Taking Fire

Posted on April 16, 2010 by Doc Arnett

I watched a pseudo-documentary last night that claimed to offer “proof” that Jesus never existed. I think that Christians ought to read and watch such trash from time to time for a variety of reasons: to be aware of the arguments being made, to be prepared to defend and explain their own reasons for believing, and for the uncomfortable experience of seeing how Christians are perceived. Also, I think we ought to be willing to examine the evidence. I tend to think that a faith that cannot be defended is a faith that is not worth having and that those who approach the story of Jesus with the same fairness given to other historical events will quite likely reach the conclusion of faith. Faith should not fear reason.

We are way too prone to make our children and new converts too heavily dependent on that old adage, “You just have to accept it on faith.”

We would not dare face capital charges in a courtroom and defend ourselves with such a line, would we? Instead, I think it far better to pile up the archaeological, geological, astronomical, and historical evidence that clearly supports the claims of Christianity so that as our children become adults and face a world and culture increasingly hostile to Christian faith, they have a basis for believing that is less fragile than “You just have to accept it.”

We live in a society that only operates by “hard, scientific evidence” in very selective realms. We routinely make very important decisions based upon testimony, first hand accounts, and our own observations while looking for harmony and consistency among those. We knew that wind existed long before we measured its speed with anemometers. Centuries before the electron microscope, a scarred and weathered tentmaker stated “the things that are seen are made of things not seen.” Faith that is built on evidence does not fear evidence.

I believe this firmly and deeply. Still, what will ultimately matter is not how cleverly nor how skillfully persuasive we can defend our beliefs; what will ultimately matter is whether or not we hold fast to the faith that we have been given.

H. Arnett
4/16/10

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Promises of the Wind

Posted on April 15, 2010 by Doc Arnett

Sitting outside in the sun
on a balmy April afternoon,
I tilt the chair backwards,
close my eyes.

I remember a young boy:
In between the starkness
of dark dairy mornings
and nights weary of work,

the collie and I walked the fields.
On a Saturday afternoon,
sunny but cool in the wind
of a March not yet spring,

We drifted through the leanings of alfalfa.
I lay down in the early growth,
turned my face to the sun,
felt its warmth.

I lay there,
hearing the brushing of the wind
against the long soft stems,
went to sleep in the sweeping

of God’s own whispering,
“All of work
will one day
have its reward.”

I woke to the duties
of a farm’s coming dusk,
shed the husk of sleep,
called the collie for the gathering.

I no longer wake to darkness,
nor walk the fields as I did back then,
but I have heard that comforting murmur
ever since.

H. Arnett
4/15/10

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Vehicle Maintenance

Posted on April 14, 2010 by Doc Arnett

When we bought our 1997 Toyota Camry, it was a couple of years old and had 32,000 miles on it. I was attracted by the car’s low, sleek look which was perfectly accented by the rear spoiler. I never thought the subsequent changes in the Camry’s style were improvements; they seemed blocky and unappealing. Even today, that ’90’s body style continues to be one of my favorites of all times, particularly for a four-door sedan.

Style issues aside, I did a good job of keeping the engine maintained and a fair job of keeping the car clean, managing at least one coat of wax most summers. As the years and miles added up, we continued to enjoy the smooth ride, the nice style and the extreme reliability. In eleven years and over two hundred thousand miles, the car never broke down, never left us stranded.

There were occasional needs for minor repairs and the problem with the interior trim that the Toyota dealer refused to acknowledge as a manufacturing problem and which I never pursued “farther up the chain.” There was an obvious incompatibility between the adhesive and the coloring; within two years the faux wood trim began to look like fungi were devouring the pattern. It was a small aggravation and certainly tolerable given the car’s other attributes.

Over the years, we rolled up the miles: vacationing, visiting the kids, commuting to work, running errands. Eventually, indicator lights quit working. Eventually, I had those replaced. Minor things, easily and affordably repaired. Then, the car began leaking oil. Not using it, not burning it up in big, blue clouds of embarrassing smoke. Leaking it. On the garage floor, on the street, anywhere the car sat running for even a half-minute, it left a pool of oil. Our mechanic, who has been a mechanic for a few decades and a few thousand cars, said, “Man! I’ve never seen a car throw out that much oil! We had that thing running while it was up on the rack; I thought I’d taken an oil shower.”

A bar of soap, several oil seals and six hundred dollars later, no more oil leak. No more oil on the garage floor, on the streets or in our ride buddy’s driveway. It was a good change. And besides, it was time for a new timing belt, anyway.

