I just learned that Dr. Lawrence M. Clark left this world to be with his Savior a couple days ago.  It’s likely that you’ve never heard of Dr. Clark.  But there was hardly an African-American student that passed through NC State University in the 80s and 90s that did not know Dr. Clark.

He was an ambassador for African-American history and culture and a tireless champion/mentor for healthy respect and diversity on campus.  In the 80s and 90s, Dr. Clark used to host part of the orientation for incoming freshmen.  He pioneered this slide presentation (anybody remember slides?!) called, “Who Am I?”  It was a tour de force in African and African-American history.  In my days on campus, he was part of a dynamic twosome with Dr. Gus Witherspoon, who went to be with the Lord a few years back.  Together they were good cop (Clark) and bad cop (Witherspoon) in agitating for so many good causes.  When they did “Who Am I?” together it was as if you were transported centuries into the past and walked distant shores and sands of history.  They were fierce.

Students were often in Dr. Clark’s house eating up his food, listening to him regale them with history, stories, and jokes.  He was the favorite uncle or the slightly whacky grandpa, only with serious depth.  He could call you in his office and put you back in line, too.  I’ve received that call a couple times for being “out my natural born mind.”

And he was a brother in the Lord.  I didn’t respect that at the time–too radical, too angry, too blind, a Muslim.  But he witnessed patiently and prodded gently and never rejected me.  God, I owe so much to him.  He was a dear, dear man.

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, one of the best compliments you could have paid an African-American was to call him a “race man.”  It was simply a way of saying that he was committed to the advance and progress of African-Americans.  Such a man was an example of industry, intelligence, and insistence.  He was unimpeachable in character.  Dr. Clark would be among the last of the great “race men.”  He’ll be remembered and missed.  I pray for his four children, their families, and the extended family as they mourn such a great loss.

Weird. I mentioned a couple books in the posts on “celebrity pastors.” Then, a day later, I get this from Amazon.com:

Now that’s marketing prowess!  But I’m not sure I like having my browsing history so well monitored and then sent back as advertisement.  Next Kellog’s will figure out a way to read my mind as I stand in the cereal aisle trying to choose from the 1,000 boxes of cereal that will be my dinner when my wife’s out of town.  A guy can’t get any privacy

This week at Bible study, we meditated on 1 Corinthians 7:29-31 with its appeal to live in the “already” of this world with our affections, possessions, and relationships firmly rooted in the “not yet” of the world to come.  While discussing the passage we considered a number of rival eschatologies and end-time ethical positions.  That lead us to a brief discussion of a number of “prophecies” making their rounds in the Cayman Islands.  They’re the kind of vague doomsday “prophecies” that promise God is going to do something “really bad” if the Cayman Islands don’t repent.  The “prophecies,” quietly tacked onto church bulletin boards and other notice boards around the community, take particular interest in the pastors of the Cayman Islands.  As leaders of God’s people, we pastors must be the fulcrum of change, the tip of the spear piercing the enemy’s flesh.  Unless the pastors humble themselves and pray, the whole ship of the country is going down in plumes of smoke and raging flame.

Of course, the “prophetess” who writes these prophecies offers “proof” of her prophetic power.  After all, she made the same kind of prophecy “some time previous” to September 11, 2004.  Everyone living in the Cayman Islands knows what dread came over the island on that day as a category 5 hurricane named Ivan engulfed the country for hours.  Some people still shudder and weep when they think of the destruction of that hurricane, the way New Yorkers remember with horror the smoking, crashing towers.  Which, of course, means it’s not very difficult to manipulate people with such claims to “proof” of your “prophecies.”

But what of this claim?  Is it really proof?  Some people will quickly divide respondents into “believers” and “unbelievers.”  The “believers” put stock in the prophecy because “something bad” did happen.  The “unbelievers” either reject or at least remain skeptical of such claims.  After all, we live in the Caribbean–we have something called “hurricane season” which lasts about half the year.  Sooner or later, we were bound to get our share.  Whatever side one takes, sides have been taken.  The “prophet” has succeeded in rearranging the world along the axis of belief/unbelief in their vision of things.

