Black Conservatives For Obama

Yesterday in my Lansing State Journal there was a long piece on how Black Conservatives may end up voting for Barack Hussein Obama this year because of the historic opportunity to have a Black man as President. They interviewed several well known and not so well known Black Conservatives to put meat on the bones of the story.

So, I have a few questions…

Can you really be a conservative and vote for a guy you know is virulently against your alleged convictions? (Yes, Yes, I know… Evangelicals do this all the time.)

How is it that voting for somebody because of their race helps to get us beyond race? Isn’t that kind of counter-intuitive?

What is it in the injured psyche of some people (White and Black) that can only be healed with the election of Barack Hussein Obama?

If Black Conservatives will vote for Barack Hussein Obama only because he is Black isn’t that a form of identity politics that Conservatives otherwise rail against?

Some commentary I read suggested that this article was a spin piece put out by the Obama campaign and pointed out the article also named some Black conservatives who, while saying they were proud of Obama as a Black Man reaching these heights, they were going to do everything they could to defeat him.

Here is the question that begs to be asked. What would Black conservatives think of White conservatives if the Presidential race was one where the Republican, Thomas Sowell was running against the Democrat, Ted Kennedy, and White Conservatives were being interviewed saying they were going to vote for Ted Kennedy because he is one of us?

Father’s Day Memoriam — David Lee McAtee

My Father, David Lee McAtee, was born in 1936 in the midst of the poverty of the great depression. He was born into a farm home where his Mom, who was single and pregnant, was forced to marry a man who had several children already and had recently lost his wife in childbirth. Dad was never sure if the man his Mom married was really his Dad.

I never knew my Dad’s Dad as he died before I was born. What little I pieced together over the years suggested that my Dad’s Dad was ‘bad to drink,’ and that he took his liquor out on his son, my Dad. As is the case with many women who are pregnant out of wedlock, my Dad’s mom was overprotective of my Dad to a fault. All this is to say that my Dad’s upbringing was difficult.

He fled home immediately after high school enlisting in the US Army Paratroopers. Dad didn’t speak much of the war years in Korea but what little he did speak suggested that he was uncomfortable with his role in Korea. He once made an offhand comment about shooting people the way he shot rabbits when we went hunting. I don’t ever remember my Father shooting a gun and missing what he was aiming at. Dad was eventually given a medical discharge for a injury received while jumping with his unit. Somewhere around here there is a picture of him in some military magazine in a hospital shaking hands with some visiting British dignitary.

Between his messed up upbringing and his messed up time in the military my Father was a hard man who had a difficult time functioning in social settings. His cruelty, learned from his own Father, carried over into his own family especially to his eldest son. In retrospect, and as odd as it might sound, I think Dad was mean to his eldest because he had the greatest fondness for him. His inability to function in social surroundings took him through a series of revolving jobs. I remember him as a union president at a local factory. I remember him as a salesman, though for the life of me I couldn’t tell you what he sold. I remember him, because I was one of his assistants, along with my siblings, delivering newspapers at 2:00 am on Sunday Mornings. I remember him as an accountant. His revolving jobs meant that Mom did most of the bread-winning in the family. This was a reality that itself caused a great deal of anxiety for him, I think.

Dad had a hard time earning money but he didn’t have a hard time spending it. He loved guns and fishing gear. He also loved books. He didn’t let the fact that he couldn’t afford these things get in the way of actually purchasing them on credit. In later years this came back to bite him as he had to sell many of his collectible firearms in order to square up with the IRS — the one creditor who insists on being paid.

As a boy I remember playing with those weapons while Dad was at work. I never fired them because I knew he would find that out but I would handle each weapon being awed by the craftsmanship.

Whereas men could get away with cruelty in their marriages in earlier generations and get away with it more easily, the times were changing. This meant that the cruelty that Dad carried into his marriage eventuated in his divorce. Women, in the 70’s, while still not having good options in a bad marriage still had more options then their mothers had.

