The Two Birthdays

Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin were born this day 200 years ago. I have lived 44 of my 58 years in five states which seceded. In the South historic memory is dogged by the shadow of Lincoln’s adamantine resolve. This is true for two reasons: 1) With the exceptions of Gettysburg and Antietam the ground war was fought on Southern soil. 2) We lost.

And it was better that we lost.

Nearly unanimous among Southerners is the conviction that we fought to preserve States’ Rights not slavery. I adopt the thesis myself. Only a small fraction of Southerners owned slaves. Sharecroppers were generously represented among my own ancestors. Our family were more in danger of becoming slaves themselves than of owning slaves.

Not that danger lay all in one direction.

It sounds callous to insist that one thing nearly as bad as being owned by another human being is to own another human being. But I do insist. We must measure comparative misfortune by considerations beyond the limit of our biological life. Once we are dead the proposition that those sinned against have the advantage over those who sin will have been validated. Those who enlist the Bible in support of slavery are theologically confused. The moral ruin visited upon the slave owner is too little commented upon. By this I mean sexual temptation. Thomas Jefferson was no anomaly. Many who were called Christians were guilty of the same offense.

Which brings me back to my contention that it was better to lose. It may be that the South would have turned toward Emancipation in time without a war. But by 1861 delay was unconscionable. Would that God had granted a Wilberforce to America. Whether ending slavery by 1865 was worth the cumulative agony of the killed, the maimed, and the bereaved only God can say.

Though my great-grandfather’s brother fell at Gettysburg I am grateful to Lincoln for more than preserving the Union, whatever his motives may have been.

For this I say Happy Birthday.

We live in a world shaped intellectually and practically by Charles Darwin. Darwin’s conclusions were part biology, part metaphysics, and part intuition. When students who are new believers ask about evolution I ask them to study two kinds of people: Real Christians who are evolutionists and real scientists who believe in Creation. Of the former there are many: In the latter category there are a few. I am neither. The word ‘Creationist’ is under assault. Soon, like the word ‘Fundamentalist’, it may be all but abandoned. Just as thoughtful Fundamentalists began to feel more comfortable calling themselves Evangelicals, so the Creationists seek shelter under the umbrella of Intelligent Design. I’m not quite ready to throw the word ‘Creationist’ overboard. One should never allow one’s ideological enemies to dictate the terms of self designation.

Though evolution within species is irrefutable, I do not believe that man is the latest product of an evolutionary process, nor do I believe that Adam had organic antecedents.

I end with something positive about Darwin. It is, after all, his 200th. By his tri-centennial I will have long moved in circles where his views are wholly discredited. So I take the opportunity while I have it.

I commend Charles Darwin for his missionary ardor and incessant labor. Darwin signed on as a ship’s naturalist on the Beagle at a time when surviving a long sea voyage was not a good bet. He remained on that ship for nearly five years (1831-1836). His findings (to my lay and non-scientific mind) were mischievously construed. But I give him this: He was passionate about discovery and declaration, and he prosecuted his task with vigor. In that he is a model for Christians.

And for that I say Happy Birthday.

Missions in the Russian Winter

I write from Kursk, Russia, eight hours south of Moscow. Kursk is the city which gave its name to the doomed submarine.
Russia overwhelms before it swallows. It is a place of vast expanses, pitiless weather, and an interminable trudging populace. It is February in the Russian winter.
Last night I visited one of the two American families in residence. It was my first trip out of doors since arriving Monday morning. This couple and their two children are five years into the experiment. They do not call themselves missionaries,but they are. Missionaries are my heroes. Little wonder that I try to imitate them. The wife is a math teacher fluent in French. The husband is a practitioner of the Ignatian exercises. I promise to tell you what that means once I learn myself.
I am accompanied by the blind genius Oleg Shevkun. He makes me a force in Russian. He spins gold from straw. Oleg is the best interpreter in Russia.His humor lights up the church. His voice graces the radio. Sadly, today he lost that voice. Our quarters are close. We make an eccentric household. Eccentricity is not an unfamiliar charge for me. Oleg is not entirely centric himself.
Oleg's voice will return tomorrow and we will begin again.
We are training pastors, women's leaders and students.
They are ravenous for God's Word and we try to help.
Vladimir Putin notwithstanding, Jesus is King over Russia.
He reigns from heaven above.
In fact Jesus is Lord over the whole universe.
How I love telling it out.
I grow old, but I am grateful.
It's cold outside.
But I don't care.