Once the world gets rearranged according to belief or unbelief in the “prophesy,” the “prophet” has largely succeeded in binding the consciences of many persons.  The specter of either being for or against “a prophet” will be enough to make many people otherwise free in Christ hesitant to use that freedom.  The more ominous but vague the prophecy, the more sweeping the charge and condemnation of “pastors and leaders” without naming one, the more conscience-binding the “prophecy.”  People will be paralyzed in light of a new “word from God” which shackles them not to Christ but to a vague “law”.  They’ll constantly wonder, Can I do this thing or that thing?  Will this or that meet with God’s approval?  Did I just blow it with God for this sin or that sin?

How easily we forget God’s satisfaction with us through Jesus His Son.  How easily we’re brought into slavery by the strong words of weak positions.

But for the “prophetess,” it doesn’t really matter whether you believe or reject her “prophecy.”  You see, she/he wins either way.  If you agree with her then there’s validity for her ministry.  The small tribe of people with her face on their totem constitute the “faithful remnant” who do not bow to the baals.  They buy the T-shirts.  And, if you disagree with such a “prophet”, well… the louder, the more specific, and the higher up the disagreement the better for her.  Such disavowals only prove the corruption of the pastors and leaders of the country, makes her out to be a Deborah leading where the men of Israel would not, or a David facing Goliath with a slingshot, and… here’s the conundrum… serves for her as more “proof” validating her “prophecy.”  After all, why would everyone protest so loudly if I weren’t “hitting a nerve” or exposing a real problem? she asks.

How is it that whether you’re for or against the “prophecy” the “prophet” still walks away believing they’re correct?  In social psychology it’s called “confirmation bias.”  That’s where the researcher interprets all the data–positive and negative–as confirmation of his theory.  He’s not really reading the data; he’s simply fitting it into his preconceived notion of what “is.”  Take the classic psychology 101 example: Ice cream sales go up in the United States when snow fall reaches record levels in the Himalayas.  Imagine the savvy researcher who postulates that ice cream merchandisers do better in winter time because snowfall increases appetite for sales.  He reaches for the correlation data involving Himalaya snowfall and ice cream sales in the U.S.  Sure enough, the correlation is strong: More snow in the Himalayas means more chubby cone-licking children in the U.S.  Now he presses the correlation into causality–serious mistake as any college freshman will tell you.  But what does he do with sales figures that invalidate his theory?  Well, those become anomalies proving the rule.  The opposing data indicate some kind of market “blip,” and we can expect that the next big snowfall will produce greater demand for Cookies n Cream.  Nevermind the Himalayas are in an entirely different part of the world with a different seasonal pattern than the U.S.  ”Something happened there,” and that provides data that fits my theory.  There’s my proof, or fulfilled “prophecy” if you like!

Ever been in a discussion with someone where opposing them only “proves” their case?  I was once told I was “argumentative.”  I said, “No, I’m not.”  My friend said, “See!  I told you!”  Now, in my case, I am argumentative.  I fight the tendency with repentance and faith in God’s grace.  But what if I weren’t argumentative?  How do you win a discussion like that?

Issue a dissenting opinion and the fact that you dissent becomes “evidence” that the problem is really there.  It’s like asking a man, “How long have you been beating your wife?”  How can he answer satisfactorily.  The more he defends the guiltier he looks.  Simply asking the question puts the man under a poisonous cloud of suspicion and gets interpreted as “proof” of the “prophet’s” position.  The charge gets leveled, the dissenter gets smeared, and the wild-eyed “prophet” nods knowingly.  He “knew it all along.”  ”Why couldn’t everyone else see it?  They don’t see the world the way I do; they must be blind.  I keep trying to tell everyone there’s a problem.  When will they listen?”  So goes the song of self-congratulation.  The “prophet” never for a moment thinks he/she has the cataract.

Have you ever noticed that so many of the “prophets” and pundits of our day are Chicken Littles, announcing, “The sky is falling!  The sky is falling!”  You look up into the clear blue sky dotted with the puffy whites of clouds and ask, “Where?”  They say, “Everywhere!  I’m telling you the sky is falling everywhere!”  Then out trots the anecdotes and “evidence.”  They say: “Something fell on my head once.”  ”There was this guy once….”  ”I didn’t see what it was or where it came from, so it must’ve been the sky falling.”  The alarm is sounded, the people divided between believers in the falling sky and disbelievers, and every subsequent interaction interpreted to confirm the original opinion.  No one listens.  No one benefits from the “others.”  All now live under a cloud.  The fear of doom grows without one substantiated case of falling sky.