Perhaps, surprising to us all, Dad was able to make a reasonable go at a second marriage, but eventually his spending habits and his inability to hold a job brought tensions into that marriage. His second wife, who was in many ways a kind woman, died not long after their 10th anniversary.

I’ve always thought that Dad’s life may have been a little more adjusted if he had worked with the Department of Natural Resources or something where he could be outdoors. The great outdoors seemed to be the one place where he was able to escape his demons. He was a outstanding fisherman, huntsman and woodsman. He also knew a great deal about hunting dogs. Growing up we always seemed to have a least one beagle and two bird dogs. As I mentioned earlier he also was quite the marksman. I have many fond memories of fishing and hunting with him. I remember hunting rabbits with him accompanied by the neighbors. Both of the hunting parties had Beagles but one of the dogs was particularly high pitched while the other had a bass voice. When the two of them got on a rabbit trail together it was a kind of beautiful sound I’ve never heard since.

Often it was Dad’s habit to say to me after returning from a hunting trip in the evening, “The man in the moon thinks your a goon.” Kind of a funny thing to remember, but it seemed to be a little game he liked to play. Once home we would make sure the dogs were well taken care of and we would proceed to clean the wild game that we shot. I’m not sure now, 35 years later, if I could remember how to skin an animal but when I was 13 I could do it with my eyes closed.

It has been 7 years now since Dad died. I can’t say I have anymore regrets now that he is gone then I did while he was living. My regrets are found in his difficulty to form attachments with those he loved. My regrets are found in in my inability to find a way through his difficulties.

In many ways I am a great deal like my Father. I’ve often thought of myself as a Christian version of my Dad minus the baggage plus God’s incredible saving grace.

On this Fathers Day I thank God for my Dad, being certain that God used him in my life to bend me in the direction that he wanted me bent and I pray that I might be the Father to my son that my Dad struggled being to his children.

Baxter Begins Orientation At Transylvania Reformed Global Missions

Entry II

Baxter walked into the training center at the Headquarters of Transylvania Reformed Global Missions for orientation week.

At a circular shaped table were cute little name tags with each member of the teams name placed where they were to sit. The name tags had been computer generated and on the left side of the name was a picture of the globe and on the right side of the name was a Cross. Baxter thought that was cute.

Baxter picked up his name tag and casually moved his seating assignment so that he was sitting at the location closest to the exit which also had the felicitous advantage of having a wall at his back. In doing so he placed the name tag of ‘Shanicka,’ that had been at the seat he had adopted over to where his name tag had previously been. Baxter didn’t figure anybody would notice the switch.

Eventually the rest of the team began to arrive along with the TRGM staff.

The leader of the orientation week was a Rev. Lynne VanderVries-Masters. Baxter figured she was about 7 months pregnant.

“Welcome to the TRGM orientation week,” Lynne said. “We have a special welcome prepared for you today.”

With this Lynne introduced a William Lincoln who proceeded to begin a rap song.

“J-Man he did come to save
heal the sick and roll the grave
The J-Man he broke all the rules
Now you join his troop of fools

J-Man, J-Man, we need you
J-Man, J-Man, to help us woo
J-Man, J-Man, to find the lost
J-Man, J-Man, to bear all cost”

This cadence continued for some time but Baxter, having gone into ‘incredulity mode,’ missed most of the rest of the ‘lyrics.’ Later, he figured he’d catch the rest of the lyrics on ‘TransylvaniaTube.’

Baxter’s incredulity mode was shattered by a resounding ovation at the completion of Mr. Lincoln’s rap song. Baxter wondered why his Father hadn’t warned him about this kind of thing.

Rev. Lynne stepped forward and said with a smile straight out of a Crest commercial, “We wanted all of you to see that there are many ways to do evangelism and that we should take our audience into account when we speak of the J-Man.” After pausing to giggle appropriately Rev. VanderVries-Masters continued, “It is so important that we get past ‘traditional’ evangelism approaches, if only because we are no longer dealing with ‘traditional’ people. We hope that this rap song will stretch your evangelism comfort zone.”

Baxter wanted to ask how ‘evangelism’ was being defined but he figured that they would eventually get to that so he decided to hold his questions.

