The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave

A chapter is closing: the past eight years have seen the Presidency of George W. Bush. He took office just a few months before I began highschool; the terrorist attacks of September 11 happened in the second month of my freshman year; two wars have come and gone, although our troops have remained overseas. I am now 21 years old, and half-way through my junior year in college. Eight years have changed our nation and our world; but it has also shaped my world view. September 11 awakened my love of country, my desire to oppose wrong, and the compassion to aid the victims of this violence and hatred. My teen years were dominated by those images of two burning towers crumbling, of human beings falling like rag dolls to their deaths, of people dancing with joy in the streets around the world after hearing of the carnage, this atrocity on American soil. They call us the Great Satan because of our immorality; yet though I weep at the national mistakes we have made, I still love America because right or wrong, she is still my country. Though I do not agree with all the politics of this nation, I will give all I have, including my life, to ensure that hatred does not prevail, that when our nation suffers, the world does not celebrate, and that the United States can once more be a beacon of freedom to the world.
We are facing four years of change: the first term of the presidency of Barack Obama. Am I confident in his abilities? Not really. I did not vote for Senator Obama, nor do I agree with his politics; however, for better or for worse, he is the man for this time. He has been chosen by a free nation to lead us through the next four years. So much changed in the past eight years, some for good, and some for ill. I pray for our next president, and for our nation, and I pray that God will have mercy on our nation--that the next eight years will not see another atrocity like 9-11; that there will be no wars or nuclear challenge; that America may once more raise her head as the leader of the free world. "Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

Holocaust Reflections

Alice Lok, born February 7, 1929 in Budapest Hungary: a Jew. When the Germans invaded Sarvar, Hungary, where she was living at the time, Alice and her mother, brothers, and sister were shipped to Auschwitz, the infamous extermination camp. She survived to be liberated, yet her sister did not. I was assigned Alice’s identification card during the tour of the Holocaust museum, and her story of loss and tragedy is just one of millions. Remembering the Holocaust in this way put faces to the statistics, and horrific illustrations to the heinous brutality that human beings inflicted on other human beings. Never again can I read about the inhumane massacre of six million Jews and other “inferior races” without remembering the stark images of these abominable acts which have been imprinted in my mind.

The photographs and videos displayed throughout the exhibits made me a first-hand eye witness of the despicable cold-blooded murder of so many innocent people at the hands of the Nazis. One slideshow of photographs illustrated the massacres portrayed in Ordinary Men. Jewish people of all ages were stripped, lined up, and then shot like stray dogs, their bodies falling indifferently into a ditch. Piles of naked, broken bodies were carelessly covered and forgotten, unwept for because those who would weep were also dead, tangled up above, below, and all around families, friends, and communities.

Another image I saw was of an entire family: a father, mother, and four children, shot dead in the middle of a Polish street. A little girl of around 3 or 4 is crumpled over, her head of curls resting in a pool of her own blood, sprawled next to her father and mother. There were countless faces of the dead and dying, the hopeless and the desperate, the haunted eyes of children who have seen more than a lifetime of suffering should reveal. There was a Catholic priest who fearlessly faced his executioners at the edge of a ditch already filled with the butchered bodies of his church flock and his friends; I saw the sawed up bodies of victims used in revolting medical experiments; everywhere I turned, there was a complete and abhorrent abuse of human life.

I asked myself who could inflict such monstrous treatment on a fellow human creature, and I looked closely at a life-sized photograph of an S.S. officer herding Jews along to their death. He was young, right around my age, but his eyes were hard and cruel. Yet there he was, no less and no more human than the people he was killing. I was struck by his humanity, and I realized that the horrific murder of six million people was not carried out by monsters or demons. The six million people massacred in the Holocaust were not just a group of statistics numbering the Nazis brutality; there are six million stories of people forced from their homes, separated from their families, and mercilessly murdered, their lives callously ended. These people were just like me and you; but even more striking is that the killers who tried to exterminate an entire race were also people—people with family and friends, hobbies and homes. People just like you and me. The Holocaust museum not only reminded me of the reality of six million horrendous deaths; it also revealed to me for the first time the death of thousands of men’s souls. The nightmare inflicted on the victims of the Holocaust was a reflection of the depravity of the killers’ souls, and it told me that there are worse things than dying.

