Grandpa Joe and the FartSack Nazis

     The kid who found the Golden Ticket had a dilemma.  To use it, he needed an adult go with him.  His parents (I seem to recall—been 40 years since I read the book), worked a double shift in the toothpaste factory, so they were out.  So he turned to his grandparents.  They had nothing better to do—all four spent their days in bed.  You would think the kid’s problem would be that they ALL wanted to go to the Chocolate Factory.  Only natural.  Why would  anyone prefer a day in the FartSack to a day in the Chocolate Factory?  But, you would be wrong.  None of them wanted to leave the FartSack for the Chocolate Factory—except Grandpa Joe.  He was willing.  Afraid, but  willing.  Now, here’s the really weird part.  The others, the ones too afraid to leave the FartSack, didn’t applaud Joe’s courage, they discouraged him from going.  My childish mind could not comprehend why they were afraid to leave the FartSack, and I really couldn’t get why they tried to keep Joe from leaving.

     Now, as a grown up, I understand.  The non-Joe grandparents were FartSack Nazis.  At some point, probably so long ago they couldn’t remember it, they had chosen surrender to the FartSack over the challenge of living,  and with each passing day they lost a little more of their ability to undue that choice.  Perceiving the world outside of their FartSack as gradually changing in ways beyond their comprehension, they became afraid of it.  Ultimately, the Fear ruled what was left of their lives.  Grandpa Joe’s intention to leave the FartSack for the Chocolate Factory was either an act of extreme nonconformity or a declaration of war against the Fear—either way, it was something the FartSack Nazis could not tolerate.  Prisoners are like crabs in a bucket.  They can’t stand to see another crab escape.

     Today, we can see the result of a Nanny State that has been singing the soft song of the FartSack since the mid 1960s.  Gradually, one-by-one, people have surrendered to it.  First learning to prefer the lukewarm breakfast of gruel that the Nanny State delivers to their beds to the idea of going into the kitchen themselves to make some fresh bacon and eggs, and then discouraging the Free from making their own breakfast.  “It’s too dangerous and scary.  Be a good FartSack Nazi and eat your gruel you non-forming bastard.  I’d rather see you die than see you make it out of this bucket.”

     This morning, I rebelled a little.  I told the Bojangles guy to go ahead and Bo-Size my Cajun Filet Biscuit.  What the heck, everybody has their own Chocolate Factory.   Take that Michelle.

Little Things

     When I turned to Christ I did it  for the Big Things.  The Big Things were the demonstrable sins in my life that were incompatible with (ahem) polite society, that is the accepted mores of my tribe.  And true to His word, the Lord freed me from the Big Things.  And how sweet that freedom is.  But here is the rub:  He did not stop at the Big Things.  He began convicting me on the Little Things as well.  You see, I came to Him “pre-convicted” in a sense with regard to the Big Things, because even the non-believers in my tribe demanded change.  But the Little Things?  No, I was not convicted as to them.  Nor did my tribe demand change with regard to the Little Things.  In fact, it is the other way around.  My tribe resists change of the Little Things.  What are the Big Things and the Little Things exactly?  Well, I am not going to say—for two reasons.  First, whether a Thing is Big or Little depends wholly on  the identity of the tribe to which one belongs.  Thus, the Big/Little of a tribe of pimps is quite different than the Big/Little of a tribe of accountants.  Second, the Lord cares not for man’s attempt to divide disobedience to His Law into neat piles of Big and Little.  His Law is love and we are either with Him or against Him.   

     So, here is my struggle this cold morning with conviction over some Little Things.  Paul tells us that “among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity, or of greed, because these are improper for God's holy people.  Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk or coarse joking, which are out of place, but rather thanksgiving.” Ephesians 5:3-4.  Since obscenity, foolish talk and coarse joking takes up about 85% of my conversation base on any given day, how can that stuff be Big Things?  I mean, what is wrong with a little manly banter when the ladies and kids are  out of the room?  Nothing is wrong with it, except that my Lord says not to do it.  So, I have the free choice of all who are indwelled with Him.  I can either obey because I love my savior and am eternally grateful for his relationship with me and His sacrifice on the cross, or I can hold on these Little Things because they are good to go with my tribe.  The choice is mine.  

