The Night Writer http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/ Illuminating fun, faith, family and foolishness. en-us 2009-04-17T04:04+00:00 Road construction season http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1157641164.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-04-17T04:04+00:00 If there were a road-map of my brain you'd likely see a lot of philosophical or meditative roads and perhaps not a few dead ends. Some parallel each other, others are all over the map, and some intersect (it's an arrangement only a St. Paul city engineer could appreciate). Anyway, the other day I was idling at the intersection of Albert Jay Nock Drive and Bonhoeffer Way (see my April 9th and April 15th posts) and started wondering how similar those paths might or might not be, and could they merge?

Both men lived at the same time, and both were committed pacifists. Bonhoeffer was executed by the Nazis and Nock's career essentially ended in large part due to his opposition to the U.S.'s participation in World War II. Because of their unshakable principles Nock saw the State as the natural enemy of man, while Bonhoeffer certainly saw the Nazi State, at least, in the same way. The difference between them, however, is that Nock dismissed the masses and their inevitable destructiveness in favor of preserving a "remnant" who could be taught and encouraged so they might rebuild society. Bonhoeffer was nearly the opposite, pondering and preaching on how we might live in order to serve and elevate "the Other." Nock's philosophy was perhaps demonstrated in the extreme by Ayn Rand's (another contemporary) ultimate worship of the individual, while the epitome of what Bonhoeffer worshiped could be described as sainthood. It's an interesting comparison, to me anyway, but not the point of this post.

For me, Nock may be a fascinating side-trip, but Bonhoeffer is the main drag. As a Christian, I believe that we achieve true happiness not in glorifying ourselves but in demonstrating the glory of God through our interaction with others. From God first saying "It is not fit for Adam to be alone", to the Sermon on the Mount, to the letters of Paul, to Bonhoeffer writing "Life Together" we see it is all about relationship; it's certainly the case for the deepest satisfactions and greatest joys in my life. I see my mission not to get people into church, but to get the Church out to the people. As I pondered these things I "coincidentally" came across a very insightful poem earlier today on Through the Illusion. It's one that apparently has been getting emailed quite a bit and is entitled A Spiritual Conspiracy and talks about those who quietly interact with others as they "be the change they want to see."



I think the message of the poem was intended to be ecumenical, or even humanist, but I can't help but see it through a Christian perspective. As C.S. Lewis (another contemporary of Nock, Bonhoeffer and Rand — talk about your greatest generation!) put it, "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." After reading the poem I applauded it in the Comment section of TTI, but also felt compelled to write a challenge to the sense of complacency and hubris that would undo its spirit:
There are those who want to cheer-lead for change, who belong to the right groups, show up religiously at church or the progressive book-clubs and cafes and feel deeply about things — and “do” nothing. They embrace the concept but can’t grasp the reality; they love “the people” but don’t know a person. They have little or no involvement, and therefore little affect, in individual lives of others outside their family (and sometimes even inside of it). Yet that is where the “change you want to see” happens. You change a little, you help someone else change, and you change even more. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I wrote it as a challenge to myself and not to elevate myself, though sometimes I experience elevation as I described back in February.
Yes, I've felt and enjoyed "elevation" in watching certain movies or reading certain books or hearing certain speakers, but I've also felt it most profoundly when infused by a Trinity that's anything but pop. How ironic, it appears to me, that the learned experts can walk right up to the edge of revelation and stop themselves just short, as if it were a cliff they dare not let themselves go over.

Amazon's editorial synopsis of Keltner's book includes the following description (emphasis mine): "A new examination of the surprising origins of human goodness. In Born to Be Good, Dacher Keltner demonstrates that humans are not hardwired to lead lives that are 'nasty, brutish, and short'— we are in fact born to be good. He investigates an old mystery of human evolution: why have we evolved positive emotions like gratitude, amusement, awe, and compassion that promote ethical action and are the fabric of cooperative societies?"