One day we’ll be walking in that field where Chicken Little once slept.  Under the clear blue sky, we’ll kick rocks as we stroll.  Then, an acorn will fall from the tree, hitting us in the head.  We’ll see that what was once heralded as an apocalyptic, life-ending event was little more than the acorn or two that fell.  Even the alarmist will be forced to revise their claims with more specific statements of the problem and its scope.  Then we’ll be able to do something specific to advance everyone’s benefit.

Until then, here are some questions for the “Chicken Little” evangelicals who see calamitous ruin under every rock:

1.  What were you doing when you first noticed the sky falling?

2.  In what state of mind were you?  Was there anything happening in your own life, like drowsily sleeping under a tree, that predisposed you to believing your theory apart from evidence?

3.  Can you point to anything specific and verifiable to substantiate your claims?

4.  Does your “prophesy” find concrete biblical support?

5.  Can you specify what the problem is, who the guilty parties are (if any), and what the biblical remedy might be?

6.  How do you interpret any evidence to the contrary?  Do such interpretations take the data in context and apply the data appropriately?

7.  When is the last time you changed your mind, admitting you were wrong?

Of course, one day the sky will fall, or rather, be burned up as in fervent heat.  But the One who tells us this future is no Henny Penny or Chicken Little.  He’s the One who made the sky and hung the stars and whose holy gaze will end this perishing world and bring the new age of His glory.  Until then, pay little attention to the evangelical Chicken Littles who are really but little chickens.

The odds are 1 in 576,000 that you will be struck by lightning.

The odds are 1 in 880,000 that you will date a supermodel.

The odds are 1 in 3,000,000 that you will see a UFO.

The odds are 1 in 14,000,000 that you will win a major lottery.

So, you’re more likely to get struck by lightning watching a UFO while on a date with a supermodel than you are to become a millionaire through the lottery.

Tell me again why anyone buys these tickets?

A little over a year ago, I was introduced to a Christian rap duo called Hazakim.  You can read a bit about their lyrics here.  They’re a promising young group.

Today, I learned that one of the members, Tony, has a rare and serious disorder with his esophagus.  He explains:

Some of you are aware of the medical issues I have been facing in recent months.  About 4 months ago I began having problems swallowing food & liquids.  The problem got progressively worse until I was unable to eat or drink nearly anything.  I finally went to the doctor and, after a number of tests, discovered that I have a rare esophagus disease called achalasia.  Essentially, the nerves of my esophagus, as well as the sphincter muscle which leads into my stomach, do not work to allow food to pass.  Because of this, I am unable to eat most things and am limited to a liquid diet consisting mainly of Ensure & vitamin drinks.  Pizza has never looked so good!

According to doctors, my case is severe and is complicated by inflammation which would make a balloon dilation of the muscle too risky…leading to a possible perforation of the esophagus.  In short, my only option is a complicated surgery to correct this condition.  In addition to the esophagus, doctors have found a cluster of enlarged lymph node on my left lung which they want to get biopsy samples of while I am in surgery for the achalasia.

Like many Americans I do not have medical insurance and thus am unable to have the needed surgery.  Meanwhile my weight continues to drop drastically.  Despite a constant intake of protein drinks, I have lost roughly 30 pounds in the past 3 months.  It may look “o.k.” now, but if my weight continues to drop, it could be hazardous.

And so I am reaching out to you, my brothers and sisters. I am literally looking at a couple thousand of dollars to get sufficient help for the present state of things. If each person could give $5 (or whatever you can), it would greatly help me to have the needed surgery & biopsy.  I appreciate the many of you who have already been praying for me and trust that the Lord will see me through this, for His glory.

Tony is one of some 50 million Americans without health insurance.  Forget all the Washington squabbles and punditry.  The simple fact is this: If you do not have health insurance and you get seriously ill, chances are you won’t get the care you need.  The Washington debates are important, but not nearly as important as real suffering.

We probably can’t fix the health insurance mess any time soon.  But we can help Tony and people like him with as little as a $5 contribution or more.  If you’d like to do so, you can read the entire appeal and learn how you can contribute here.  And please pray for those you know who are in need like Tony.

I used to collect comic books (if I bought one six months ago does that still count as “used to collect”?).  When I was a boy, there was an ol’ school pharmacy two blocks from my house.  It had the whole pharmacy/ice cream counter operation down pat.  Just inside the pharmacy was the rack of Marvel Comics.