Today

I am going to focus on today Lord.  I am going to give my thoughts, my efforts and my concern to the day I am in.  You will feed me today.  You will clothe me today.  You will love me today. You will give me the skill to perform your will today. You will give me the strength to resist temptation today.  The only other day with which I must concern myself is the day upon which I am delivered into your arms.  That glorious day.  Until that day, I have only today.  And in this day, today, I must only obey you.  If I am in you today, of what else do I have need?

I want to learn this as Paul did:  contentment in all circumstances. (Philippians 4:11).  I can only learn it from you Lord.  You alone can teach it to me.  To find it, I must seek you today.  So, I ask you now, in humility and hope, that you will guide me to it.  

My discontentment flows from my perception that I must obtain my sustenance and significance from the World, when both in fact can only be found in you.  I cannot self-provide. Nor will the World provide. But you do provide.  You have promised me so.  Like a sparrow in the field, you will give me the food and clothing I need.  As you have accounted for every hair on my head, you have made a place for me.  You love me and care about my needs and heart.  Even now, as I write these words, I am not alone.  You are with me, in me, crowding me out. When I am finally gone, then you alone remain. What more than you will I need today?

The Big Linger

                Its seems as if whenever my family is about to embark from our house—whether to the supermarket for an hour or to the beach for a week—my children find a way to delay the departure.  They linger.  Somehow they manage to lose the shoes they just tied.  They go back upstairs to comb their hair one last time.  They suddenly realize they are too hungry to start the journey without  a snack, even though it is to a restaurant that we are headed.  Then, when they have run out of delaying tactics, they finally trudge to the car, only to remember something they have to bring with them and race back in . . . where they lose their shoes again.

                Why do my children linger?  Why would they not want to immediately start a journey for a place they know will be good for them?  Why would they keep  going back for things they know they will not need there?  Is it just children that do that?

                This morning I read of the escape of Lot’s family from Sodom.  (Genesis: 19).  Surrounded by wickedness, threatened with violence by the Sodomites and convinced of the city’s imminent destruction, Lot knows he must leave Sodom, and yet he . . . lingers.  In fact, he never actually stops lingering—finally, angels drag the Lot Family outside the city to safety.  But even there, Ms. Lot is turned into an eternal salt lick because she cannot help but cast back a lingering look.  She lingered with her eyes.  Of that Christ said this:  “(r)emember what happened to Lot’s wife!  If you grasp and cling to life on your terms, you’ll lose it, but if you let that life go, you’ll get life on God’s terms.”  (Luke 17:32-33, The Message). 

                So why the Big Linger?  When God offers us life on His terms why do we find a way to lose our shoes?

Bootstrap Joe

     We all know Bootstrap Joe.  The dude has energy to burn.  He more than just believes in doing things right (we all believe in it, don't we), helives it.  Aye, Bootstrap Joe builds his life around the doing of things right.  It's his temple.  The Temple of the Doing.  

     Bootstrap Joe can spin on a dime.  When confronted with a thing he's never before thought of doing Bootstrap Joe will say, "nah, that's crazy, that won't work."  Three days later, you find Bootstrap Joe going gangbusters doing that very thing like his hair was on fire.  What happened?  Well, Joe thought about it a bit and realized that the new thing was the right thing after all and needed doing right, and well, when there is a right thing that needs doing right there you will find Bootstrap Joe doing it like crazy.    

     Bootstrap Joe has to do the doing himself.  You can't help Bootstrap Joe do the doing.  If you try to let Bootstrap Joe precede you from the elevator, he will insist that you go first.  You might as well give in because the doors will close and you'll be stuck in there with Joe riding to the top floor if you don't.  And he'll be mad.  That's Joe.  He's here to serve, not to be served.  Don't forget it.  