Evolved? Could, perhaps, those emotions have been implanted in us by God? Could they even be the essence of what "being created in the likeness and image of" means? That is, not so much a physical likeness but a spiritual harmonic that resonates in the presence of goodness? I have been suddenly "elevated" while singing praises to God, or in the midst of praying for someone, or when a revelation crystallizes suddenly in my half-alert mind. It doesn't happen every time I do these things; in fact it usually happens when I'm not expecting it to. In the middle of a song that we've sung dozens of times, for example, or in half-way through praying for someone when — whoosh elevation! (Actually, in our circles, we call it "anointing") It seems to wait for that split-second when I stop thinking about myself to manifest itself and I know that I've made a different kind of connection, or been a conduit for one.
As I read the poem I was also reminded of a song by Bruce Cockburn entitled “Lovers in a Dangerous Time”:

Don’t the hours grow shorter as the days go by
You never get to stop and open your eyes
One day you’re waiting for the sky to fall
And next you’re dazzled by the beauty of it all
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

These fragile bodies of touch and taste
This vibrant skin this hair like lace
Spirits open to the thrust of grace
Never a breath you can afford to waste

{Refrain}
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time
When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Lovers in a dangerous time

When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Sometimes you’re made to feel as if your love’s a crime
Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight
Got to kick at the darkness till it bleeds daylight

{Refrain}

We are lovers in a dangerous time, but the darkness can and does bleed daylight.
]]> Lumpy, part 2 http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1238989407.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-04-06T03:04+00:00 A short time ago I wrote a brief post about Romans 12:2, comparing our lives to a lump of clay either conformed by the world or transformed by God; either squeezed or pressed into a mold or filled and expanded as if by a hand reaching inside us as we spin to bow us into a bowl or vase or some useful vessel.

One thing I didn't note at the time is that in both cases, the lump of clay has very little say in what it gets turned into. Conformity is a matter of channeling our thinking, while transformation is a matter of renewing our mind (or having it renewed) so that those channels are overflowed. We might go along with either activity but once we submit to either we don't know just how it will turn out.

Not that we don't try, especially when it comes to the transforming/expanding touch of God the Father. Having spent our lives conformed, we almost can't help ourselves from repeating the process as we are being transformed. At first we are in awe of what God has done and is doing, especially when we are aware of the quality of the material that He's working with. All too soon, however, it seems we can't resist trying to shape God into something that suits our purpose instead of the other way around.

A little bit of revelation, or a transcendant, even miraculous, experience can seem like our destination rather than just a signpost on our way. When God wants to continue to work in our life we'll still instinctively hunker down, even with (or because) of our new understanding, and decide that "God obviously can do this, but there's no way He'd do that." It's as if he just put up a frame and a roof on our new house, but we don't think he's qualified to do the plumbing as well; especially if we've always handled the plumbing ourselves.

Conforming is easier because we have a sense of when we look like the other items on the shelf; transforming is harder because we're continually changing as the Master Potter spins, shapes and elongates, perhaps even adds a handle. Yet in effect we'll say, "No, please, I'll just stay a salad bowl. I never thought I could even be a salad bowl, but please don't turn me into an urn." Ceasing to conform and beginning to transform usually means throwing out some old thought or doctrine we had in favor of a new revelation; but it's as if we think that there was only one or two thoughts or doctrines that needed to change.

It's amazing how quickly we become expert theologians, even as the potter says, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Lumpy."
]]> Lumpy, part 2 http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1238989407.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-04-06T03:04+00:00 A short time ago I wrote a brief post about Romans 12:2, comparing our lives to a lump of clay either conformed by the world or transformed by God; either squeezed or pressed into a mold or filled and expanded as if by a hand reaching inside us as we spin to bow us into a bowl or vase or some useful vessel.

One thing I didn't note at the time is that in both cases, the lump of clay has very little say in what it gets turned into. Conformity is a matter of channeling our thinking, while transformation is a matter of renewing our mind (or having it renewed) so that those channels are overflowed. We might go along with either activity but once we submit to either we don't know just how it will turn out.

Not that we don't try, especially when it comes to the transforming/expanding touch of God the Father. Having spent our lives conformed, we almost can't help ourselves from repeating the process as we are being transformed. At first we are in awe of what God has done and is doing, especially when we are aware of the quality of the material that He's working with. All too soon, however, it seems we can't resist trying to shape God into something that suits our purpose instead of the other way around.

