Category: Our Broken Culture

Last week the unthinkable happened….playboy decided to no longer include nudity in their magazine. At first this may seem like victory for Christians who fight against pornography until you read what the read the reason for this given by Scott Flanders, their chief executive.

“You’re now one click away from every sex act imaginable for free. And so it’s just passé at this juncture.”

This choice has placed a much-needed emphasis on the danger of online pornography, and by doing so highlighted an incredibly frightening truth explained by Samuel James in his article “The Utter Victory of Online Pornography”

 Let the reader understand: This is happening not because people find Playboy offensive or immoral, but because they find it boring.

Russell Moore points out the fact that this boredom comes from the emotional and physical release of pornography  in an article entitled “Playboy is too boring to succeed”

First of all, it shouldn’t surprise us that a culture awash in graphic porn would find Playboy dull. Those with experience counseling in this area have told us for years that pornography is fueled by novelty and the “high” of the forbidden. What initially seems thrilling ultimately is mundane.

Interestingly Moore goes on by pointing out marriage (and sex) is meant to be a picture of Christ and the Church.  By making this only a physical thing  the deeper meaning is missed.

This is why sexual revolutions always turn out so boring. This is why the sterile, casual, condom-clad vision of sex in our culture is so dull. This is why pornography is so numbing to the soul. It is because in the search for sexual excitement men and women are not really looking for biochemical sensations or the responses of nerve endings. And, in fact, they are not ultimately even looking for each other. They are searching desperately, not for mere sex, but for that to which sex points–something they know exists but they just can’t identify.

And that’s why you will never find an image naked enough to satisfy what you’re looking for.

One of the best articles on this subject I read last week was “how Playboy magazine legitimized pornography-and destroyed itself in the process” by Joe Carter.  In it he explains how this idea of playboy becoming boring actually began when they made pornography a normal part of life.

What pornography needed to be profitable on a mass scale was to be removed from the sexual ghetto and brought into the living room. It needed someone to adopt it, domesticate it, and teach it manners. As a mythmaker on the scale of Walt Disney, Hugh Hefner did for porn what Henry Higgins did for Eliza Doolittle.

We all know that pornography destroys relationships, marriage, and a view of sexuality.  But sometimes we need a not so gentle reminder of its power to destroy the thing that brought it into our living room in the first place.

The proper response to the power of pornography is explained in great detail in an awesome article by Eric Simmons entitled “I Hate Porn” where he describes in short sentences the affect pornography has on a life.

I hate porn because it turns potential missionaries into impotent Christians.

I hate porn because it destroys marriage, many before they even begin.

I hate porn because it extends adolescence and keeps men boys.

More than ever before there is a need for men (myself included) to remember the power of pornography…because if playboy cannot win the war apart from Christ we don’t stand a chance.

One of the most interesting articles I read last weekend was “When we talk about Millennials, We’re Usually Talking about White People” by Chris Martin.  In it he gives a very timely warning about making blanket statements about young adults of the millennial generation while really talking about one part of the group.

When we make rather off-the-cuff remarks like, “Millennials are liberal,” or “Millennials love adventure,” or “Millennials are spoiled brats,” we usually only have one subgroup of Millennials in mind: Upper-middle class, white millennials.

Martin does a very good job of pointing out there are millennials (especially those of other ethnicities) that don’t fit our view of what they are like.

You say, “Millennials love adventure,” because you see a bunch of white 20-something girls posting pictures on Instagram of their latest expedition into the woods behind their suburban home—You forget that the Latina sisters in Los Angeles caring for their little siblings while their parents work are Millennials, too, whose “adventure” is collecting laundry while feeding babies, not collecting pinecones while sipping on a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

You write something like, “Millennials are moochers who live with their parents,” because you hear stories about your college friends living at home, playing video games all day, and not getting a “real job.” But you don’t think about the 25-year-old African American brothers in Harlem working three jobs to care for their aging parents, who actually depend on them rather than the other way around.

As an illustration of the danger here he refers to an article written in 2013 by a prominent Protestant blogger bemoaning the fact that millennials no longer come to Church…however what she meant was white, middle-class millennials weren’t coming to Church.

The numbers for black Millennials [in the church] are, in fact, not dropping. That is, black adults age 18-29 are not leaving the Church. The 2007 report shows that black Millennials makeup 24 percent of Historically Black Churches , the same percentage as their Boomer Generation parents. Religious affiliation for young black adults going to historically black churches remains stable. If you look at trends between the 2007 and 2012 surveys, there’s not much difference in the numbers for black Millennials.

Mrs. Evans writes Millennials are leaving the church. Mr. Calvin writes, “Not among African Americans they’re not,” showing that no matter what the statistics say, every generalization merits a qualification or caveat.

Chris Martin ends with some advice on how to clarify we are referring to a subset (very small part) of the millennial generation

This is all I’m saying: when you want to make a generalization about Millennials, or any other generation, make sure you’re clear it is a generalization.

For instance, when you see a stat like this: “53% of Millennials say they lead the kind of life they want,” which is true, according to Pew, you do not write, “Millennials lead the kind of life they want.” That is not true, because only 53% of Millennials, barely half, do.

Instead, you write, “Just over half of Millennials lead the kind of life they want,” or even, “Most Millennials lead the kind of life they want,” if you insist.

For me personally this article was a challenge to look past my own subset of people, and understand that they don’t represent everyone.  And maybe, just maybe, things aren’t as dark as they seem for the millennials.

Last Friday night after a young-peoples Bible study four of us went over to my house for sandwiches, coke, and some fellowship.  We ended up laughing and talking for about two-hours before I kicked them off my front porch.