     For Bootstrap Joe, the most sublime scripture is a Bible verse that Is Not:  God helps those who help themselves.  This little piece of Emotional Apocrypha keeps Bootstrap Joe separated from Christ.  When Jesus slid his bowl of soapy water before Peter and reached out for that first filthy foot, Peter pulled it back--"no, you shall never wash my feet."  (John 13:8).  Nope, not Peter, the Bootstrap Joe of The Twelve.  If his feet need washing, he'll do it himself.  The Lord's response:  "unless I wash you, you have no part with me."  (id).  

     I think it one of the Devil's great tricks to turn vice to virtue in the mind of a sinner and then get him to preach it.  To serve may be virtue, but what then is one's refusal to be served?  If Joe is right, that God will only help him who helps himself, what logic is there in serving another if his very acceptance of that service would be sin?  

     So then, when Bootstrap Joe sincerely acknowledges the Lord, how does He cure Joe's heart?  Perhaps by demonstrating to Joe the futility of his self-reliance.  After Peter disowned Christ, just as He had predicted, Peter "went outside and wept bitterly."  (Luke 22:62).  

     Like everything else Bootstrap Joe finally embraces, the crying jag is something to behold.  Not a manly kind of crying (single tear leaving track through prairie dust on face).  No, this would be the snot-bubbling and lip-quivering kind of crying jag that befits a man who believes in doing things right.  Let go of those Bootstraps, Joe.  In fact, take the Boots completely off so those dirty feet of yours can be washed.  Time to come back home.

DogLife

                We came up with the idea that man would be far happier if he could just act more like a dog.   To do so would remove the two major illnesses of want that afflict the human condition—those gnawing needs for Security and Significance. 

What beast has more easily conquered the need for  Security than the dog?  When he’s hungry, he goes to his bowl and wham, his master fills it.  He doesn’t complain about the quality of his meal or worry about whether he’ll be fed tomorrow.  In fact, he doesn’t even think about the next meal until he’s hungry again.  The dog’s house?  Wherever his master designs for him to lay  his head—whether that is a doghouse in the back yard or the foot of his bed—our  friend the dog is happy to have the roof over his head and never thinks to complain.  Even if dogs could talk, would “renovation” and “bonus-room” be part of their vocabulary?  How about retirement?  Well, the dog doesn’t really work does he, so how can he retire?  Even those dogs who man puts to work hunting, herding and leading the blind don’t think about retirement because for them, it’s NOT work to serve their masters doing what they were created to do.   Even if a dog had hands  to hold golf clubs, would he want to stop leading his master safely across the street so that he could spend his  last few years in Florida with other dogs?

OK,  what about the other illness of human want—Significance.  We spend our lives “chasing our dreams”, “yearning to make a difference” and “raising awareness” trying to avoid the great secular sin of having led a life wasted in quiet desperation.  We are told that there are no dumb questions, so ask away.  We believe that every voice must be heard, so speak up.  We rush madly to the defense of anonymous victims whose self-esteem is threatened by  shadowy emotional bullies.  We’ve flat run out of colors with which we can festoon our tunics with ribbons and our wrists with rubber to manifest our concern about every possible illness and need, even if they are logically incompatible—we can’t possibly be simultaneously beset by epidemics of obesity AND hunger, can we? The human quest for Significance seems to have no end, like a grail always just an inch past our exhausted grasp.  And the dog?  He’s been there beside us the whole way, satisfying his need for Significance simply by his mere proximity to his master.  Have you ever seen a beast less anxious and needful than a dog curled up at the feet of his master? 

Wait a second now Dredd.  You’re overlooking the compact between man and dog.  Man provides the dog’s room, board and significance, solely in exchange for his loyalty and obedience—that’s all the dog has to do to get everything he needs.  To whom can man look for a such a great deal?  Huh?  Who?