A little bit of revelation, or a transcendant, even miraculous, experience can seem like our destination rather than just a signpost on our way. When God wants to continue to work in our life we'll still instinctively hunker down, even with (or because) of our new understanding, and decide that "God obviously can do this, but there's no way He'd do that." It's as if he just put up a frame and a roof on our new house, but we don't think he's qualified to do the plumbing as well; especially if we've always handled the plumbing ourselves.

Conforming is easier because we have a sense of when we look like the other items on the shelf; transforming is harder because we're continually changing as the Master Potter spins, shapes and elongates, perhaps even adds a handle. Yet in effect we'll say, "No, please, I'll just stay a salad bowl. I never thought I could even be a salad bowl, but please don't turn me into an urn." Ceasing to conform and beginning to transform usually means throwing out some old thought or doctrine we had in favor of a new revelation; but it's as if we think that there was only one or two thoughts or doctrines that needed to change.

It's amazing how quickly we become expert theologians, even as the potter says, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Lumpy."
]]> An early Father's Day http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1238733135.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-04-03T04:04+00:00 There is a lot of commentary back and forth following Tuesday's post about the German family seeking political asylum in the U.S. so that they can have the freedom to home-educate their children. This has had me thinking of the role of parents, and of fathers, and reminded me of something that happened at our March Inside Outfitters meeting.

This is the monthly men's breakfast and teaching that has been drawing a large group of men from Minnesota Teen Challenge, a residential drug rehabilitation program. Last month we were at my partner Earl's church for the meeting and Earl shared a message aimed at the men who had grown up without a positive male role model in their lives. He described the hurt and frustration of knowing you were missing something but not being sure what it was, and of the resulting anger and defensiveness that caused so many men to reject God the Father and to understand what it meant to be instructed and guided.

Earl is one who knows first-hand what that is like. He grew up with a violent, abusive father who was still highly respected as a deacon in their church. Earl's heart hardened with each outrage as he and his brother, sisters and mother absorbed each outburst. He grew violent himself and turned violently to crime and to drug and sexual abuse. He eventually found himself in Minnesota's maximum security prison, where the gentle spirit of a visiting pastor finally showed him who is real father is and set him on the path to becoming a pastor himself. As he finished his message, he told the men that God has plans for each of them and they need to be open to receive instruction and blessing and set aside the anger and hurt that was getting in the way. Then he did something kind of unusual. He invited my pastor and I to come up front with him, then he invited the men (some in their 30s and 40s) who hadn't ever had a word of support or acceptance from their own fathers to view the three of us as stand-ins, and to approach and receive that word from us.

About 40 men came forward, some almost staggering, and divided into three lines. As each man facing me approached I wrapped my arms around his shoulders or pulled his head down towards mine and said, "I'm proud of you. You're doing the right thing." Some started to shake so hard that it was difficult to hold them up. Many wept openly. I got pretty misty myself. As we finished I went over to Earl and put my arm across his shoulders and addressed the group.

"I didn't have a father like Earl's father," I said. "He had his outbursts and his moments, but I always knew he loved me and supported me and I know the sacrifices he made for me." I added, "I've thought from time to time how our lives might have been different if Earl had had my father and I had had his as we grew up. Where would I be today, and where would Earl be, if that had been the case?"

I paused to let that settle a bit. It was dead quiet. "Where would we be today?"

My pastor spoke: "You'd both be right where you are now, doing what you're doing."

"Exactly," I said, "because God the Father's plan is greater than anything we, or you, might have missed or might have done. You have the same opportunity — and He's proud of you."
]]> Picture this: Yo, Lumpy http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1237781079.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-03-23T04:03+00:00
"Take me, mold me,
Use me, fill me,
I give my life into the Potter's hand..."


Singing this song always makes me think of Romans 12:2: And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.

If you take a lump of clay into your hands your tendency is to squeeze it and roll it, perhaps making a little face out of it as you kind of doodle with your fingers. If you picture our lives as a lump of clay introduced into the world we can quickly see how all the outside forces in our lives try to shape and conform us to some image, squeezing and pressing us with things as diverse as fashion or politics or family expectations, or TV commercials, or our schooling. Everything, it seems, seeks to conform us to some earthly standard of what is acceptable, whether it's your friends, your job, your gang, your political party — even your church. How the pressure is applied determines the shape our conformation takes on.

