A gentle wind caught her fine, blonde bangs and shifted them on her forehead. It was one of those dream-like autumn days when the wind returns to a frolicsome, summery attitude after trying its first winter chill. Most leaves had made their way to the grass beneath our feet. For a little girl who had known only California seasons, the transition seemed enthralling. We had ventured off the leafy path to look at monarch butterflies. The creatures filled the sky without explanation. It took us both by surprise. Maybe the little girl was less amazed than her father, since little girls are used to seeing wondrous things for the first time. We strolled from bush to partly-clad tree, watching as dozens of the transformed insects at once masqueraded as leaves in fall hue, and then swirled heaven-ward as we approached. They seemed to have a purpose and a direction in their migration. Yet, the season felt too advanced, and the prospect of frost cast a bittersweet shadow on the spectacle.
The little girl remembered the butterflies, even when the snows of the midwest lay over the path like a white chrysalis. She would look far away in the air when we spoke of that sweet and magical afternoon.
It was a spring day when two pairs of feet again trod the path. We watched distant birds, and listened to the sounds of early renaissance. A trickling brook accompanied the echoes of a woodpecker, which went unseen. The girl guessed that it might be a pelican. As we walked the damp path, she asked to ride on my shoulders. We talked about the seasons, and I marveled at her trust in my promise that warm days would soon come. It wasn't long before she remembered the butterflies. We scanned the undergrowth, as if expecting the miracle to spring forward in February. I felt her hands on my head as I explained that the butterflies might return in the coming months.
"When the butterflies come back, we will come here and look at them, like we did when you were a little girl" I promised. She had a way of seeking confidence by repeating the phrases of her mom and dad; "Yeah" she said. There was a pause.
"When butterflies come back, we can come here and see 'em ...and I be a little girl again."
Her words caught me by surprise. The words of innocence often fracture the glaze that coats a mind unaware of the passing time. These were the words of a little girl who wasn't so little anymore. My view of the spring day grew fuzzy as tears appeared where I least expected them. My voice was soft and unsure as we talked. I was in the company of my daughter, but changeless generations of fall butterflies will never stop time's hand.
Maybe in heaven, dads will be able to have afternoons with their little girls again. In this world we can't go back.
2.22.92
2012
Saturday, February 22, 1992
Wednesday, May 1, 1991
tolerance
How often do we evangelicals hear and repeat statements like “America is a great nation because it was founded on Judeo-Christian values”? In this unsolicited commentary, I’d like to humbly express my dissent from this view and briefly discuss a critical theological issue about which we evangelicals appear to be confused.
I must insist from a historical perspective that if America is indeed a “great” nation (whatever one takes this to mean), it is not because the authors of the U.S. Constitution gave us Judeo-Christian values, but because they gave us a truly remarkable concept called religious freedom. To me, the wisdom and brilliance of these authors was not in their insistence upon a Christian worldview, but in their insistence that individuals be guaranteed the right to pursue and select their own worldview. When we thank our Lord (correctly) for the opportunity to worship freely, exchange copies of the Scriptures, and preach the Gospel, we should remember that this right does not derive from a principle of Christian freedom, but from a principle of religious freedom. The strength of the U.S. Constitution arises, therefore, from its simultaneous promise of religious freedom to believers and non-believers alike. If we find ourselves wishing that the non-believers were a little less free to express and promote their views and consequent behaviors, we must immediately restrain ourselves. By seeking to deny legal freedom of expression to any segment of society, we insult the principle that protects this freedom for ourselves. In short, we as Christians have a remarkable constitutional promise of religious freedom that comes at a price we too often overlook. This price is called tolerance.
In practice, tolerance means that you and I ought not to praise the U.S. Constitution for its protection of religious freedom for evangelical Christians while simultaneously seeking politically to enforce our spiritual perspective (and its corresponding value system) on other Americans. The rights of our non-Christian friends to be unspiritual, to reject the Lord, to disagree with us, and to behave in ways that we find unsavory (within legal limits) must be enthusiastically preserved if our own rights are to be preserved.
Others who share my view have undoubtedly been perceived among evangelicals as supporters of all manner of destructive behavior (e.g. substance abuse, addiction, sexual promiscuity, violence, materialism, pornography, adultery, abortion, etc.) This is untrue. I abhor these activities, as do you. The essence of this commentary concerns not whether such behavior is evil (it is), but how we, as Christians, ought and ought not to confront other Americans whose actions are not consistent with our own worldview. I think our response is very often unsatisfactory because we forget the critical balance between freedom and tolerance in American society.
Although we have the right and responsibility to express honestly, publicly, and politically our opinions on issues of morality and ethics, we seem all too often oblivious to the risks of trumpeting our ethical and moral standards without primary emphasis on the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I think that it is both a political and a theological mistake for evangelical Christians to enter the political arena with the explicit goal of an American ethical and moral revival. Even if you disagree with this position, please take a moment to consider my reasoning.
When Christians unite to oppose what they perceive to be immoral or sinful, we are too often representing ourselves as Americans whose primary goal is to change the behavior of other Americans by restricting freedoms. The bottom line is a patent advertisement by Christians that the essence of Christianity is a series of restrictions on freedom. Is this how we want to be presenting Christianity to America? I must protest.
