Simple Living Isn’t Always

My brother’s newest post gets at the heart of our sinning cycle, revealing its ties to the oldest profession.

I mentioned Douglas Wilson’s reply to Christopher Hitchens the other day. A friend pointed out this reply from another Hitchens, Peter. His retort, while not evangelical, is nonetheless convincing. Further, he points out his brother’s worst chapter:

There is one chapter in this book whose implications are sinister. It is Chapter 16, which attempts to suggest that religion is child abuse.

On the basis of such arguments, matched by similar urgings from Professor Richard Dawkins, I can see a movement growing to outlaw the teaching of faith to children.

Some may dismiss this idea as preposterous, but why should it be? Already the courts intrude regularly into family life and decisions. Already homeschooling, for instance, has come under incredible scrutiny. It’s only natural that a family’s religious teaching could be determined to be negative. It only remains to be tried.

Imagine, for instance, that an atheist father resents his ex-wife’s conversion to Christianity. In an effort to ensure equal treatment under the law, he sues to restrain her from teaching the child Christian tenets. No Sunday school, no vacation Bible school, no church. What would a court say to such a father? What scientists (other than Dawkins, et. al.) would emerge with extensive studies of the harm that religious teaching does to children?

It’s not so far-fetched as it sounded, is it?

In the bathtub the other day, my son Cullen started singing. Not a bad thing at all, you say; lots of kids sing in the tub. My son, though, was singing “I like big butts and I cannot lie.” Over and over.

My wife, horrified, asked him where he heard it. She was ready to complain to the daycare, or confront some less scrupulous parent for exposing her child to the lyrical nastiness of Sir Mix-a-lot.

“It’s on Shark Tale,” he replied. I should point out that Shark Tale was the first movie we took Cullen to see, and we own the DVD.

We racked our brains for a second before realizing that, yes indeed, there’s a throwaway scene where the octopus henchman of Don Leo (the Luca Brazzi character, I guess) plays just that line on an ancient record player. When it stops he says, “Hey boss, big butts!” It’s hilarious, but inappropriate for children.

We had to explain that we don’t discuss butts, particularly their size, in polite company.

MORAL (which all you good parents already know): Kids see and hear everything, and they will repeat anything.

Last week I ended up in Florida on short notice. My uncle was dying, doctors said. He might not make it through last weekend.

One thing I love about my family: no matter how long you’ve been gone, they make it easy to pick up where you left off.

To much of my extended family, and even to some closer relations, the only thing that connects me to them is a last name. And for a lot of them, there was no awkward moment, a fishy handshake or nod. I was embraced on the strength of our blood connection. I saw an uncle I hadn’t seen in probably 20 years, a second cousin I hadn’t seen in 15, and a few other people who haven’t seen my face in a decade.

And I spent a good deal of time in a couple days with my first cousins. I hadn’t seen them in about 5 years and getting to know one another a little again was a lot of fun, even in the midst of apparent sorrow. There were lots of big hugs, and more casual ones, the side-hugs that reminded everyone that we were together, we were with each other. We talked together so quickly and easily that it surprised me, reminiscing a little and catching up. And the stories. Stories we’ve all heard a hundred times still seemed fresh with this telling. It was interesting, no, more that that. It was life-giving.

Why isn’t church this way? This past Sunday my wife and I attended a local church for the third or fourth time. We’re not staying there, since our move’s just a month or so away. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different. Now sure, we’re still visitors there, but we have what should be a stronger blood connection. And by the way, I’ve attended churches for years without ever feeling like much more than a visitor. I never got into the ‘inner circle.’ “Dear friends, this should not be,” to borrow from the apostle Paul.

I know it doesn’t have to be that way. I pray we’ll find a church that feels like a family reunion.

By the way, I talked to my cousin yesterday. Against all expectations, they’re talking about sending my uncle home.