But there's another way to shape clay. A potter can place a lump on a wheel and get the wheel spinning and in doing so begins to bring smoothness and balance to our lump and then, rather than conform, something transforming happens as the potter reaches into the spinning clay and cups his fingers outward, causing the little ball of clay to suddenly bloom outward and expand, displacing clay with air. Depending on the potter's vision, the transformed lump could become a bowl, a pot, a vase or an urn.

Similarly, when our thinking is conformed to the world we are squeezed into something smaller and denser, our minds grooved and compressed by repetition. When we are transformed by allowing our minds to be renewed — to begin to grasp what has previously been beyond our imagination — however, we get bigger and can hold things; rather than being something to look at we become something useful.

The song above describes God as the Potter, and in my analogy you can see God reaching into us, increasing our capacity, making us fit for bigger, better things. Of course, we still have to be fired in the kiln, the trial bringing out our colors while making our final shape stronger (seeking to pull out of the fire too soon, however, and you're left with a fragile, untrustworthy object).

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
— 2 Corinthians 4:7
]]> Picture this: Yo, Lumpy http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1237781079.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-03-23T04:03+00:00
"Take me, mold me,
Use me, fill me,
I give my life into the Potter's hand..."


Singing this song always makes me think of Romans 12:2: And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.

If you take a lump of clay into your hands your tendency is to squeeze it and roll it, perhaps making a little face out of it as you kind of doodle with your fingers. If you picture our lives as a lump of clay introduced into the world we can quickly see how all the outside forces in our lives try to shape and conform us to some image, squeezing and pressing us with things as diverse as fashion or politics or family expectations, or TV commercials, or our schooling. Everything, it seems, seeks to conform us to some earthly standard of what is acceptable, whether it's your friends, your job, your gang, your political party — even your church. How the pressure is applied determines the shape our conformation takes on.

But there's another way to shape clay. A potter can place a lump on a wheel and get the wheel spinning and in doing so begins to bring smoothness and balance to our lump and then, rather than conform, something transforming happens as the potter reaches into the spinning clay and cups his fingers outward, causing the little ball of clay to suddenly bloom outward and expand, displacing clay with air. Depending on the potter's vision, the transformed lump could become a bowl, a pot, a vase or an urn.

Similarly, when our thinking is conformed to the world we are squeezed into something smaller and denser, our minds grooved and compressed by repetition. When we are transformed by allowing our minds to be renewed — to begin to grasp what has previously been beyond our imagination — however, we get bigger and can hold things; rather than being something to look at we become something useful.

The song above describes God as the Potter, and in my analogy you can see God reaching into us, increasing our capacity, making us fit for bigger, better things. Of course, we still have to be fired in the kiln, the trial bringing out our colors while making our final shape stronger (seeking to pull out of the fire too soon, however, and you're left with a fragile, untrustworthy object).

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.
— 2 Corinthians 4:7
]]> More than a feeling http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1233726077.shtml ... The Night Writer 2009-02-04T05:02+00:00 You know those times when you see something so good, so right, happen —or read about it, or hear about it — and that warm-feeling comes over you? It could be more than a feeling.

There's a fascinating piece by Brian "St Paul" Ward of Fraters Libertas as he refers to a couple of other articles that have picked up on the fact that people, well, "pick up" on certain things that are good and true.

Ebert cites a Slate article from December, which cites a book called "Born to Be Good" by psychologist Dacher Keltner, who is studying this emotion, called "elevation." From the Slate article:

Keltner writes that he believes when we experience transcendence, it stimulates our vagus nerve, causing "a feeling of spreading, liquid warmth in the chest and a lump in the throat."

Elevation has always existed but has just moved out of the realm of philosophy and religion and been recognized as a distinct emotional state and a subject for psychological study. Psychology has long focused on what goes wrong, but in the past decade there has been an explosion of interest in "positive psychology" — what makes us feel good and why. University of Virginia moral psychologist Jonathan Haidt, who coined the term elevation, writes, "Powerful moments of elevation sometimes seem to push a mental 'reset button,' wiping out feelings of cynicism and replacing them with feelings of hope, love, and optimism, and a sense of moral inspiration."

We come to elevation, Haidt writes, through observing others — their strength of character, virtue, or "moral beauty." Elevation evokes in us "a desire to become a better person, or to lead a better life."

