Response, The Christian Kind

It is apparent that Conservative Christian circles are losing the debate on Gay Marriage.  No, let me correct myself, it is not a loss, but rather a slaughter.  This slaughter is manifesting itself through everyday conversation between friends, the work place, the unholy spirit of the world we named the internet and most importantly in the courts.  Now you may point out that there have been wins for Conservative Christians in the courts as there was in California.  True, but one must ask whether this shall last.  The only reason gay marriage could be voted down is because it makes guys feel weird (which, I may add, is a totally legitimate reason).  So, the CCs must not pretend that there is a revival approaching; they must see that they are out of ammo as far as convincing the judges to favor them.

Their opponents (Liberals we will call them), however, are thriving with glee as they protest protests, do MTV coming out shows, declare war on bullying (which is deliciously ironic), give Dan Savage his own TV show and let transgender persons compete for Miss America.  They have bountiful victories and they aren't going to stop now.  They dominate the internet with cute memes that straw man the CCs so as to make us doubt and be ashamed of our Old Testament bigotry.  We, the intolerant see two options: 1) Move to North Idaho and remove ourselves from society and occasionally make official statements about gays going to hell to then be made fun of by the world, or 2) join the "enlightened" and make the world a better place by holding their opinions, since that will make everybody happy.  Yes, we are the ones that cave.  The war mongers and bigots are the ones that submit to the peace loving Liberals, because our post-enlightened sensibilities see it as logical, based  upon the ancient Zen like wisdom of  no-harm-no-foul.

That is their argument.  That is their template for morality.  Gay marriage will not hurt anybody.  Will Gay Marriage inflict physical harm on anybody?  Directly, no.  Indirectly, likely, but no more than an average heterosexual marriage would.  Does that make it morally sound?  That has yet to be argued by the Liberals; currently, they are just trying to make it legal for civil matters.  I believe they know that the courts do not decide morality, but the object is make us believe that they do.  Otherwise, if we ever got that philosophical ball rolling they know exactly where it would take them.  But it wont happen.  We are not a nation that concerns ourselves with what is morally right and true.  Instead we shout at our friends, family, enemies and government, "My rights!  My rights!  I deserve my rights!", never once stopping to ask whether or not we are deserving of anything.  It happens thus, and it wont ever change unless America falls like the nations have before it.  If the people are obliterated then so are the ideas they hold.

What then?  Are we CCs to pray for nuclear war?  I'll be honest that I have thought of it, but it seems too easy.  If we don't join these Liberals, then we get made fun of and wait for the slim chance of utter destruction that wont occur in our life times.  Strangely, this is the least of a CCs problems.  We, who have claimed Christ as our Lord and savior, who have passed from death to life, have different things to think about.  Though our soul has been taken care of, there is always more to be learned from Christ.  We must discover how to live as Christians in this world, and let us not say we have not received teaching.  In Matthew 10.22, Jesus tells us how we "will be hated by all for his name's sake".  He tells us how "they will persecute you in one town" and to "flee to the next".  Jesus saw this coming.  He knows us and them very well.  So basically this treatment we receive now is in our job description.  We shall not be surprised, appalled or indignant.  We should expect persecution, for the pagans grow greater and greater in numbers everyday.  This is routine just as war, famine, genocide and peace are routine.  From the moment two people are created they immediately gain different opinions acquired by their perspectives, and almost just as soon they think themselves right and the other wrong.  This is the nature and the way of the beast; the beast that shall be named the Pride of Life.

Frankly, Conservative Christians have wasted time being all too conservative and not enough Christian.  We have landed in a rut thinking that if we control the White House then we control the minds of the people, as if rebellion and revolution never occurs against a righteous ruler.  We have played the world's game with the world's rules and inevitably we lose under the world's definitions.  We have nurtured our own Pride of Life and attempted to appeal to the masses with our social return to the law and tragically the dirt has been rubbed in our face.  So, we ask, "What are we to do?"  Is it despair from here on out?  It does not have to be.  We are instructed to be joyful in all persecution, whether the sting is physical, mental or emotional we must have joy.  Death, because of Christ, has lost it's sting and we have nothing left to fear but our imminent God, the one to whom we owe all we have, and made of ourselves.  The joy has tactical use as well.  If we are joyful we can be loving.  If we are loving our enemies we are "heaping burning coals on their heads".

