A couple of weeks ago, I innocently stepped into our church’s fellowship hall only to hear 250+ people scream, “SURPRISE!” Turns out my wife had orchestrated a two-month plot to surprise me (probably the most suspicious person you’ve ever met) two weeks prior to that grim anniversary of life—my 40th birthday.

By anyone’s estimation, it was a total success. Not only was I surprised that night by the overwhelming show of love and affection from those who had traveled from near and far to celebrate with me, I was equally unable to mentally flip through the last two months and find something, anything that might have made me say, “Ahh, so that’s what she was up to.” Nothing. Nada.

My wife, Ginger (if that IS her real name…?!), was quite proud of herself. Most of the rest of our evening was spent cataloguing the web of stealth and intrigue spun by one of the most good-natured, non-conniving people I know. Heretofore, my wife just hasn’t been capable of that level of deception. She told me about fake email addresses and super-secret Facebook groups, about hiding text messages and sneaking around my fickle schedule.

What struck me that night after the party was over, after the almost crippling disorientation that dominated my mood throughout (see the photo above for my split-second reaction upon entering the room), was the sheer beauty of the thing. So much time, so much planning, so much concern—just so that a group of people could tell me that they cared about me. I found my thoughts turning to the doctrine of predestination.

Yes, you read that correctly—predestination. Let me explain.Read more

I have a confession. I’ve been taking an anti-depressant for almost three months. It’s called Lexapro. It costs me $15 a month at Rite-Aid.

An extremely odd feeling is rushing over me as I take this risk of exposure. I am much more comfortable admitting this here than to my closest friends and family. I feel like the sixth grade girl I saw texting away the other night at a high school football game. “Who are you texting?” I asked. “Oh, hey Rev. (that’s what they call me – yes, feel free to chuckle), it’s Bill (not his real name).” I glanced to my left and just a few students away I see Bill thumbing away at an adolescent’s pace. Pointing towards him, I told her, “Hey, he’s right there.” Read more

  I understand doubting Thomas’ climatic confession a little better this morning, because today I have a new scar.  In chapter 20 of John’s gospel one of the disciples, Thomas, rebuffs the other followers of Jesus who are claiming that their master has resurrected form the dead saying, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand in this side, I will never believe.”  Thomas wanted to see and touch some scars.  So do I; and I can – I have my own scars to feel.

     My latest scar was birthed Sunday evening, the 18th of November as my father and I were field dressing the whitetail buck I had just taken a few minutes earlier.  (If you have moral objections to sport hunting, I appreciate your convictions, though I don’t share all of them.  But please read on as this post is not about killing deer; hunting is only the context.  Also the deer in this scenario actually has a little post-mortem revenge upon me, so keep reading if you loathe hunters.)

I was moving through the usual field-dressing motions when the knife cut through the animal’s hide much more swiftly than expected and I, moving the blade across and in front of my body with my right hand, plunged the three-inch pocketknife into my left forearm.  (If you are wondering how I’m typing this post, please understand that I am just really, really tough and also probably the most dedicated of GCO contributors.  There should be an award.  Also, there was no major damage done.)

Sparing most of the gruesome details, I began to bleed profusely a dark red blood and related to my dad in colorful eloquence appropriate to the scenario that I needed to go immediately to the emergency room.  Then I unlatched my camouflage overalls, tore off my camouflage t-shirt to tie a tournakit around my wounded arm, and jumped with my hunter orange-clad father into our flatbed farm truck with the dual hay bale spikes on the back and 30-06 Remington rifle sitting next to me in the cab, leaving the half-harvested eight-point behind in the knee-high wheat grass with the dust-heavy sunset falling upon us all. 
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 Counterpoint

 
The blogosphere, the blogosphere,Read more

Bill Stuntz is an acclaimed, and much loved, professor of law at Harvard Law School.  I know of him from his years teaching at the UVa Law School, and he was a member at Trinity Presbyterian Church. I think I met him once at a grad student luncheon that Trinity hosted, but I lament that I never took time to get to know him before he left Charlottesville for Cambridge.

