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Fine Prints: March, 2006 Acts of God or Amazing Events March 4 We're All Story Writers March 11 The Sins of the Fathers March 18 KentuckyFriedCruelty.com March 25
First, my confession: I suffer from a severe case of philology. I love words. Words are beautiful—though they can be ugly too. But when you’re trying to get a point across, and you find just the right word, which says neither more nor less than you want to convey, it’s a joy indeed. The problem with words is that they often carry several shades of meaning. So what meaning did the speaker/writer have in mind? That’s why it’s so wonderful to find a word that conveys a precise and unambiguous message. But it happens so rarely that it’s nearly a miracle when it does. Ah, now there’s a word—miracle—that suffers from ambiguity. So much so that I’d recommend severe limitations on its use. According to a quick search on the internet—now there’s a miracle for you!—the word may mean: "1. act of God: an event that appears to be contrary to the laws of nature and is regarded as an act of God. 2. amazing event: an event or action that is amazing, extraordinary, or unexpected. . . ." A few years ago the son of a well-known media preacher was crushed in a work accident and died a few hours later. In a report of the death mailed to the media ministry’s supporters, the preacher described the events, noting that it was a "miracle" that his son lived until he arrived at the hospital. I get the feeling that a lot of writers/speakers routinely use the term miracle simply to mean "amazing." Unfortunately, however, for a lot of readers/listeners the first definition—an act of God—is their only definition, particularly if the word is used in a spiritual context. Which leads to the question: Why would God supernaturally keep the injured man alive just long enough to get to the hospital? If God was going to work a miracle, why not go all the way, bringing about full recovery? Accounts of alleged miracles provide hope and confidence for many. But they also highlight the grim reality that no miracles are occurring in huge numbers of cases where they’re desperately needed. Back in a journalism class I took at the University of Maryland, the teacher addressed the matter of labeling things as "a miracle" when doing news reporting. His answer was simple: Don’t do it. Never. It always weakens your story. Instead, he said, just tell the story. Highlight the improbability by simply sharing the unembellished facts. Then let the reader/listener, on the basis of what has been described, exclaim, "Now that was a miracle!" The teacher went on to say that not interpreting the data achieves a number of things: First, it ensures that nonbelievers won’t feel that an interpretation to which they don’t subscribe is being crammed down their throats. Second, it’s a compliment, indicating the writer/speaker’s belief that the reader/listener is capable of arriving at a valid conclusion and doesn’t need pre-interpretation. And, third, it gives the listener the pleasure of drawing his or her own conclusions, allowing for a "Eureka!" moment. I think the teacher’s approach has great merit. But it will be a miracle if it ever becomes widespread. Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor (Previously printed Fine Prints are posted on the church’s website www.markhamwoodschurch.org.)
[The following is excerpted from the Shabbat Letter sent by Rabbi Rick Sherwin and his wife, Elissa, to the members of Congregation Beth Am.] Our son Josh called from New York to let us know that he
met with Dr. Neil Gillman, a prominent theologian at the Jewish
Theological Seminary. During the course of conversation, Dr. Gillman
shared with Josh some insights about "Rick," who was a rabbinical
student in the same school three decades ago. To be sure, our son heard
stories his father might have forgotten. "When your mother was a teenager, she would. . ." "When I was your father’s teacher many years ago. " I remember one day when your mom. . ." "You would never guess what your dad once. . ." All we can do is hope that the stories won’t cause pain or needless embarrassment. Our hope is that people are sensitive as to which stories they choose to share, and that the individuals hearing the stories respond with a smile. Sometimes the stories are true as they’re told. And sometimes they’re shadowed by perspective. More often than not, our children and grandchildren hear stories about us without a context. If the story isn’t complimentary, it’s futile to cast aspersions on the speaker. Sometimes the most effective response is to say nothing. Or to respond, "Interesting perspective." It’s healthy to say, "There’s more to the story." Or to respond, "It’s a good thing I’ve grown since then." Healthiest of all, perhaps, is to learn to laugh at ourselves. While we’re aware that we need to act as models for our children and grandchildren, we’re generally not immediately cognizant of the impact our actions will have on the next generation. Would we act differently if we knew that–in a very real way–our unborn children will be influenced by the stories they hear? Would we act differently if we knew that our unborn grandchildren would learn more about us than we could imagine? Just as a pebble dropped into a calm pond sends ever-widening ripples through the water, so our actions send ripples through the generations. Every Jewish baby is brought into the Covenant of Abraham and Sara with the title of a Hebrew name. At the naming ceremony for the boy or girl–at home or in the synagogue–it’s customary to recite a prayer and to present a certificate with the child’s names in Hebrew and English. At Beth Am, we present a certificate that includes both the prayer and the stories behind the names chosen for the child. We ask parents to share with us their memories of the child’s namesake relatives and friends. Quite often, they ask grandparents to share stories. We marvel at the stories of great-grandmothers who went to college when most women chose to stay at home. Or of grandfathers who handed out candy to give children a sweet taste of Shabbat. We hear stories about brothers who once played hide-and-seek. And sisters who loved to skip. It’s inspiring when parents share with their children stories about uncles’ love and insight and aunts’ laughter and sweetness. As strange as it might sound, our unborn children and grandchildren are watching us, and they’ll learn from us. It’s best that we’re aware of the stories we’re writing in our daily lives–for these are the stories that will be told.