To wind this down a little bit, personally, I see gay marriage legal in at least some states if not many, and we can expect many other perverse behaviors being declared legal by the state and moral by the people.  Gird your loins because this will get weird.  Use that weird feeling and vote against it.  Don't cave to it, and don't be a Westboro Baptist.  Be joyful.  Though I do not know if the end of the world is nigh, I do know the end of YOUR world is nigh.  Use your timely wisely.  Do not be a fool.  Be a servant of Christ.

Idol Worship

Awake!  Awake you piece and be,

My root to stand nobly!

My creation you shall be my god,

So I forever give you laud.

I give give you laud so I may be blest,

Since other gods and all the rest,

Demand of me my rightful time,

To do their will, be rid of mine.

So I made you in the image of me,

To tackle life presumptuously.

Be my benefactor and convenient grace,

Granted you will me embrace.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

The Philosopher's Error

It is for the love of wisdom that sets you right,
And all her fruits that exhibit might.
She's a desirous maid for those of the North,
While southern fools bring excuses forth.
Those animals: They indulge their deepest pleasure,
Pontificating that it is the medium measure.
"It is our nature!" the sly ones say,
And the initial moments they might be gay.
But guilt creeps in by the day's end,
So all that is left are the shells of men .
They dash towards ruin, they dash their minds;
The unholy marriage, the pleasurable kind.
But us: Oh me, I have not lost my way,
For the next logical step leads no one astray.
Join me where all have read and have written,
The problem of pain where one might be bitten.
I am sufficient because I have made myself thus,
Not given to emotion or the passions of lust!
I have ascended to where all men have sought,
But I can't help but think of the grave where I'll rot.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Another Conversation Betwixt God and the Soul

Soul

Forgive me LORD that I had not seen,
That with my service I had been so mean.
To chase my passions grotesque by flesh,
I reasoned that I was right and blessed.

God

Your guilt is sure but I wait to find,
My son in you, a pleasing kind.
But your conviction is good and true,
So I shall forgive as you well knew.

Soul

I cannot describe the burden lifted,
But that I have been wonderfully gifted.
My wretched sins deserved no less,
Than to be cast down into abyss.

God

I cannot deny what I could have done,
But had not Ninevah made your run?
Tis' ugly, yes, but excellent too,
To have you love me, as I loved you.

Soul

But what if I turn again to sin,
Would not the adversary win?
By and by I groan and wail,
at the prospect that I might fail.

God

Your faith is small, but big enough,
To receive my mercy, otherwise rough.
But if you wish to please me great,
Expand your faith and sin you'll hate.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Valentine's Sophia

Thinking of her grace I often do,
And of the time that we were through.
But the past has yet to appear,
With solemn thanks to hear.

Blest be her name, and all about;
That her doctrine has no shout,
But that she teaches with her actions,
And burdens none with any factions.

My fairest ghost, or spirit rather,
In a land afar, but friends she gathers.
Though not time enough for all,
Seeks her God lest she should fall.

Bemused I sit, but pleased in heart,
That she would suit me to take some part.
And when she left that day at noon,
Foregone me then to come to me soon.

Nothing I expect, as honest appraise,
That I might go on alone for days,
And months, we may surely see,
Whether this love should truly be.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

The Decay of Arrogance

Arrogance. Bad, is it not? I believe we can all agree that that which the media has drawn as arrogant is, in fact that, and a very unbecoming quality to have. It may look like a boss that thinks himself infallible; giving orders, taking no feedback and taking offense when questioned then proceeding to put others so that his pedestal grows. Generally, this man is undesirable as company. But this is way too obvious. It is clear enough that this type of arrogance is sin, but even non-Christians dislike this apparent wrong doing. I believe Satan prefers a different type of arrogance. With the arrogance I formerly described, Satan (if I believed he was around) would be hard pressed to inspire any more evil at all; no, he would need something subtle. He would need arrogance that convinces those around it that it is humble.