Dawn of the New Dark Ages, Mark Steyn's "America Alone: The End of the World as We Know It"

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So let me put it in a nutshell: It’s the end of the world! Head for the hills! No, wait. Don’t head for the hills—they’re full of Islamist terrorist camps. Let me put it in a bigger nutshell: much of what we loosely call the Western world will not survive the twenty-first century, and much of it will effectively disappear within our lifetimes, including many if not most European countries.”-Mark Steyn

This week we are taking a break from the epistemology of espionage, and instead briefly turning to the issue of the imminent downfall of the Western world, and what Mark Steyn calls “the dawn of the new Dark Ages”. What then is this monster which is striving to repress the principles of freedom and seize the whole world? According to Mark Steyn in his book America Alone, there exists no greater threat to the principles of freedom which our nation embodies than the growing and thriving threat of radical Islam.

Steyn recounts the impact of the reaching arms of radical Islam that have already engulfed Western Europe, perhaps even past the point of no return, and he warns that the United States may not be far behind. Mark Steyn points to September 11, not as “the day everything changed”, but rather merely as a revelation of how much had already changed. According to Steyn there are three underlying causes which are transforming Europe into “Eurabia” and threatening the future of America and the rest of the free world. These are demographics, the unsustainability of the advanced Western social-democratic state, and civilization exhaustion.

To understand the demographics of the situation, Steyn asks us to look no further than the average European family. Except, one would not really call it a family. Europe is at the lowest of low points for fertility, one from which no society has ever recovered. America is still demographically healthy, although the nation’s fertility rate is exactly the amount needed to maintain a population. Compare that to the baby boom among Muslim families. The median age in the Gaza Strip is 15.8 years and the most popular boy baby’s name in most European countries is (surprise, surprise): Mohammed.

On that note, perhaps it would be an appropriate time to discuss the impact of the Western social-democratic state on these proud families of the newborn Mohammeds and on the not so proud, but quickly aging, European families. The lack of youth in Europe plus the fast-aging population adds up to equal the death of social security. Steyn compares the age and welfare of Europe with the youth and will of Islam, and, unsurprisingly, concludes that disaster is fast approaching. The majority of these Islamic youths and their families are supported by the European governments’ welfare systems. It seems like a fair trade to me: we work to support you so you can have the time and energy to keep hating us, attacking us, and producing more killers that we can support in their jihadist endeavors.

Except that was extremely insensitive of me to point out. Which brings me to Mark Steyn’s third point, which is a world too mired in cultural relativism to understand that its freedom is at stake. In a world where political correctness is god, there is no room for judgmental people like me condemning a different culture, even if that culture demands the deaths of myself (and all infidels like me) and the downfall of the Great Satan (my country tis of thee, sweet land of liberty). Yet we refuse to denounce those who spew hatred against our nation, our families, and our friends. We have become spineless and weak while jihadists grow strong. We have sacrificed our liberty on the altar of political correctness, and now we must face the consequences of a world dominated by those who will not only insult, but will kill for the sake of Allah.

Although Mark Steyn utilizes an extremely funny and even sometimes sarcastic tone, his message is still sobering. The Western world is facing a dangerous and deadly foe, and Europe has all but fallen. The question remains: will the people of the United States stand up and fight for what they believe in, or will they lay down and die, culturally sensitive to the end? Steyn is unapologetic in his doomsday message and we would do well to heed his warning. Otherwise, we can say goodbye to freedom and hello to the burkas.

Worship in a Lutheran Church

Today I went to my family's small Lutheran church for a ten o clock service. Walking in, I was instantly struck at how small the church was. There was a short aisle with wooden pews on each side, leading up to the end of the church. There were two things I especially noticed: how few people were there (and how old those few congregants were) and the elaborate symbolism permeating the church.

Central to the front was an intricately carved altar, draped with an elaborately embroidered cloth. On top of the altar, two candles were burning, a large and ornate Bible was opened, and another embroidered cloth was covering the elements of the Eucharist. On each side of the altar were banners, one commemorating the Holy Communion, and the other in honor of Advent. In front of this last banner was the Advent wreath: four purple candles surrounding a thick, white Christ candle. There was also a railing in front of the altar with kneelers.

The wall behind the altar was also carved, and in the center was a giant wooden cross, behind which a beautiful stain glass window glowed. All of this traditional symbolism created the effect of a reverence for God, but it seemed to me to portray God in an inapproachable, impersonal manner.

However, just after we had sat down, bells outside began tolling the hour, and the pastor walked down the aisle. He bowed once before approaching the altar, bowed once more directly in front of the aisle, and then turned towards the congregation, crossed us to bless us, and welcomed everyone to the order of the service of Holy Communion.

The vicar was wearing a white robe, a white stole, and a rope belt. Hanging around his neck was a huge, heavy gold cross which would have made a rapper proud. Underneath his robes he was dressed all in black with a white clerical collar showing just below his chin.