Of course, Ebert, Keltner and Haight attribute this to something cultural or that has evolved in mankind. As I read that section, however, I immediately recognized it as something very familiar; something that Brain and I both recognized as spiritual:

That strikes me as accurate, except for the focus on its sole origin as the actions of others. On occasion, I have experienced elevation with regard to an individuals' actions, typically a selfless act of kindness or sacrifice. But more often, it's been an emotion evoked by a broader idea or concept. And this can come not only words, but also an images or music. Movies, books, recordings, as well have people have caused it for me. As such, I never centered on any person involved. Rather, I've come to interpret it as a instance of revealing an essential truth. The truth of how we're supposed to live our lives. In the video above, for example, "let's not kill our children," said in a beautiful and simple manner.

Getting close to truth is another way of saying getting close to God. So, this feeling of elevation has a religious meaning for me. I assumed this interpretation would be universal, irrefutable. Yet, the Ebert and Slate articles never even mention the possibility. Instead, they cite as examples of those bringing elevation the pop culture trinity of Barack Obama, Michael Jordan, and Oprah Winfrey.

Yes, I've felt and enjoyed "elevation" in watching certain movies or reading certain books or hearing certain speakers, but I've also felt it most profoundly when infused by a Trinity that's anything but pop. How ironic, it appears to me, that the learned experts can walk right up to the edge of revelation and stop themselves just short, as if it were a cliff they dare not let themselves go over.

Amazon's editorial synopsis of Keltner's book includes the following description (emphasis mine): "A new examination of the surprising origins of human goodness. In Born to Be Good, Dacher Keltner demonstrates that humans are not hardwired to lead lives that are 'nasty, brutish, and short'— we are in fact born to be good. He investigates an old mystery of human evolution: why have we evolved positive emotions like gratitude, amusement, awe, and compassion that promote ethical action and are the fabric of cooperative societies?"

Evolved? Could, perhaps, those emotions have been implanted in us by God? Could they even be the essence of what "being created in the likeness and image of" means? That is, not so much a physical likeness but a spiritual harmonic that resonates in the presence of goodness? I have been suddenly "elevated" while singing praises to God, or in the midst of praying for someone, or when a revelation crystallizes suddenly in my half-alert mind. It doesn't happen every time I do these things; in fact it usually happens when I'm not expecting it to. In the middle of a song that we've sung dozens of times, for example, or in half-way through praying for someone when — whoosh elevation! (Actually, in our circles, we call it "anointing") It seems to wait for that split-second when I stop thinking about myself to manifest itself and I know that I've made a different kind of connection, or been a conduit for one.

It's not a self-congratulatory wave of emotion from taking pride in my doing something "good", either; in fact, that kind of thought quenches the feeling immediately. It's another demonstration of what St. Paul (the apostle, not Brian) wrote when he urged us not to be "conformed" to the world and all of its selfishness, but to be "transformed" by the "renewing of our minds" when we ever-so-briefly touch something larger than ourselves.


]]> Picture this: <i>Surrender, Dorothy</i> http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1232926422.shtml We're not in Kansas any more. Actually, I've never lived in Kansas but I thought about Kansas today during praise & worship at church. Well, what I was thinking about was... The Night Writer 2009-01-26T05:01+00:00
In my last post I referenced Jesus' parable of the man who builds his house on the solid rock vs. the man who builds on shifting sand and how these homes fare when the rains, floods and winds come along. As an analogy I described the rain as being the economy (dampening everything), the floods as what washes away our job or business and the winds as the stresses that come along in the storm that and batter us (perhaps in our relationships, or health), adding to the destruction. Jesus suggested we "build" our homes — or lives — on something that can't be shaken and I've tried to renew my thinking over the years in order to do that. And that's when I thought of Kansas.

You see, in "The Wizard of Oz", when the twister appears on the Kansas horizon, Auntie Em and the others don't have a basement in the farmhouse to run to. Instead they have a detached root or storm cellar for emergencies. When that picture appeared in my mind it made me realize that there are probably areas in my life where I've built near my foundation but not actually upon it; things that look solid and even Biblical and may even be good, but are not built on that key foundation. "Doctrines of man" might be an example of this. Meanwhile, we take for granted the thing with the solid foundation, perhaps using it for storage or our convenience, almost forgetting what it's there for.