All this, I see in every day life, like most sin. It exists in broad day light, it passes us on the street, it is our friends, our family, and most likely ourselves. We have been fed this "Media Description" of arrogance and our society praises us for not being that difficult of a person. We praise and applaud ourselves and say, "Well done, good and faithful me". That's messed up. How is it that we can assume we are not actually arrogant or have fallen into any other sin for that matter. We look at the blatant and extreme examples of sin and say, "Well I am not that so I must not have a problem with it." And then it becomes a point of pride which turns into straight up arrogance. Suddenly, we are preaching to the arrogant that we will take the moral high road. It cancels itself out. It is reminding your late friend that you waited patiently. No you did not. If you did wait patiently you would not have need to tell them.

But with arrogance it looks like a grass roots Christianity. It goes to a non-denominational church. It preaches Sola Scriptura. It does not use theology and believes it is not necessary to salvation. It preaches saved grace, through faith. All these things are well and good. In fact, I do these things. But the pitfall is comparing oneself to those who may hold a different position. It is so clear to them that they have chosen the correct position that the pleasure of the decision turns into pride. And then they are no better than the theologians who are obviously arrogant. As if they are a better Christian because they hold the right position. I have seen it both ways: A simple thinker a better Christian than a hard thinker, and hard thinker a better Christian than the simple. "I am not arrogant like that.", says he. "Well then in what way are you arrogant?", says the Saint. Make the effort to discover something terrible about yourself everyday; and let us not consider ourselves on the moral high ground for it. It is merely what we ought to do.

But another thing. Arrogance has become an under-appreciated way of thinking. A man tells you that you are wrong. Do you call him arrogant? Perhaps. How do we know? look at his heart. Does he still love you? Does it matter to him that you are wrong? Did his head grow? If not, he is not arrogant. He can say these things with all the tone of arrogance he wants, if he is still humble before God and His unknowable, unfathomable creation it matters not. He thinks he is right, but like Solomon he knows he cannot absolutely prove it. He knows the size of his brain is quite small. Making these educated guesses about big things is his hobby, not his pride. This we need more of. Men challenging other men with that contract of Christian arrogance that says, "This really does not matter to me, but here goes anyway, because I am having a good time."

An Imploring Limerick

There once was a boy named Creed,
For whom poetry had one lead;
Insulting a friend,
Was all he could lend,
Considered no less a misdeed.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Non-descript Poetry

For a man, comfort, thy name is power,
And had we sought not less than all;
We'd maintain the insight that fools cower,
But rather find that the faithless fall.

His name though some doth have distaste,
Rumble the vowels that English placed.
If man denies from whence he came,
The more he recognized his name.
Complains that realities not clear enough,
He hardens his heart, his pathways rough.
Though that man to sin he dies,
Repents he now, to Christ relies.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Kenneth Grahame: Of Smoking

Concerning Cigarette Smoking: It hath been well observed by a certain philosopher that this is a practice commendable enough, and pleasant to indulge in, ``when you're not smoking''; wherein the whole criticism of the cigarette is found, in a little room. Of the same manner of thinking was one that I knew, who kept by him an ample case bulging with cigarettes, to smoke while he was filling his pipe. Toys they be verily, nugæ, and shadows of the substance. Serviceable, nevertheless, as shadows sometimes be when the substance is temporarily unattainable; as between the acts of a play, in the park, or while dressing for dinner: that such moments may not be entirely wasted. That cigarette, however, which is so prompt to appear after dinner I would reprehend and ban and totally abolish: as enemy to that diviner thing before which it should pale its ineffectual fires in shame -- to wit, good drink, ``la dive bouteille''; except indeed when the liquor be bad, as is sometimes known to happen. Then it may serve in some sort as a sorry consolation. But to leave these airy substitutes, and come to smoking.