I remember the day I discovered Power Man and Iron Fist.  I couldn’t believe what I was holding!  In those classic, somewhat washed out primary colors of comics of the time… there stood a Black superhero!  And my man could punch through anything!  Of course, he had anger issues–but, honestly, I didn’t know many brothers who didn’t–self included.  Luke Cage (just screams mixed martial arts, doesn’t it?) rocked an airfro, head band, and a heavy chain as a belt.  It was like he never left the 60s, and I was hooked!

During those years, I also enjoyed Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and, later, X-Men.  So, one would think that recent years’ production of full-length films reviving these comic superheroes for another generation might be a great joy for me.  But, honestly, I’d have to say they’ve all thus far been colossal flops (I haven’t seen Captain America yet).

There’s one reason really.  All the heroes are essentially adolescent, irresponsible, and immoral.  There’s no “hero” in them.  They barely manage to be courageous, and out of costume most are essentially over-sexed mysogynists.

I realize that good literature refuses to keep everything nice and tidy, good kept to one side and evil to the other.  In great literature, tragic realities and horrific pasts give sometimes dark motivations to the noble hero.  And occasionally, even the villain has a streak of good running through them.

But to a one, these films have all disappointed me in their failure to depict any significant virtue.  Iron Man disappoints most of all.  I had hoped that between the first and second films, Stark would mature, be less materialistic, more considerate of life, and would learn to honor women.  What can I say?  He flat out failed.  There was nothing likable about him.  There was no reason to cheer for him other than the fact that his father’s former partner was a worse rat in some ways (and that only because we still hate betrayal more than we do materialism and philandering).  The rich philanderer is supposed to be cool.  The backstabber is a beast.  Stark/Iron Man could only look good standing next to a nemesis with no redeeming qualities.  We couldn’t even like him for incremental growth made between films.

Don’t even get me started on The Green Hornet.  The gratuitous profanity and the constant sexual innuendo reduced the “superhero” to an idiot frat boy.  It seems to writers were aiming for a little slap stick and classic batman corniness, but they missed horribly.  I think I laughed once during the film, and I was the only family member who would endure beyond the opening five minutes.  Justice, a classic theme, supposedly motivated these superheroes.  But their antics had nothing to do with justice.  Instead “justice” became the rouse for self- and celebrity-seeking antics.  The so-called heroes had no real integrity or character.  Again, they could not be cheered for as much as the “bad guys” were cheered against.  I pray no sequel gets made.

Thor managed to avoid the profanity and the in-your-face sexual antics and innuendos.  However, the execution of the “spoiled, privileged son taught a hard lesson to become a real hero” storyline left a lot to be desired.  In the end, Thor’s sacrifice ennobled and illustrated true love as he fought to save his father, his planet, and his evil brother by denying himself a chance at true love.  Compared to Iron Man and Green Hornet, Thor made the most moral progress.   We weren’t left with the sense that he truly wrestled with his own demons.  As a character, he simply took a giant step from self-absorbed, arrogant, violent prince to self-sacrificing, humble, peace-loving king.  But at least we could see genuine sacrifice demonstrated.

Wolverine was the only decent flick of the genre.  It was one fight scene after another.  Okay… I liked that.  And we came to understand where his anger issues came from–a psycho brother, a mercenary life replete with haunting ghosts, a brutally killed wife, and a host of clandestine government officials after his head.  He’s got issues because he’s got enemies.  He’s fueled by rage and revenge.  He’s the anti-superhero in so many ways, and that’s what ironically makes him a great superhero.  We get Wolverine and the movie makers did us a favor by putting him on the screen.

I can’t let my son, Titus, watch any of these films.  That’s sad given that the comic book characters the films pirate would have been easily digested by children.  And I’m wondering which of these heroes would be honorable mythic figures for my daughters to admire.  Most of the female roles in these films can be summed up with “Ooh, look at those abs!” and “Wow, you’re so wealthy and your car goes really fast” banality.  When can we have a solid super heroine on the big screen?  Soon please!

Most of these films assassinate the heroes.  Insofar as these movies replace that feeling of visiting the drug store to get a soda and check for the next comic installment, I shudder to think my son might ever visit the local video stores with hopes of purchasing/renting the latest Marvel comics-based movie.  He won’t be standing in wide-eyed wonder at the virtue and power of the protagonists.  He’ll be induced to a fuller display of depravity and indwelling sin.

