Who doesn’t like homemade stuff? From the stick figure drawings that decorate our fridges to the knitted mittens and crocheted tablecloths our grandmas give us for Christmas. Almost never flawless, these items are still of far more value to us than their often prettier or more stylish counterparts in stores across the country. I myself have often received gifts (mostly from little siblings) of three-inch scarves barely long enough to warm my big toe, hats with either the head-hole sewn shut or both ends gaping open like craters (these last DO make nice neckwarmers…a proposition usually greeted by the maker with smiles and declarations of “See, that’s exactly what I made it for. I thought it would work better that way. Bet you thought it was a hat didn’t you? Haha.”) Of course I have always loved and cherished these gifts, evidences of the time and care my siblings have lavished upon me. I have no problem with that at all.

But when we grow up are we not to put away childish things? In our country of instant gratification, Walmarts, shopping malls, internet and factories, it is far too common that adults can do no better than those adorably useless trinkets we smiled at from kids. It’s not quite as cute when you receive from adults two-foot table-cloths that you have to graciously pretend were meant to be placemats, or lopsided curtains that you cringe to see adorning your windows but would offend the gift-giver to take down.

Handmade gifts are great, but we really ought to learn how to make them. We’ve all seen the intricately complicated masterpieces of lace or yarn that have been passed as heirlooms through generations gracing tables with their swirls and families with their histories. Most of us can agree that homemade gifts can be more meaningful than store bought ones, but we should make the effort to see that they are useful and practical too. As I said previously, I am as much at fault as the next person. I’m horrible at knitting, crocheting, sewing and most of these other lost arts. And I’m ashamed of that fact.

So here’s to all those moms and grandmas who love arts and crafts, and here’s one more person that wants to join the group. I don’t want to merely pass on heirlooms. I want to start some of my own. Find some needles, dig up some patterns, let’s graduate from the realm of headless hats and neckless sweaters.

Like most other arts it will take time and practice, but it can be done. And this doesn’t just apply to knitting and sewing…there are tons of arts that are being swallowed up in this demanding commercialized culture. Cooking, canning, drawing, painting, writing, journaling, or making music to name a few. And men (if you’re still here) some of these work for you too and I’m sure there are other things that apply to you as well…wood carving for instance. Put those knives to some use.

Today’s topic – danger. A rather incongruous subject to my present state of safety and repose, but one is always more disposed to discuss dangerous things in security than when actually in danger. And why not? It is danger that makes safety so delightful and terrifying things that make simplicity and mundaneness so enjoyable. Only those who have never experienced danger can be bored by everyday life. And only those who delight in the everydayness of life can truly be ready for danger when it comes. The reason for this, of course, is love.

The person who is content and happy with life, enjoying mundane things and delighting in pure simplicity has a reason to fight. Better a farmer with a pitchfork fighting for what he loves, than a rigorously trained, hardened warrior that doesn’t care. That farmer fights because he loves his chores, his work, his animals, his mundane routines, his sweat, his dirt, his family. He fights because he wants to wake up early in the morning, watch the sun rising to caress his land with a glorious red glow, feed his animals and hear their contented chewing, he wants to scratch a pig’s bristled back and smell freshly cut hay, he wants to revel in the first moments of a newly born lamb and watch the baby horse taking its first steps, he wants to tickle his daughters, chase them around the barn, see their eyes sparkle, their giggles startle the horses, and straws of hay get lost in their curls, he wants to kiss his wife every morning, growing old with her, he wants to see his God in every blade of grass, in every drop of dew, and praise Him for sun, rain, joy, sorrow, laughter, and tears. He wants life with all its tiny, unimpressive feats and everyday miracles. He doesn’t seek out danger, but when danger comes he will meet it head-on, plunge into it with fear, but without a backward glance, because he loves.

The other man has become tired of life, mundaneness irritates him, simplicity bores him, he has no time, but all the time in the world. He fills his life with emptiness, surrounds himself with complexity to hide his loneliness, plunges into activity to mask his idleness. He has lost his curiosity, lost his imagination, lost his love…he seeks danger because he has lost his desire to live.

That farmer, if he loses his life to danger, gives it willingly for love. If he conquers the danger he praises God and comes joyfully back to his mundane life. The other man, if he loses his life, has given it willingly because it bored him. He sacrifices it because he is tired of it. That farmer offers his life back to God saying “thanks for the ride, it was a good one.” The other man shoves his life in God’s face saying “thanks for nothing, take this back, I don’t want it anymore.” If he comes through danger with his life, he is disappointed, the home-coming is anti-climactic and he is already seeking another drink, another draught of danger. In the words of G. K. Chesterton “A martyr is a man who cares so much for something outside him, that he forgets his own personal life. A suicide is a man who cares so little for anything outside him, that he wants to see the last of everything.”