Some of the people I respect most and love most in this world think Bill Stuntz is a top-flight scholar and a wonderful person. I hope some day to meet him. He is by all accounts a brilliant legal scholar.

He returned to UVa Law School on October 18, 2007 to deliver the Meador Lecture on Law and Religion. You can read a good report on Stuntz' lecture (here) or listen to the mp3 yourself (here).

Because the report so well summarizes Stuntz' lecture, I won't spend time summarizing it myself. However, I strongly recommend that you at least read the report before you read my interactions with the lecture. It would be even better if you listened to the lecture itself.
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I've listened to Stuntz' remarks a couple of times now, and parts of it several times. He makes a provocative argument and he has stimulated my thinking about a host of related issues.

Before I begin my interaction, I need to offer a disclaimer. I appreciate my brother's argument and what follows should show  my affirmation of a good deal of what he says as well as my disagreement with some parts. I may well be incorrect where I disagree with Stuntz, so I welcome constructive engagement. Lastly, I raise some questions  at the end that Stuntz' lecture brought to mind. I don't think he could have possibly dealt with all these in the course of one talk, but rather his talk provides fertile soil for further discussion. I hope CGO readers will engage these questions.
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Fans of Carolyn James:

Good news! Carolyn's new book, The Gospel of Ruth, is available for advance orders on Amazon.com. The book officially debuts in February, and we'll run reviews, a preview of a part of a chapter, and an interview with Carolyn when the book hit shelves.

For more on Carolyn's writing & teaching, see The Whitby Forum.

In one week the “Christmas Season” will officially begin. Even though stores have been putting up lights and Christmas decorations for a month now, the holiday shopping season will begin with an annual event known as Black Friday. On the day after Thanksgiving, stores and malls will open while it is still dark in order to get a quick start on the frenzy that Christmas shopping has become. A couple of years ago I got lured into participating in Black Friday. There were a couple of items I knew my kids wanted, and I figured I would not wait until the last minute to get my shopping done. I set my alarm for 5:00 in the morning, figuring that I would get to Target around 5:30. I was under the impression that Target was going to open at 5:00 and I didn’t think it was necessary to get there before the store was even open. I was in for a big surprise.Read more

One of my roommates is a physician assistant for an oncologist, so I frequently hear stories of patients and their battles with cancer. It’s startling how a disease that starts out so small often spreads throughout the whole body. Early diagnosis and treatment are the keys to becoming healthy again. Certainly, cancer is not something to leave alone to run its course. My roommate recently told me that in melanoma patients, skin lesions can at times completely disappear, making it seem that the cancer is gone. Yet, despite the disappearance from the skin, the cancer can still return elsewhere in the body if not treated appropriately.Read more

    Veteran's Day fell on Sunday this year.  One member of our Church
thought that was a brilliant opportunity to celebrate the service of
our members.  He began to ask around for vets and collect pictures.

   On Sunday morning there was a poster board set up just outside the
sanctuary with pictures of our veterans from their time in service. 
Some of them were pictures of very young-looking men, taking their
first official military photo.  Crisp uniforms.  Shiny emblems.  Fresh
haircuts, and childlike fear in their eyes.  You could only imagine
what it was like to put on a uniform in 1940 and eighteen years old,
with the rise of the Third Reich to face; or what it was like for them
to kiss their mothers and get on a bus to go to war knowing that
American forces were losing around 1,600 Soldiers every day.

   One picture was of a B-24 bomber squad of one of our members.  Those
are the guys who loaded up planes ("planes" should really be in
quotation marks--they were more like steel boxes with wings) with all
they could carry of bombs and gas, fly from England to Germany through
anti-aircraft flak, drop their bombs and turn around for home with just
enough gas to hopefully coast in to an open runway back at base.  That
is, if the Nazi fighter planes didn't catch up with them.  He was a
turret gunner.Read more

I think this interview took place in 1971.  Billy Graham is a winsome follower of Jesus. I think you'll enjoy these.

Part 1

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Part 2Read more