When we present Christianity to non-Christians as a system that seeks to restrict freedom of behavior, we cause alienation and we promote a heresy: that the behavior of Christians is the basis of their relationship with God. All our well-intended efforts to correct immorality and unrighteousness often serve only to imply that the elimination of these offending behaviors is the goal of Christianity. It is not. The theological truth expounded so vibrantly by St. Paul is that if we please God, it is not because of our behavior, but in spite of our behavior. God has chosen to set aside our actions (which, if you haven’t checked lately, are still sinful and no less imperfect than the behavior of non-Christians) through our voluntary acceptance of his grace as manifested in the atonement.
Like you, when exposed to the evils of our society, my first response is usually frustration and a (misplaced) sense of righteous indignation. Then I consider tolerance, the price of freedom. Then I think of Jesus Christ, and realize that the problem is not behavior. If the problem were behavior and the standard were God’s standard, we’d all be instantly and justly condemned as imperfect. None of us is reconciled to God by behavior. No, the problem is spiritual. If we are serious about addressing this real problem, you and I must share with individuals the Gospel of repentance and atonement in Jesus Christ. It is grace that we must promote, not good behavior. I ask that you and I give thoughtful consideration to the concept of tolerance, and redouble our efforts to facilitate the process by which God first changes hearts, then changes lives.
1991
I must insist from a historical perspective that if America is indeed a “great” nation (whatever one takes this to mean), it is not because the authors of the U.S. Constitution gave us Judeo-Christian values, but because they gave us a truly remarkable concept called religious freedom. To me, the wisdom and brilliance of these authors was not in their insistence upon a Christian worldview, but in their insistence that individuals be guaranteed the right to pursue and select their own worldview. When we thank our Lord (correctly) for the opportunity to worship freely, exchange copies of the Scriptures, and preach the Gospel, we should remember that this right does not derive from a principle of Christian freedom, but from a principle of religious freedom. The strength of the U.S. Constitution arises, therefore, from its simultaneous promise of religious freedom to believers and non-believers alike. If we find ourselves wishing that the non-believers were a little less free to express and promote their views and consequent behaviors, we must immediately restrain ourselves. By seeking to deny legal freedom of expression to any segment of society, we insult the principle that protects this freedom for ourselves. In short, we as Christians have a remarkable constitutional promise of religious freedom that comes at a price we too often overlook. This price is called tolerance.
In practice, tolerance means that you and I ought not to praise the U.S. Constitution for its protection of religious freedom for evangelical Christians while simultaneously seeking politically to enforce our spiritual perspective (and its corresponding value system) on other Americans. The rights of our non-Christian friends to be unspiritual, to reject the Lord, to disagree with us, and to behave in ways that we find unsavory (within legal limits) must be enthusiastically preserved if our own rights are to be preserved.
Others who share my view have undoubtedly been perceived among evangelicals as supporters of all manner of destructive behavior (e.g. substance abuse, addiction, sexual promiscuity, violence, materialism, pornography, adultery, abortion, etc.) This is untrue. I abhor these activities, as do you. The essence of this commentary concerns not whether such behavior is evil (it is), but how we, as Christians, ought and ought not to confront other Americans whose actions are not consistent with our own worldview. I think our response is very often unsatisfactory because we forget the critical balance between freedom and tolerance in American society.
Although we have the right and responsibility to express honestly, publicly, and politically our opinions on issues of morality and ethics, we seem all too often oblivious to the risks of trumpeting our ethical and moral standards without primary emphasis on the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I think that it is both a political and a theological mistake for evangelical Christians to enter the political arena with the explicit goal of an American ethical and moral revival. Even if you disagree with this position, please take a moment to consider my reasoning.
When Christians unite to oppose what they perceive to be immoral or sinful, we are too often representing ourselves as Americans whose primary goal is to change the behavior of other Americans by restricting freedoms. The bottom line is a patent advertisement by Christians that the essence of Christianity is a series of restrictions on freedom. Is this how we want to be presenting Christianity to America? I must protest.
When we present Christianity to non-Christians as a system that seeks to restrict freedom of behavior, we cause alienation and we promote a heresy: that the behavior of Christians is the basis of their relationship with God. All our well-intended efforts to correct immorality and unrighteousness often serve only to imply that the elimination of these offending behaviors is the goal of Christianity. It is not. The theological truth expounded so vibrantly by St. Paul is that if we please God, it is not because of our behavior, but in spite of our behavior. God has chosen to set aside our actions (which, if you haven’t checked lately, are still sinful and no less imperfect than the behavior of non-Christians) through our voluntary acceptance of his grace as manifested in the atonement.
Like you, when exposed to the evils of our society, my first response is usually frustration and a (misplaced) sense of righteous indignation. Then I consider tolerance, the price of freedom. Then I think of Jesus Christ, and realize that the problem is not behavior. If the problem were behavior and the standard were God’s standard, we’d all be instantly and justly condemned as imperfect. None of us is reconciled to God by behavior. No, the problem is spiritual. If we are serious about addressing this real problem, you and I must share with individuals the Gospel of repentance and atonement in Jesus Christ. It is grace that we must promote, not good behavior. I ask that you and I give thoughtful consideration to the concept of tolerance, and redouble our efforts to facilitate the process by which God first changes hearts, then changes lives.