Danger gives spice to life, it makes life worth living. But danger is also…well…dangerous. Let us not be so eager for danger that we forget to enjoy mundane life, and let us not cling so tightly to life that we are unwilling to face danger for its sake.

This last week at CRF, Mr. Ben Merkle spoke on evangelism, specifically, on being immersed in the Word and in prayer thus preparing yourself to meet anyone with an answer for the hope within you. As homework he asked us to write a page or so in answer to that question. Essentially a testimony, or an explanation of why you are the way you are. It was an interesting assignment to complete and definitely made me think. For those of you interested, here is what I said:

First of all, I am created. I do not believe that I am the product of random chance, the vomitous effusion of primordial ooze. By merely observing the world around me I am convinced that there is a God, a Supreme Being by whom the universe was created. By seeing the beauty of this creation I know that He is fundamentally a good God. By reading the Scriptures I recognize that I am a special creation, endowed with the image of God Himself, able to reason, think and understand. I also realize that I am powerless, but that He is all powerful, controlling and knowing all things.

Secondly I am a sinner. There is evil in the world. I know that there is a moral standard since we are not just passive beings, but have consciences and feelings. Even atheists cannot consistently claim a neutral standard of behavior. Being made in the image of God we have, set in our very being, a perception of right and wrong. Knowing this, I am able to see that I do not measure up, that I am constantly doing that which is wrong. The Bible gives us the account of the Fall, in which Adam, the first human, turned away from God introducing sin into the world tainting all of creation and consequently all of his posterity. This is why there is misery in the world. This is why people die. The punishment for this sin is death and eternal separation from God.

Thirdly, I know that God is merciful in redeeming his sinful creation. He promised Adam that He would one day send a Savior to take away the punishment for our sin, bringing us back into fellowship with God. Thus, 4,000 years later, a baby was born to a virgin. Defying the laws of nature, this baby was God Himself incarnate in human flesh. He took on human form that he might be a fitting scape-goat to bear our punishments. Coming into our corrupt world, he lived without corruption. At the right time he was lifted up on a cross, cruelly murdered by hateful men. Three days later, according to His promise, He was resurrected from the dead, defying sin and death for ever and bringing with Him into new life all those who believed His promises and trusted Him for redemption. Thus I, having acknowledged my own sinfulness and need for renewal have trusted Him to bear my punishment for me and raise me up with Him to fellowship with God and free me from the power of sin.

Lastly, having received the great gift of His love and having been washed from sin by His righteous death and resurrection, out of thankfulness and reciprocal love towards Him, I am compelled to live righteously, seeking to put away the remaining vestiges of sin, and being renewed to a perfect likeness of Him in whose image I was made. I also am compelled to spread the good news of this redemption, telling others of the hope found in Christ, the Savior of the World. By my actions and by my words I seek to glorify Him, loving Him and loving mankind who, with me, were made in His image. My life and purpose are thus oriented by my thankfulness and love to a good, merciful and loving God. He loves me and therefore do I love Him. I no longer fear death because Christ defeated death and I through Him. I know that when I die, I shall be raised up, perfected in the image of God, to fellowship with Him forever, and with all believers. For this day I am waiting, seeking in the meantime to live according to His righteous standards, yearning to learn and know more about Him, observing and appreciating His wonderful character as evidenced in the beauty of Creation.

Is this what we want the world to think of our Christianity? Do we want people to see us as a cheesy, fuzzy, group of people “keeping it real with Jesus?” Should our music portray a sappy, over-baked “Jesus is my boyfriend” style or shouldn’t we rather portray what Christianity really is, the blood of Christ, the raging struggle of spirit against flesh, flesh against spirit, the persecution, the wrath of God, the (not sappy, not cheesy, but overpowering) love of Jesus when we were unlovable, wallowing in blood, sin and misery, the burden lifted from our shoulders by His sacrifice, the battle that He calls us to join, our victory against the power of Satan forever…now there’s something to sing about.

A lot of Christians would argue with me and say that using that kind of language doesn’t win people to Christ. If they hear about the bloody, gory, humiliating, overwhelming and rather harsh story of the Bible they will be repulsed. Therefore we should give them a mushy, half-hearted depiction of Jesus as a meek, Bambi-eyed, white-robed figure, trying to relate to people, begging them to just hold hands with Him, sway back and forth a little, throw a pine-cone in the fire, slip up their hand…? I think not.