It hath been ofttimes debated whether the morning pipe be the sweeter, or that first pipe of the evening which ``Hesperus, who bringeth all good things,'' brings to the weary with home and rest. The first is smoked on a clearer palate, and comes to unjaded senses like the kiss of one's first love; but lacks that feeling of perfect fruition, of merit recompensed and the goal and the garland won, which clings to the vesper bowl. Whence it comes that the majority give the palm to the latter. To which I intend no slight when I find the incense that arises at matins sweeter even than that of evensong. For, although with most of us who are labourers in the vineyard, toilers and swinkers, the morning pipe is smoked in hurry and fear and a sense of alarums and excursions and fleeting trains, yet with all this there are certain halcyon periods sure to arrive -- Sundays, holidays, and the like -- the whole joy and peace of which are summed up in that one beatific pipe after breakfast, smoked in a careless majesty like that of the gods ``when they lie beside their nectar, and the clouds are lightly curled.'' Then only can we be said really to smoke. And so this particular pipe of the day always carries with it festal reminiscences: memories of holidays past, hopes for holidays to come; a suggestion of sunny lawns and flannels and the ungirt loin; a sense withal of something free and stately, as of ``faint march-music in the air,'' or the old Roman cry of ``Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement.''

If there be any fly in the pipe-smoker's ointment, it may be said to lurk in the matter of ``rings.'' Only the exceptionally gifted smoker can recline in his chair and emit at will the perfect smoke-ring, in consummate eddying succession. He of the meaner sort must be content if, at rare heaven-sent intervals -- while thinking, perhaps, of nothing less -- there escape from his lips the unpremeditated flawless circle. Then ``deus fio'' he is moved to cry, at that breathless moment when his creation hangs solid and complete, ere the particles break away and blend with the baser atmosphere. Nay, some will deny to any of us terrene smokers the gift of fullest achievement: for what saith the poet of the century? ``On the earth the broken arcs: in the heaven the perfect round!''

It was well observed by a certain character in one of Wilkie Collins's novels (if an imperfect memory serveth me rightly) that women will take pleasure in scents derived from animal emanations, clarified fats, and the like; yet do illogically abhor the ``clean, dry, vegetable smell'' of tobacco. Herein the true base of the feminine objection is reached; being, as usual, inherent want of logic rather than any distaste, in the absolute, for the thing in question. Thinking that they ought to dislike, they do painfully cast about for reasons to justify their dislike, when none really exist. As a specimen of their so-called arguments, I remember how a certain fair one triumphantly pointed out to me that my dog, though loving me well, could yet never be brought to like the smell of tobacco. To whom I, who respected my dog (as Ben saith of Master Shakespeare) on this side idolatry as much as anything, was yet fain to point out -- more in sorrow than in anger -- that a dog, being an animal who delights to pass his whole day, from early morn to dewy eve, in shoving his nose into every carrion beastliness that he can come across, could hardly be considered arbiter elegantiarum in the matter of smells. But indeed I did wrong to take such foolish quibbling seriously; nor would I have done so, if she hadn't dragged my poor innocent dog into the discussion.

Of Smoking in Bed: There be who consider this a depravity -- an instance of that excess in the practice of a virtue which passes into vice -- and couple it with dram-drinking: who yet fail to justify themselves by argument. For if bed be by common consent the greatest bliss, the divinest spot, on earth, ``ille terrarum qui præter omnes angulus ridet''; and if tobacco be the true Herb of Grace, and a joy and healing balm, and respite and nepenthe, -- if all this be admitted, why are two things, super-excellent separately, noxious in conjunction? And is not the Bed Smoker rather an epicure in pleasure -- self indulgent perhaps, but still the triumphant creator of a new ``blend,'' reminding one of a certain traveller's account of an intoxicant patronised in the South Sea Islands, which combines the blissful effect of getting drunk and remaining sober to enjoy it? Yet I shall not insist too much on this point, but would only ask -- so long as the smoker be unwedded -- for some tolerance in the matter and a little logic in the discussion thereof.