1991
Tuesday, July 4, 1989
about grandma
July 4, 1989
Dear Dad,
I wanted again to express to you how sorry I feel about Grandma's death. It was news that I knew would come sooner or later, but it was still difficult to be philosophical about losing her. Laura and I feel very sad not to be able to look forward to visits with Grandma. We also had dreamed that she might have been able to see her first grandchild.
Since meeting Laura, she tells me how often I retell childhood stories that take place at Grandma's house – how much she influenced us as children. I think her influences as a collector of children's books, a legacy that she left to us through your devotion to reading to us as children, has had a major impact on my life.
It may seem strange, but as I think of how to encapsulate my feelings about Grandma, I keep coming back to a certain memory that doesn't even take place in Iowa City, or have anything to do with Grandma herself. I vividly remember my first reading, as a boy, of Truman Capote's A Christmas Memory. I found the book on our shelves at home – I don't know whose it was. I remember sitting down in the living room on a winter evening, probably around Christmas time, and finding myself absorbed in the story. The friendly woman relative that Capote describes immediately was Grandma to me. I remember how strongly moved I was at his reflections on this remarkable friend, and how I was stirred first by the account of the loss of her dog, and then by the story of her death, pictured as the free flight of a child's kite in the sky. Like the woman in the story, Grandma took the time to fly kites with us.
We miss her.
Along the lines of family information for her obituary, Laura Lee Moseng was born on November 11, 1962 in Madison to Barbara Sue (Bruce) Moseng and Myral Julian (Mo) Moseng. We had our first date on May 19, 1979, and were married on July 2, 1983.
All our love
jim
Dear Dad,
I wanted again to express to you how sorry I feel about Grandma's death. It was news that I knew would come sooner or later, but it was still difficult to be philosophical about losing her. Laura and I feel very sad not to be able to look forward to visits with Grandma. We also had dreamed that she might have been able to see her first grandchild.
Since meeting Laura, she tells me how often I retell childhood stories that take place at Grandma's house – how much she influenced us as children. I think her influences as a collector of children's books, a legacy that she left to us through your devotion to reading to us as children, has had a major impact on my life.
It may seem strange, but as I think of how to encapsulate my feelings about Grandma, I keep coming back to a certain memory that doesn't even take place in Iowa City, or have anything to do with Grandma herself. I vividly remember my first reading, as a boy, of Truman Capote's A Christmas Memory. I found the book on our shelves at home – I don't know whose it was. I remember sitting down in the living room on a winter evening, probably around Christmas time, and finding myself absorbed in the story. The friendly woman relative that Capote describes immediately was Grandma to me. I remember how strongly moved I was at his reflections on this remarkable friend, and how I was stirred first by the account of the loss of her dog, and then by the story of her death, pictured as the free flight of a child's kite in the sky. Like the woman in the story, Grandma took the time to fly kites with us.
We miss her.
Along the lines of family information for her obituary, Laura Lee Moseng was born on November 11, 1962 in Madison to Barbara Sue (Bruce) Moseng and Myral Julian (Mo) Moseng. We had our first date on May 19, 1979, and were married on July 2, 1983.
All our love
jim
Wednesday, June 1, 1977
cemetery
Sunrise. Two distant roosters crow almost simultaneously.
The first rays of the orange light begin to criss-cross the green meadow –
angular shadows of the leaning grass appear across the smooth granite surfaces
on the brightening hillside. The songs of the evening crickets are replaced by
the many voices of fluttering birds. From tree to granite slab to bush they
fly, making a sea of jubilant music.
Wind now parts the branches of the trees, but is quickly
lulled by the radiant sunshine. The last clouds of dawn burn from the sky – all
is bright and glowing. The din of distant cattle drifts high in the air with
the sweet smell of clover. Farm machinery from beyond the tree-lined glade adds
a customary rumble to the morning symphony. Other daily events take their usual
turns: a distant auto on a country road, the buzzing of cicadas, silent flight
of butterflies, the evaporation of dew from the polished marble monuments
with plastic bouquets at their bases.
And yet, a stranger appears in the air – the sputtering of
loose gravel and a nearing engine. The birds are silent for a moment. The noise
approaches, and its dusty source grinds to a halt just outside the rusting
fence and gate. Dust settles, and birds move to higher vantage points. A
metallic click, and footsteps from the road are heard, crackling in accumulated
leaves - the creaking of the gate and slow footfalls through unmown grass.
Minutes pass in silence.
A sniff, a subdued sob, and a white handkerchief is brought
to dampened eyes.
Moments later an exit is made, and dust leaves a trail
settling along the road. The gate stands open, but soon things fall back into
their usual pattern.
By noon all has been forgotten.
6/1/1977
for Terry Mashman's writing class
In memory of Mo Moseng, 1933-2019
-->
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)