This was a fun time of interaction and relationship development but one thing bothers me as I think about it this afternoon…all of us where on an electronic device (phone or tablet)

Todays society has mastered the art of having a conversation with someone while tweeting, swiping, posting, emailing, or scrolling through updates to the point where we don’t see a problem with it anymore.

Marshall Segal wrote a very insightful piece about this called Home Alone: The Lies that Tie Us to our Phone  this week, and it made me really rethink our Friday night fellowship time.

Segal begins by pointing out phones or technology allow us to be there physically, but not there mentally or emotionally

The message we’re really sending while sending one more quick text is: Better to be away from the family — the spouse, the children, the roommate, the guest — and at home with the phone. As Sherry Turkle has observed, our phones now present the potential to be with someone, but always somewhere else as well (Alone Together, 152). To constantly check our phone, then, is to put up an away message and declare that we’re not really there. We’re home together, yet home alone.

He proceeds to explain the first lie that keeps us home alone, “the world needs me”

For some of us, a savior complex tethers us to our phones. We’re afraid something will happen and someone will need us — and only us — immediately. What could they possibly do if we weren’t available? Well, probably whatever they did for thousands of years before the telephone existed, or for a couple hundred more while it was anchored to the wall. Or more likely, and yet strangely unthinkable to a me-centered generation, they’ll just call someone else.

Segal rightly points out this many times becomes a “savior complex” that believes we are the only ones who can possibly take care of everyone’s problems.

While this is true, the second lie (we need the world) is where he really got me. Marshall gets past the outer issues and reveals our constant connectedness has to do with our desire to be constantly affirmed.

We have a need to be needed. We love the idea that someone might text or call or tweet to get our attention. We don’t want to miss that moment when someone else thought of us. We need the world. Alert after alert, our phones justify and praise our existence. They reassure us that we are considered talented, important, and loved by someone — even if the affection is often shallow, superficial, and short-lived.

On a personal note I have found myself checking Facebook constantly after sharing a funny post or beautiful picture because in a way those red numbers make me feel loved (and they should) but it’s easy to go too far and use those numbers as the source of self-esteem (I MUST have likes and comments).

Marshall ends with an encouragement to do something absolutely extraordinary and radical…..Put your phone on “do not disturb” which allows no calls or notifications to come through.  This is different than putting our phone away, and then reaching for the moment a vibration is felt or the slightest sound is heard 🙂

Part of me actually likes to spend time on the phone while talking to young people because it keeps things easy and comfortable.  But by putting the electronics down and having a real conversation (however uncomfortable that might be) would bring more glory to God.

With the recent assisted dying bills being passed that allows physicians to provide lethal prescriptions to those who have less than six-months to live, there have been some excellent articles that look at this issue from a Biblical perspective.

I enjoyed Joe Carters recent post “Still in the World”  that speaks to the painful waiting as a loved one nears the end of their life.  The best I have read on the subject so far though is Russel Moore’s “How Caring for the elderly points us to the  Gospel.”

In it he describes the emotions after helping move his grandmother into a care-home.

On the phone with my wife, I told her that I hoped that I die the way her father did, this year, suddenly, in seemingly good health, not like this. I didn’t want to contemplate being confined to a bed, dependent on others for everything from food to being turned to avoid bedsores. As I said those words, I was struck with what was at the root of all that: my pride and idolatry. I was reminded, once again, of what a hypocrite I am.

I’ve spent my life, after all, arguing that human dignity does not consist in how “useful” one seems but in the image of God. I’d made that case, days before, in Washington D.C. arguing for the protection of unborn children. I’ve done the same in recent days regarding orphaned children with special needs, Middle Eastern Christian refugees escaping persecution, and trafficked women and girls. I believe that, for all of them, and I believe it for my grandmother. It’s just hard for me to believe it about myself.

Moore continues by describing himself as what he calls a “recovering social Darwinist”

That’s because, when it comes to myself, I’m a recovering social Darwinist. I tend to judge my own worth by how “needed” I am—by what sermon I’ve preached, by what book I’ve written, by what legislation I’ve pushed forward, by how good a father I’ve been to my sons that day. I am accustomed to people seeing me as having a certain amount of “power”—for some that’s influence to get things done, for others it’s anointing to preach and teach God’s word. I tend to believe that that’s who I am.

That’s why I said I didn’t want to be confined to a bed. I don’t want to be dependent. I want my children to see me, right through to the end, as Dad who can fix anything. I want my former students to still see me as offering wisdom and counsel. I want my wife to see me as the whirlwind of activity she married. I want my allies to see me as the joyful prophet, the social conservative with a social conscience. I want to be needed, and not needy. And that’s my problem.

In this way caring for the elderly or watching a loved one suffer from a life-threatening disease is an important reminder of our weakness and need of Christ.  It also reminds us as Moore points out the important thing “is not all our doing but the simple truth that we are dependent children who need one another, and who need a Father, to live and move and have our being (Acts 17:28).” 

There is hope in this because all of us someday will be called up to Heaven to be with Christ, and will live with Him for all eternity.  The article ends on that note in a beautiful way.

As I moved my grandmother’s things from her house, I leafed through her Bible, large-print King James Version, and noticed pages and pages of notes in one of my favorite books, that of the prophet Isaiah. Most of them were handwritten passages from the prophet—most of them related to the coming of the kingdom, the abolishing of the reign of death. My Ph.D. dissertation was in the area of eschatology. I’ve preached and taught Isaiah a thousand times. But something tells me, I won’t really understand it until someone has to feed me through a straw.