The thing is, when the storms and the wind come, the things I've built near the foundation — good, bad or indifferent — will blow away. The question I have to answer, then, is whether or not I'll chase after those things that are blowing down the road (after all, I've likely put a lot of time and effort into these) or if I'll look for people still out in the storm and try to wave them over into shelter.

What would you do?]]> Picture this: <i>Surrender, Dorothy</i> http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1232926422.shtml We're not in Kansas any more. Actually, I've never lived in Kansas but I thought about Kansas today during praise & worship at church. Well, what I was thinking about was... The Night Writer 2009-01-26T05:01+00:00
In my last post I referenced Jesus' parable of the man who builds his house on the solid rock vs. the man who builds on shifting sand and how these homes fare when the rains, floods and winds come along. As an analogy I described the rain as being the economy (dampening everything), the floods as what washes away our job or business and the winds as the stresses that come along in the storm that and batter us (perhaps in our relationships, or health), adding to the destruction. Jesus suggested we "build" our homes — or lives — on something that can't be shaken and I've tried to renew my thinking over the years in order to do that. And that's when I thought of Kansas.

You see, in "The Wizard of Oz", when the twister appears on the Kansas horizon, Auntie Em and the others don't have a basement in the farmhouse to run to. Instead they have a detached root or storm cellar for emergencies. When that picture appeared in my mind it made me realize that there are probably areas in my life where I've built near my foundation but not actually upon it; things that look solid and even Biblical and may even be good, but are not built on that key foundation. "Doctrines of man" might be an example of this. Meanwhile, we take for granted the thing with the solid foundation, perhaps using it for storage or our convenience, almost forgetting what it's there for.

The thing is, when the storms and the wind come, the things I've built near the foundation — good, bad or indifferent — will blow away. The question I have to answer, then, is whether or not I'll chase after those things that are blowing down the road (after all, I've likely put a lot of time and effort into these) or if I'll look for people still out in the storm and try to wave them over into shelter.

What would you do?]]> Of bubbles, bread, seeds and cookies http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1232597313.shtml One of the characteristics of the dearly remembered housing boom was the sprouting of "McMansions" in former cornfields or alongside golf courses. These were very cool looking homes and we enjoyed... The Night Writer 2009-01-23T06:01+00:00
It made for an afternoon's diversion and fantasy, but you had to wonder at some of the value represented. A salesperson was showing us around one $750k model townhome and as we were admiring the well-appointed family room the resident in the home that shared a common wall flushed the toilet. We knew this because we could clearly hear the water running through the pipes and the tank refilling. This is not an unusual experience when you live in an apartment or a townhouse, but not a big selling feature if you're going to spend $750k. Other times we'd tour a million dollar home with Ben, who is an experienced carpenter, and watch as he pointed out subtle mistakes in fit and finish. In one case there was painted over evidence of a load-bearing wall not doing it's duty, likely as a result of a problem with the foundation.

I think of these things, and foundations, in the burst residue of the housing and mortgage bubble as the entire economy sags like the wings of a great house falling toward the basement because the center-beam wasn't set as well as you might think. It's the latest demonstration of the Biblical exhortation to build your home on solid rock and not on shifting sand. Of course, the Bible is using the house as a metaphor, as am I. Let's review Matthew 7:24-27:

"Therefore whoever hears these sayings of Mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man who built his house on the rock: and the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house; and it did not fall, for it was founded on the rock.

"But everyone who hears these sayings of Mine, and does not do them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand: and the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house; and it fell. And great was its fall."

Doesn't that sound familiar, and in more ways than one? Allow me to extend the metaphor into an analogy: today's economy is the rain, and the effects of it in our lives are the floods, and the wind is the additional adversities that come to challenge our faith and make us doubt what we are standing upon, or whether the rock is enough to save us.

We have to build with storms in mind, an outlook almost completely lacking in the latest run-up as people seemed to assume that storms had become extinct and that those sets of conditions would continue in perpetuity (just as some now assume the current situation is forever). What is the housing bubble, or any bubble, all about but value driven by high expectations rather than intrinsic worth, or the greater fool theory? In those conditions you're not building a foundation on a rock; you're not even building it on sand which can at least be heavy — you're building it on something as flimsy and as easily popped as a bubble. And great is the fall.


]]>