civility. Second, there’s a loss of critical thinking; Third, there’s a jettisoning of history. Fourth, there is a shocking vitriol for the silencing of the right to speak freely. The list could continue for paragraphs. But these, to put it simply, do not bode well for a healthy republic. 

Encouragement: As many of us go to our families over the next day or so, may you, too, be encouraged that there is a music that unites us all. We are more alike than we are different, I contend. We are sinners, yes; we are in need of redemption, yes; we are often cruel to one another, yes. But we are designed for community, for fellowship, for one another and for God. 

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, ESV). May this season not be limited to a mere day of thanksgiving but rather penetrate our souls such that we know why we should be grateful and to whom. God can use Cohen songs, Kingsnorth lectures, my Chaplain Daily Touchpoints, but most certainly his Word. Happy Thanksgiving. 

Idea: The Perils of Intellectual Haste 

Intro: With a group from our church, I am leading us through a study of the gospel of Matthew. I have read Mattew’s gospel more than a few times. It is so familiar that it might be tempting to think (wrongly) that I’ve plumbed its depths. But this time, I am going through it much slower and much more deliberately. Why? Because familiarity can also breed presumption, not just contempt, as Chaucer observed in his poetic masterpiece.

Context: After Christ was baptized by John the Baptist in Matthew 3, the next chapter in Matthew’s gospel is the story of Jesus being tempted by the devil. And there are so many things going on here. For example, think of just some of the most obvious questions:

• But God cannot be tempted by evil, right? Isn’t that what James addresses early on in his letter? Here it is: “Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am being tempted by God,” for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one” (James 1:13, ESV). Is there a contradiction here? Is God guilty of schizophrenia? Does He not know his own book? 

• If God cannot be tempted by evil, and Jesus is God, what does Matthew mean by these words: “Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil”? (Matthew 4:1, ESV)

Principle: Intellectual hastiness is perilous. It’s crucial for us to have a sound Christology (the study of the person and work of Christ). Why? Because Jesus was and is 100% God. And Jesus was in his incarnation 100% man. In Christian theology, it is known as the hypostatic union—Jesus’ two natures in one person. Each nature retains its essence and attributes. In his humanity, Jesus got hungry, grew thirsty, grew tired, experienced disappointment, sorrowed, had friends, grieved over the death of his friend Lazarus, etc. In his divinity, he raised the dead, restored the lame, restored hearing to the deaf, restored sight, and overcame the grave. 

But if we are hasty in our reading, we can jump to all sorts of misguided conclusions. Matthew 4 describes that Jesus was “tempted by the devil” (4:1). It was not some inner sin temptation that Jesus experienced in the Judean wilderness. No, he was tempted by that which was external to him and opposed to him, the evil one (the devil), as a test. Would Jesus be obedient to execute the will of God faithfully? Or would he fail like the first Adam in the Garden failed?  

Why the test? Why was Jesus led into the wilderness by the Spirit of God in order to be tempted by the devil? To demonstrate—over and over again with 100% fidelity—that all of us sinners fall short when it comes to spiritual tests and temptations, but Christ did not. He succeeded. 

Christians “bear the image of the man of heaven” (1 Corinthians 15:49) because Jesus, the last Adam, succeeded. He was faithful unto death, “obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8). 

One of the crucial reminders with which I encourage myself from the Scriptures comes from the pen of Paul when he wrote to his young friend Timothy, a man he was mentoring to shepherd well after Paul was to die. Paul wrote this of Christ as a reminder to Timothy: 

“If we have died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he also will deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:11-13, ESV). 

The hims there all refer to Christ. He took it all; he endured it all; he passed the tests from Satan and the powers of hell; he bore the cross and despised the shame; he was smitten; he bore the wrath; he was the substitute. The Christian’s boast is in Christ and in his accomplished work of faithful obedience. It’s the heart of the gospel, you see. 

Encouragement: When we get to passages where we can read quickly and think we’ve found a loophole, we should slow down, and be systematic, and ponder the reality that God is infinitely wise, and his Scriptures are true, and that if there is a flaw in our understanding, the fault is with us and not with God’s Word. Christ was tested and tempted, if you will, by the devil, to trust the serpent rather than the sovereign plan of God. But unlike the first Adam, Jesus (the last Adam) kept God’s word, kept the covenant of obedience, and even invites us sinners to come to him, the one from heaven, riding, as it were, a white horse, and he is called Faithful and True (Revelation 19:11). But we must slow down, read the Word, sit under its authority, and rejoice in knowing that Christ has overcome.

“As technology advances in complexity and scope, fear becomes more primitive.”

Question: Ever sensed that the holiday season can be both a blessing and a curse? 

Segue: My parents divorced when I was just a toddler, and so I grew up with my mom and my stepfather on one side and my dad and stepmother on the other. And when my mom and dad remarried other spouses, they each had a daughter. So, I have two half-sisters, too. They are both a decade younger than I, so I was the big brother to each of them growing up, as I bounced back and forth between my parents. And nothing reminds you that your parents are divorced quite like the holidays. The reasons should be obvious. As the child, you want to see everyone, love everyone, be with your family, etc. but your family is spread out. Distance is not just a matter of miles and proximity; sometimes distance is fraught with emotional risks and tender spots through no fault of one’s own, but because one’s family has been ripped asunder because of divorce.