Even the most rugged of us need a bit of monitoring and maintenance over the years. Someone to see the things that we can’t see and to let us know what we need to know, even if we don’t necessarily want to know it. Sometimes, the very person who needs a spiritual overhaul is the only one in the neighborhood who doesn’t know it.

H. Arnett
4/14/10

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The Long Way Around

Posted on April 14, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The city of Highland, Kansas, has established a collection site for yard waste such as pruned branches, dead stems and other such things as show up in the aftermath of spring cleaning that includes shears and loppers. Having a pickup load of such offerings, I decided to make a contribution.

When I started down the hill at the east side of town last Friday, I remembered that the bridge is out. I remembered this because of the great big sign that states “Road Closed, Bridge Out” and because of the gaping space between the banks of the creek over which there used to be a bridge. With such harmony between sign and sight, I believed the message and turned around without feeling the need for further investigation or for experiential confirmation. There was no comfort in seeing the entrance to the collection site just a hundred yards beyond the creek.

Yesterday, having been duly informed of an alternate route, I subjected my freshly washed and hand-chamoised truck to two miles of rough and rutted gravel road and made my delayed contribution. (By the way, a pitchfork is a great way to transfer a truckload of branches and stems that includes a generous shearing of thorn-studded rose branches.) I swept out the remnants and returned to the college with thirty-five minutes left on my lunch hour.

Though there was now a light coating of dust, even on the inside of the truck, it was not there that the most dramatic change had occurred. The tire foam that I had used the night before to make my tires all bright and shiny turns out to be quite the dust magnet. Instead of whitewalls, I now have dirtwall tires.

Life’s little detours have their way of leaving their mark on things. We may someday bear a bit more of the markings of our journey than we would have preferred, but I doubt that we will much remember such souvenirs once we arrive at our destination.

H. Arnett
4/13/10

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The Long Way Around

Posted on April 13, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The city of Highland has established a collection site for yard waste such as pruned branches, dead stems and other such things as show up in the aftermath of spring cleaning that includes shears and loppers. Having a pickup load of such offerings, I decided to make a contribution.

When I started down the hill at the east side of town last Friday, I remembered that the bridge is out. I remembered this because of the great big sign that states “Road Closed, Bridge Out” and because of the gaping space between the banks of the creek over which there used to be a bridge. With such harmony between sign and sight, I believed the message and turned around without feeling the need for further investigation or for experiential confirmation. There was no comfort in seeing the entrance to the collection site just a hundred yards beyond the creek.

Yesterday, having been duly informed of an alternate route, I subjected my freshly washed and hand-chamoised truck to two miles of rough and rutted gravel road and made my delayed contribution. (By the way, a pitchfork is a great way to transfer a truckload of branches and stems that includes a generous shearing of thorn-studded rose branches.) I swept out the remnants and returned to the college with thirty-five minutes left on my lunch hour.

Though there was now a light coating of dust, even on the inside of the truck, it was not there that the most dramatic change had occurred. The foam that I had used the night before to make my tires all bright and shiny turns out to be quite the dust magnet. Instead of whitewalls, I now have dirtwall tires.

Life’s little detours have their way of leaving their mark on things. We may someday bear a bit more of the markings of our journey than we would have preferred, but I doubt that we will much remember such souvenirs once we arrive at our destination.

H. Arnett
4/13/10

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Bound to Glory

Posted on April 12, 2010 by Doc Arnett

Pear trees are blooming,
sending soft plumes of delicate odor into the air.
Soft husks of magnolia,
lavender and white,
drop, twirling, tumbling,
catching on spikes of grass in their passing,
mosaics beneath the trees.

Tiny leaves in shades between lemon and lime
yield to the time of their sprouting
beside the dark buds of maple
while redbuds splurge spring’s warm urgings,
along the hills and beneath the bluffs.

Hyacinth, daffodil and tulip
measure the cost of frost’s light nippings
while lilies erupt in dense clusters
of thick green blades.

Cottonwood, elm and willow
cast forth their own flourishing,
nourishing the eruption of this season,
so longed for in the deep ache
of winter’s hard freeze and long darkness.

This earth embraces its change
like sinners saved by a single name
and rising from cleansing waters,
full of shame and hope,
sensing promise and purpose
in their release from all other freedoms.

H. Arnett
4/12/10

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Subject to Change Without Notice

Posted on April 9, 2010 by Doc Arnett

There ought to be a warning label of some kind in this territory. Something that lets people know a bit ahead of time what they might be getting into if they decide to habitat such a place.