People are desperate. People are miserable. People are wallowing in blood and tears waiting, searching for someone brave enough to make war on the misery of the world, someone strong enough to turn the world right side up, someone they can admire, love and fear. Someone awesome. They’re not ready to put the world in the hands of plastic, hippie-Jesus, but perhaps they would place the universe in the hands of the bloody but triumphant Son of God, one who has faced death and spat in it’s face, one who has crushed the head of sin and misery and sent it howling with it’s tail between it’s legs, one who is so beautiful, so holy, so awesome, so glorious we cannot look at Him without falling on our faces, one who loves us in our dirt and invites us in to eat at His table. This is what the world is looking for. Perhaps it’s time to start portraying our story in our music.  If we’re going to make “Christian” songs, let’s at least do it right.

Thoughts on this subject have been mulling around for some while in the deep recesses of my brain, but they really came to a head this weekend. I was up in Moscow visiting my brother hanging out in Bucer’s (of course) and I got in to a discussion with Matthew’s roommate, friend, and Austen-lover Isaac Madsen. Through the course of the discussion he pointed out how much he disliked authors like Charles Dickens and Elizabeth Gaskell, but loved Jane Austen. Perhaps his reasons for disliking them are different than mine, but I know that I have always enjoyed Austen better as well. (I don’t as strongly dislike Dickens though, and I actually enjoy Gaskell). In my opinion, the greatest difference is one of flavor.

Dickens and Gaskell (to a lesser degree) flavor their works with tragedy, sorrow, pain, suffering, despair and overall bleakness. Austen, while tinting her pieces with hints of grief, really has a much more positive and upbeat view of life to the point of possibly bordering on the sentimental. Sentimentalism is something which I have come to strongly dislike. Whether it be manifested in the flowery artwork of Thomas Kinkade or the cheesy WWJD bracelets I just can’t stand it.

Here, I think is Austen’s pitfall. She tends to write in a rather fanciful style. Pleasant, enjoyable, romantic, sweet? Yes. Realistic? Not so much. I do not mean to discredit her as a writer and I fully admit to being a Jane Austen fan. BUT, I can get too much of her. I can overdose on her dream-like fairy tales. When the characters have to face no worse tragedy than being uninvited to a ball, being snubbed by the prideful rich, being forced to endure the ridiculous proposals of men they do not love…what is there to relate to? Granted there are occasionally real difficulties to overcome, but nonetheless, one cannot help feeling there is something lacking to her “reality.” Every once in a while, one can enjoy getting away from the mundane routines of life, forget the petty trials of the day and immerse oneself in the romantic world of Jane Austen, but it is not without fault (despite what Isaac may say).

However, back to the original subject: why is Austen better than Charles Dickens? Dickens tends to fall into the other ditch…and not just a little bit. He plunges whole-heartedly, almost gleefully into misery and despair. He delights to portray the lowest strata of life in their worst garments. He paints characters in such bleakness and sorrow as to destroy any fanciful notion of hope remaining in his poor reader. Is this just? To be sure, the world is a fallen place and it has it’s share of tragedy, sin and darkness, but such despairing and tragic stories are not what I consider pleasure reading. I will admit to Dickens having his moments of light, just as Austen had her flashes of reality. I can honestly say that I enjoy “A Christmas Carol” and some parts of his other works, but on the whole, one cannot help feeling oppressed and depressed by the gloom which characterizes the greater part of his books.

All this to say, Austen is a phenomenal writer, but with a tendency to slight sentimentalism, which in too large a dose can be overbearing. Dickens, probably a good enough writer in his own way, is too much gloom, depression and darkness to be seriously healthy reading. So, is there a middle ground?

In my own opinion, Les Miserables by Victor Hugo is an excellent example of reality mixed with romanticism, despair and tragedy mingled with hope, goodness and beauty. Elizabeth Gaskell is far nearer this medium than Dickens, especially in her excellent book Wives and Daughters. Austen is only slightly misplaced and there are many other authors who strike a good balance.

The purpose of this post is not to tell you not to read certain books or to read other ones, but really, my point is that to be a really good work of art (in any sense of the word; book, painting, etc) there must be an expression of sadness, sin and evil…otherwise the observer has nothing to relate to. But there must also be an element of hope and redemption which Dickens missed in so much of his work. This is necessary to the good piece of art work, because it tells our story to us. It does not deny sin and suffering, but declares to a fallen world that there is hope. Even a picture or a book with no intentional Christian message, by portraying this dichotomy of sin and redemption, paints the gospel story with more clarity than a Precious Moments “love your neighbor” scene or a plastic Jesus nightlight.