So, I spent my holidays yo-yoing back and forth between loved ones. I had my mom in one part of the state and my dad in another (when he was not living overseas due to his career ambitions). I had grandparents and step-grandparents. They, too, were spread apart. I had aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews and nieces, etc. scattered hither and yon. I (as the child of divorced parents) had been grafted into a conglomeration. 

I had a largely wonderful extended family from whom I learned an awful lot about life, work, travel, and the way the world works, but holidays were for me (though I did not share it) emotionally tender times. Why? Because when we are emotionally and/or spiritually divided, we may sense the schism like an emotional rip or tear in our souls.

Blessing and Curse: This week is Thanksgiving week for Americans. Though American culture has decided to largely jettison her biblical moorings and actual history, Thanksgiving remains a holiday for most of us wherein we try to link hands with family, eat, catch up with one another, eat again, perhaps watch a football game or go deer hunting, hop back in the car or catch a flight, etc. 

For my family, this will be our first Thanksgiving without my father-in-law who died recently. Cancer took Papa from us way too soon, and we all feel his absence in our guts. He made everything better. Inwardly, I curse cancer for taking a man that I loved in a way I cannot sufficiently express, but I simultaneously bless his name because he made such a godly and kind difference in countless lives. He and the family grafted me in and loved me from day one. We never speak of Papa without laughing and smiling and feeling better because of him. When I think of Papa, I am reminded of a quote from one of my favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption: “Some birds are not meant to be caged … Their feathers are just too bright. And the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty after they’re gone.”

Encouragement: The holidays have a uniquely powerful way of reminding us that our spiritual and emotional lives go to our very core as individuals and as members of our families, no matter how together, extended, or shattered. In order to make the best of these times of holiday feasting, we are unwise if we discount or try to suppress the emotional famines we can sometimes feel and battle. We need to be honest enough to admit that we sense both blessings and curses when it comes to the holiday season. In the Christian worldview, we recall one of Paul’s literary salvos of truth from the prison epistle Philippians: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 3:8, ESV). That’s not psychological pep-talk or humanism. On the contrary, that is straight-up truth from a man who gave it all for the truth because he knew viscerally that as fractured and ripped apart and sin-ridden as this world is and our families can be, Paul knew the One who makes us new, who binds us up, who sets us upon the rock, and who says, “Come and welcome. The table is set for you.”

I was able to grab the hiking poles today after returning from Pennsylvania and take to the hills for a few miles. The weather was perfect–sunny, cool, with a slight breeze. The weather remains very dry here. The leaves crunched underneath the soles of my hiking boots. My hiking poles often slid on the hills because the ground was so dry. The leaves were brown brittle skis upon which my hiking poles slid atop the dry gound.

I stopped several times to catch my breath. I pulled out the paperback DeLillo novel I am currently reading. I read for a bit and then replaced the novel in my left cargo pocket on my pants and started out again.

In just a few hours our Sunday school class will gather for a November “Friendsgiving” to fellowship together, to play games, to gather around the table and enjoy a meal and dessert together, and to encourage one another in the Christian pilgrimage.

I was so tired when I took a red-eye flight last night and finally got home, showered, embraced my wife and son, and slept in my own bed. There is no sleep like the sleep that can happen at home in one’s own bed, in one’s own sheets, with one’s loves close by.

I look back on a tiring string of days of flights and hotels and updates for my chain of command in the military, and I remember that ministry opportunities to soldiers, my church family, and to those who actually put skin in the game–and I remain grateful, so grateful to be able to work, to minister, to provide, to pour into others for the sake of that which endures.

As I talked with some fellow soldiers I’ve grown to truly care for, one shared with me how he and the men at his church are going through a study of the Sermon on the Mount. Another shared with me how some biblical resources I have sent him have helped him. Another encouraged me with his appreciation for some writing I have done. On and on it went. They are small things, of course, just words of thanksgiving, but they are little steady reminders that we can make a difference via seemingly small things, ostensibly tiny works of faithfulness.

It is easy sometimes to grow dispirited because there is so much abuse out there. We see folks with hands out to receive but who do not work themselves. And it is not because they cannot work but because they will not work. Scripture is clear about such issues. We are to steward our time, talents, and treasures wisely. Stewardship is inextricable from prudence and biblical wisdom.

My friend Jim invariably has moving pictures of the avian world. The colorful feathers, the eyes of expression, and the nimbleness of these winged wonders move us when we think on such things.

Courtesy of Jim, enjoy:

Introduction: One of the writers I’ll never outgrow is Pat Conroy.

When I was a high school kid and being forced to read Goeorge Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Thomas Hardy, Mary Shelley, and Emily Bronte, I read them all, but what I was really enjoying was the literary world of Pat Conroy. He wrote about landscapes I loved; he wrote about insecure and overbearing fathers who did not know how to show love to their sons; he wrote of military life and why young men are sometimes drawn to it, etc. I was hooked on Conroy the way Conroy was hooked on language.

I’m reading through A Lowcountry Heart for the second time currently. It’s typical Conroy. He writes of the marsh–of Charleston, Savannah, and Beaufort. He writes of food and accents and of racial tensions. He writes of his years at the Citadel, and of men and women who shaped him for good and ill.

Homage: I don’t know how the literary world will view Conroy’s literary oeuvre over time. But for readability–for the sheer joy of reading a great storyteller–and to walk in the shoes of a man who lived deeply, it is hard to beat Pat Conroy.