These movies aren’t worth the buttered popcorn or the Blockbuster late charges.  Save your money.  Or better yet, buy the vintage comics themselves.

I remember when I first heard Gil Scott-Heron’s “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” I was an angry, militant, wanna-be revolutionary studying psychology at a large predominantly-white university. Life was full of all the “racial” contradictions and angst that young, “conscious” ethnic people feel. We were planning another campus protest or perhaps just having one of our all night study sessions, listening to black revolutionaries before us (perhaps Malcolm X tapes or maybe something more recent from an aging Kwame Toure, a.k.a. Stokely Carmichael). Somebody asked if we’d heard this song “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” I hadn’t, which of course meant I was in need of cultural education. That’s how we always made people feel when they didn’t know some fact or bit of trivia or culture that we knew. Soon, I’d be playing the track for my friends making them feel all kinds of inferiority in the presence of such a cultural and revolutionary titan (again, we weren’t so culturally aware as to recognize all the cultural genealogy of terms we might use; if I had, I surely would have denounced the Titans as a projection of white male superiority and imperial greed; but as it was, I became a black one ridiculing my culturally unaware friends).

It was probably about the third or fourth person I played it for, an older man who was a member of the Nation of Islam, who smiled in the most condescending “you young boys don’t know nuthin’” kinda way as he said, “Oh, you’ve heard some Gil Scott-Heron.” I hadn’t even paused to consider that the artist had a name! Young and dumb.

Thus was my introduction to Gil Scott-Heron, a man regarded as a pioneer of spoken word and of rap music. The song became something of an anthem. Among us college radicals it was a shorthand rebuke to those who seemed to be unaware of the revolution and the necessity of black consciousness.

However, the fire that had singed and burned participants in the 1960s revolutions was smoldering ash and gray smoke by the late 80s. It’s hard to fight a revolution when black men are running for president (not Obama, Jackson) and the number one sitcom is The Cosby Show, with its wonderful portrayal of Black middle class life. People look at you like, “What revolution? You better study, fool. I’m trying to get a job at IBM.”

And, like most campus “revolutions,” our un-televised version consisted of classes by day (mostly), a few campus protests for cultural centers and the like, a handful of juvenile op-eds in the campus newspaper, and trying to bounce while looking angry at the next Greek-lettered organization’s step show and after party. Then we graduated (most of us) and tried to get jobs at Apple (after all, IBM was still too much “the man’s” computer company). Some continue their revolutionary ways, still buying angry spoken word and hip hop cds, wearing red, black and green, perhaps going natural with dreads and braids, splashing on homemade oils, even getting a few theology degrees and making stuff up, and once in a while buying a bean pie or two. Man! I wish I had a bean pie right about now!

NPR has a short story on Scott-Heron here. Here’s “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” Warning: The Lord’s name is used in vain in one line.

Best iPad App: March Madness on Demand.

I missed the entire tournament last year while traveling in South Africa.  My loving wife found this app for me.  Been enjoying the games thus far.

Speaking of my wife and March Madness… would you believe she picked Morehead State to beat Louisville in the first round?!  A prophetess I tell you!

From the Huffington Post:

If some of your fondest memories include road-tripping across the U.S. while flipping cassette after cassette of your favorite tunes, the next sentence will make you very sad.

According to the New York Times, new cars will no longer come with a pre-installed tape deck.

If you’re saying, “What’s a tape deck?”, keep eating your Fruity Pebbles cereal while us mature folks go all nostalgic.  Flipping the tape… and pressing the rewind button… arguing over A-side and B-side tracks… used to define “listening pleasure” and driving.  The “skip” feature for cassettes was the technological innovation of the age!  And the most maniacal, quit-while-you’re-ahead, it-ain’t-gonna-work-but-I-gotta-try operation of all… trying to respool a cassette when the tape had gotten twisted and jammed.  It’s a minor engineering feat just to get fingers the size of mine into that little hole to twist the tape back in place again.  No more dubs.  No more discovering that old tape you used to love hidden beneath the seat in a cracked and worn plastic case, perhaps browning from use and age.  Or, if you do find it, no more playing it.  Build your own museum or monument or temple of remembrance.  The tape deck is dead.

My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. (James 1:19-20)

A wise old owl lived in an oak.
The more he saw, the less he spoke;
The less he spoke, the more he heard;
Why can’t we all be like that old bird?