Several years ago while flying from Auckland to Sydney I happened to sit beside an exceptionally extroverted Brit. "Let me tell you a story," he said after a lively conversation in which we’d addressed a variety of topics. "I was born in London in the early ’30s, so I was about 10 when the Germans started their bombing blitz during World War II. And let me tell you, it wreaked havoc. People died, for sure. But the biggest problem was the perpetual fear and anxiety and the constant disruption. We really suffered. "Naturally," he continued, "I cursed the Germans every time we headed for a bomb shelter. And I cursed the Germans when we ventured out to help clean up after each attack. And when the war was over, I still cursed the Germans. The very thought of what that madman Hitler had done to the British made me seethe. It still does. "Well, in the late 1950s the company I worked for expanded its market to include the continent. We hired a German to oversee our European sales division. He was a nice bloke—but he was German. "I knew that he wasn’t the one who’d bombed us—that we’d both been mere children during the war. But his German accent and his Aryan looks left me ill at ease. It took my fellow employees and me a long time to warm up to him. But eventually we did. "At our company Christmas party a few years after he’d arrived—when we were all a little mellow from the drinks—we started telling stories from our growing-up years. Some of the revelations were quite personal. I guess the German had come to feel safe with us, because he said, ‘I knew Hitler personally.’ "Talk about grabbing attention! Then he went on to tell us that his father, an SS officer, was one of Hitler’s bodyguards. On several occasions, he said, he had gone with his parents to events for high-ups in the Third Reich. He described how he had sat on Hitler’s lap and how the Fuhrer had joked with him and tousled his hair and told him stories. "That did it for me," the Brit said, his breathing noticeably faster just from reliving the tale. "The image of that young bloke actually sitting on Adolf Hitler’s lap loomed so big in mind that I couldn’t get over it—try as I might. "I avoided the German like the plague from that day onward. And I wasn’t alone. I think that’s why he left the company a few months later. None of us could handle what he’d told us—even though, intellectually, we knew he was just a child when it happened." As we prepared to land in Sydney, I thought about my seatmate’s story. Because of Hitler’s actions, a lot of British came to hate Germans. Because of that hatred, a German who had nothing to do with Hitler’s crimes, was mistreated. Odds are, he told his children. Who in turn . . . And so it continues. When the Bible writers said that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children, they knew exactly what they were talking about. Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
Years ago I wrote an editorial for the Adventist Review titled "Against Sin or For Righteousness?" I contended that too many people find their identity in what they aren’t rather than in what they are. I was reminded of this human foible recently while reading about a young animal-rights activist in New York. To show just how upset he is by the practices of Kentucky Fried Chicken, he had his named legally changed—from Chris Garnett to KentuckyFriedCruelty.com. Much as I admire Chris’s—excuse me, KentuckyFriedCruelty.com’s—commitment to animal rights, I think he made a mistake when he changed his name. First, his new name is too narrowly specific. While I can’t argue against his accusations about what KFC’s product goes through in transit from live animal, to dead animal, to retail commodity, to someone’s dinner, I’m not sure that it’s any worse than, say, what Arby’s product goes through. So why not choose a more universal name? Second, if he feels he represents a righteous cause, wouldn’t it be better to put a description of the cause into his name rather than to play on the name of but one of many miscreants? Third, what would he do if his advocacy were ever successful? What if Kentucky Fried Chicken responded to Mr. KentuckyFriedCruelty.com’s preaching the way the citizens of Nineveh responded to Jonah? What if KFC teamed up with Worthington Foods and KFC came to stand for Kentucky Fri-Chik? What if the only animal cruelty was the occasional accidental grasshopper death during the harvesting of the soybeans? Granted, such a scenario may be a little far-fetched. However, a few years ago I would never have believed that one day I’d be able to get a vegeburger at Burger King. And I’m sure Jonah never expected 100 percent of his listeners in Nineveh to get religion. So it’s wise to be prepared for all eventualities. Speaking of religion, we’ve at times gotten it right, and at times gotten it wrong when it comes to names. For example, I prefer the name Baptist to Non-Sprinkler. I commend them for identifying themselves for what they are, not what they aren’t. On the other hand, I think the term "Protestant" is negatively derived. Instead of calling ourselves Adamant Bible Adherents, we somehow acquired and hung on to a label that made us look like mere spoilers. Protesters. I think we have a lot more to offer than that. As Adventists, we’ve too often derived too much of our identity from what we don’t do instead of from what we do. We don’t eat what the Bible has defined as unclean meat. Many don’t eat flesh food at all. We don’t drink. We don’t smoke. We don’t use recreational drugs. We don’t . . . As Baby Boomer Adventists know firsthand, the list can get mighty long. But if we like the negative-identity approach, I’m sure we can add a few more things we’re against—like human consumption of rat poison, sleeping on railroad tracks and using arsenic as a condiment. Or it might be more positive just to say that our goal is to experience the "abundant life" that Jesus came to give. Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
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