The service began, and we chanted, kneeled, bowed, and crossed ourselves throughout. This was the order of the service:

The Prelude

The Invocation

The Confession of Sins (all kneel)

Absolution (remain kneeling)

The Introit (standing)

Gloria Patri

The Kyrie

The Gloria in Excelsis

The Salutation

The Collect for the Day

The Epistle

The Gospel Reading (standing)

The Nicene Creed

A Hymn "As With Gladness Men of Old"

The Sermon

The Offertory

The General Prayers (standing)

Holy Communion:

The Preface (standing)

The Sanctus

The Lord's Prayer

Words of Institution

Consecration

The Pax Domini

The Agnus Dei

The Distribution (kneeling)

The Nunc Dimitis

The Thanksgiving

The salutation and benedicamus

The Benediction

The Closing Hymn

The Postlude

Right on the dot, at 11 o clock, church was let out. Everyone made a rush for the door, and we were home free for another week.

There seems to be something wrong with that attitude. There actually seemed to me to be several things wrong with the service as well. While reverence and respect for God is good, as well as right, I wonder where you draw the line between worshiping a tradition and worshiping God.

A couple of things that struck me: the absolution was the first. When the time for Confession of Sins came up, we all knelt and read from the bulletin the confession: "I, a poor and miserable sinner, confess to thee all my sins and iniquities. I have sinned against you in thought word in deed, by what I have done and by what I have left undone.... etc.." But then the pastor stands up, from his position kneeling in front of the altar. He raises his hands and says: "I, by virtue of my office, as a called and ordained minister of the church of God, and by His authority, do hereby forgive you of all your sins, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Now, as every good Lutheran knows, the pastor is a representation of God to us, the people, and he is also a representation of the people to God. When he bows and faces the altar, he represents us to God; when he turns towards the congregation and raises his hands, he represents God to us. But what happened to Jesus as the only necessary representation. We need no one except Christ to approach God. That was the symbolism of the splitting of the curtain in the temple of Jesus Christ's crucifixion. It was because of this sacrifice that we no longer need a mediator to come before a just God. Placing the pastor in the role of mediator seems to lessen what Jesus did.

Another thing that I question is the practice of restricting Holy Communion to only confirmed members of a Missouri Synod Lutheran Church. After the consecration, ushers stand at the end of the pews and collect "commmunion registration cards" on which the congregants write their names, addresses, and a statement that they are in fact confirmed members of a Missouri Synod Lutheran church. As people made their way to the front to kneel to receive the Eucharist, it almost seemed like a ticket booth at a theatre.

In the bulletin, there was this justification for such a practice: "Scripture teaches that in the Lord's Supper, the bread and the wine we receive in our mouths is simultaneously the true body and blood of Jesus, crucified and raised for our sins. This He gives to all who partake as a certain guarantee of our forgiveness... Lutherans also believe that the Lord's Supper is a celebration of the oneness of doctrine and practice that we share. Therefore, we respectfully ask that only members of Lutheran churches in doctrinal fellowship with us commune with us, for our belief is that unity at the altar presupposes unity in doctrine... Reception of the Lord's Supper at this time by Christians not fully united with us would imply a oneness of confession that does not yet exist and for which we must all pray."

While it is important for the body of Christ to be united, especially while commemorating that which unites us, restricting the Eucharist by such a narrow fact (one specific denomination out of thousands of Protestant denominations) seems to further divide the Church. There are some doctrines which are more essential than others; the non-essential ones are those in which we may disagree, and they do in fact divide us. However, when the core beliefs are the same (those which are considered non-heretical), then we should be gladly sharing in the body and blood of Christ in an act of solidarity, one which would mirror the concept of the family of God to the world around us.

Because this note is already horribly long, I will just say that the service concluded with the acolyte snuffing out the candles, the bells ringing the hour. The traditional liturgy, the reverent kneeling and crossing, and the methodical ordered service created a feeling in me that I think the Pharisees felt in the time of Jesus. Rather than the traditions pointing us to God, as I believe they were intended to, I believe many of the form chants and liturgies, the written prayers, the ceremony and solemnity, instead point us inward to a self-satisfied picture of what worship to God should look like. Maybe it meant more to the other congregants; maybe they were really worshiping God, and that would be amazing if that were so--to maintain reverence and awe while enjoying a personal savior. But I think the people of the congregation was what most discouraged me. Of the forty or fifty people attending the service, around 80 percent of them were in their 70s or 80s. It looks like the church is slowly dying out. A message which condemns (or at the very least alienates) different doctrines is not a message which is going to attract worshipers of the one true God. We cannot worship traditions. We need to instead return to that which is of first importance: the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Otherwise, we may one day shuffle out of the man-made splendor of a church and our eyes may be unveiled only to discover that it was never anything more than rocks and wood, cloths and carvings, fabrics which can become a curtain which hides us from the face of God.