Concerning Cigars: That there be large sums given for these is within common knowledge. 1 d., 2 d., nay even 4 d., is not too great a price, if a man will have of the finest leaf, reckless of expense. In this sort of smoking, however, I find more of vainglory and ostentation than solid satisfaction; and its votaries would seem to display less a calm, healthy affection for tobacco than (as Sir T. Browne hath it) a ``passionate prodigality.'' And, besides grievous wasting of the pocket, atmospheric changes, varyings in the crops, and the like, cause uncertainty to cling about each individual weed, so that man is always more or less at the mercy of Nature and the elements -- an unsatisfactory and undignified position in these latter days of the Triumphant Democracy. But worst and fatallest of all, to every cigar-smoker it is certain to happen that once in his life, by some happy combination of time, place, temperament, and Nature -- by some starry influence, maybe, or freak of the gods in mocking sport -- once, and once only, he will taste the aroma of the perfect leaf at just the perfect point -- the ideal cigar. Henceforth his life is saddened; as one kissed by a goddess in a dream, he goes thereafter, as one might say, in a sort of love-sickness. Seeking he scarce knows what, his existence becomes a dissatisfied yearning; the world is spoiled for him, its joys are tasteless: so he wanders, vision-haunted, down dreary days to some miserable end.

Yet, if one will walk this path and take the risks, the thing may be done at comparatively small expense. To such I would commend the Roman motto, slightly altered -- Alieni appetens, sui avarus. There be always good fellows, with good cigars for their friends. Nay, too, the boxes of these lie open; an the good cigar belongs rather to him that can appreciate it aright than to the capitalist who, owing to a false social system, happens to be its temporary guardian and trustee. Again there is a saying -- bred first, I think, among the schoolmen at Oxford -- that it is the duty of a son to live up to his father's income. Should any young man have found this task too hard for him, after the most strenuous and single-minded efforts, at least he can resolutely smoke his father's cigars. In the path of duty complete success is not always to be looked for; but an approving conscience, the sure reward of honest endeavour, is within reach of all.

Poetry from Tobacco in Song and Story

The theme of these poems ought to be apparent. Sight them as often as you can.

"She"

Yes, Dear,
I fear,
I love another, strange to say.
Brunette.
This pet,
And I am with her night and day.
Just now,
I vow,
I pressed her fondly to my lips;
The kiss,
Was bliss,
And thrilled me to my finger tips!
Don't pout,
She's out,
And You are sweeter, love, by far,
Altho'
By Jo!
"She" was an awful good cigar!

By Carl Werner.

A Bachelor's Soliloquy

My oldest pipe, mt dearest girl,
Alas! Which shall it be?
For she has said that I must choose,
Betwixt herself and thee.

Farewell, old pipe; for many years,
You've been my closest friend,
And ever ready at my side,
Thy solace sweet to lend.

No more from out thy weedy bowl,
When fades the twilight's glow,
Will visions fair and sweet arise,
Or fragrant fancies flow.

No more by flickering candle light,
Thy spirit I'll evoke,
To build my castle in the air,
With wreaths of wav'ring smoke.

And so farewell, a long farewell -
Until the wedding's o'er,
And then I'll go on smoking thee,
Just as I did before.

by Edmund Day

Choosing a Wife by a Pipe of Tobacco

Tube, I love thee as my life;
By thee I mean to choose a wife.
Tube, thy color let me find,
In her skin and in her mind.
Let her have a shape as fine;
Let her breath be sweet as thine;
Let her, when her lips I kiss,
Burn like thee to give me bliss;
Let her in some smoke or other,
All my failings kindly smother.
Often when my thoughts are low,
Send them where they ought to go;
When to study I incline,
Let her aid be such as thine;
Such as thine the charming power,
In the vacant social hour.
Let her live to give delight,
Ever warm and ever bright;
Let her deeds, whene'er she dies,
Mount as incense to the skies.

From Gentleman's Magazine