Those of darker impulses might choose something like, “Warning: Severe Climate Changes May Occur Without Notice.” Others, more accustomed to making lemonade out of life’s little twists, might opt for “Extreme Meteorological Variations Likely; Please Enjoy.” Whatever the wording, it just seems a bit unfair that folks could be unaware that they’re settling into a place where the temperature can change nearly fifty degrees in thirty-six hours.

That’s what happened here this week. On Tuesday afternoon, we recorded 84 degrees. On Thursday morning, the temperature was in the mid-thirties. Quite the change. But then, by last evening, we were back up in the sixties. And this morning, we are back down to the freezing point.

Simply put, this life does not bode well for those who cannot handle change. It can get downright aggravating. It would be good for us to live in such trust that we do not fear the furies of this world and its unexpected changes. Even then, we should not seek shelter under tall trees during thunderstorms.

Wisdom has its place, even in the life of faith.

H. Arnett
4/9/10

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Growing Panes

Posted on April 8, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The new windows in Irvin Hall made quite a difference this winter. It was quite the change having no more drafts pouring Arctic air into classrooms and offices. It’s also quieter. The better fit of the new windows combined with the noise reduction of double pane glass has cut back on the amount of ambient campus and street noise. That, too, is good. The only exception I have found thus far occurs on days of strong winds out of the south.

At certain wind speeds and direction, the southwest window of my office becomes rather vocal. Apparently, it can’t remember the words but it hums. Loudly. Actually, it’s more like a menacing moan than a cheery hum. Ominous, deep, mournful and angry.

I will not fully describe the physiological effects it had on me the first time it happened while I was deeply absorbed in a project but let’s just say it caught me rather off-guard. While focusing intently on data analysis, I did not expect a loud and sudden humming noise from the corner of an office in which I believed I was the only occupant. Fortunately, my heart quickly re-established a regular rhythm and there were no extensive bruises.

I suppose that a certain velocity of wind at a certain angle causes the window to vibrate in its frame. The resonation of window, track and jamb create a frequency that is definitely audible to the human ear. I do not wish to imagine the effect this unexpected phenomenon might have on an uninformed person alone late on a dark and stormy night. I know rather precisely what is going on yet even on a bright and windy day I find myself inclined to believe the building may be haunted. “It’s just a window vibrating,” I tell myself. Over and over again.

While it is true that ignorance almost always exaggerates fear, it sometimes takes more than knowledge to eliminate it. Ahh… faith.

H. Arnett
4/7/10

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Through the Smoke

Posted on April 5, 2010 by Doc Arnett

There are worse duties than needing to drive a two-hundred-and-forty mile loop through northeast Kansas on a beautiful spring day. That was the way I spent my day last Wednesday. With the temperature climbing toward eighty degrees, I drove past Hiawatha and turned south on US-75.

On the road banks and in the fields, the growing green of fescue heralded spring. The first, faint cast of coming leaves showed on the fringe of trees on the hills and along the streams. Straight flumes of smoke and steam rising from the stacks at the power center north of St. Mary’s testified to the stillness of the day.

From several miles away, I saw the smoke of the grass fire rising into the air a few miles east of Wamego. As I drove toward it from the side of the sun, it reflected white, hovering, gleaming in the sky. I drove on past it, continuing west to our branch campus at Wamego. As I turned into the parking lot, I looked back toward the east, saw the same smoke from a different view.

Its upper part had flattened into a mushroom shape. Though its edges still held white from the piercing of the sun, the rest was darker, shadowed. There was somehow the hint of menace in these darker tones.

In a world where even steam casts a shadow, there is nothing that does not hold some threat when it stands between us and the Son. It is always better to stand with him, even when we must walk through the fire in order to see beyond the smoke.

H. Arnett
4/5/10

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The Execution of Justice

Posted on April 5, 2010 by Doc Arnett

The Execution of Justice

It was for this that he came to earth,
conceived of God and woman,
born of flesh.

Trained from youth
to shape truth in the form of wooden beams,
shavings curled around his feet,
hands tough and sure,
knowing the cure for sin.

He walked stone paths,
stooped and wrote in the dust of human flesh.
Friend of leper and harlot,
often caught in the wickedness of doing good
on the Sabbath.

They flailed his flesh,
angry for his silence,
ripped patches of beard from his face,
taunted, mocked, spat upon him.

Kin and cousins of those he healed
yelled for execution,
heaped his blood upon their own heads
and the heads of their children.

He bled for them, too.
Forgiving in his dying
after the manner of his living.
Lifted them up
above the cross,
above the soul-stained soil,
above their own sin,

above justice
all the way
to the very Mercy Seat of Heaven.

H. Arnett
4/2//10

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