After this Rev. Lynne decided that they would have a ‘testimony time’ so the group could get to know each other.

There was about 25 people in the group and in the course of the next two hours Baxter heard recounted just about every sin and dysfunction he could imagine. There was Pete, the former Seminary student, who had quit Seminary because he lost God and who was going on the mission trip with hope of finding God again. There was Alice, the Christian who had become a coke addict but who had repented and was going on mission trip in hope of ‘trying to make up a little bit for my mistakes.’ There was Shanicka, who used to hate white people, but who had come to realize that most white people didn’t realize how racist they were. This had given her the ability to forgive them. There was Henry the former Cabbie from Kansas City who had more sordid stories then Baxter could remember. Baxter wondered if this was what the forced confessions in the re-education camps in Communist countries looked like. He had read about those re-education camps and all these testimonies bore a faint resemblance to what he had read.

Finally it was Baxter’s turn to ‘give his testimony.’

Baxter cleared his throat and said with some embarrassment over his inability to compete with the other inmates,

“Folks, I was baptized as a infant. I grew up in a Christian home. My parents were and are outstanding. They have taught me to continue to trust my Elder Brother Jesus my whole life. They have taught me that I am a sinner and need Jesus. They have trained me in the ways of the covenant. Every week we feast on Christ and my Father reminds us that Christ is for us and forgives our sins. That’s about the extent of my Christian testimony.”

Everyone just stared at Baxter.

Finally, after a pregnant pause, Rev. Lynne said, ‘thats nice Baxter. We are happy for you.’

Baxter thought the tone in her voice sounded like something besides happiness.

With the testimonies completed they were excused for a break.

“When we come back,” Rev. Lynne said, “we will learn about how Reformed people do evangelism.”

Baxter went out to his car and fished around in his glove box where he found his flask. He had never had such a desire for a shot. He figured he’d take two pulls. One to get over what he had just witnessed and one to prepare him for whatever came next.

Grace & Nature — A small Taxonomy

Those of you following Iron Ink you will have noticed that I am providing a running condensation and commentary on Kuyper’s, “Lectures on Calvinism.” We have been dealing with Kuyper’s case of how the issue of God’s relation to man becomes foundational for the kind of culture that a people build. There have been some interesting comments on that.

I woke up this morning with something going through my head that might be helpful in terms of providing a kind of taxonomy for Kuyper’s analysis.

Paganism — The upper realm of Grace overtakes the lower realm of Nature so that grace and nature are indistinguishable. Animism.

Modernism — The lower realm of Nature overtakes the upper realm of Grace so that nature and grace are indistinguishable. Materialism.

Islam (Neo-orthodoxy) — The Upper realm of Grace and the Lower realm of Nature are completely isolated and divorced from one another. Hyper-transcendence leads to immanentism.

Romanism — The Church serves as the talisman and conduit between the Upper realm of Grace and the lower realm of nature. The Church mediates salvation.

Escondidoism — The Upper realm of Grace can only be found in the Church. The lower realm of Nature is isolated from the Upper realm Grace in what is called the common realm.

Calvinism – The Upper realm of Grace transforms the lower realm of nature without the lower realm being turned into or confused with the Upper realm. Grace and nature remain distinct though never divorced.

Cultural Analysis & Russert’s Death

At the risk of sounding like a cold hearted bastard, I have to ask the question; What gives with the whole Tim Russert dying thing?

Given the media exposure that this is getting you would have thought Princess Diana had died again.

Now, whenever death visits any family I am saddened, and I am saddened for the Russert’s loss but I’m still not sure why this death has to be reported on in the way it is. The problem is not that I am put off by a death being reported. The problem is that great numbers of people die yearly that are more influential public persons then Russert was and yet, comparatively speaking, very little is said about their deaths because they are not part of the Hollywood-Media elite family.

I conclude a few things,

First, the media assumes that America loves the same people they love. If I had access to television and print media I suppose that with the death of each of the lambs in the flock I serve I would broadcast it everywhere. This is what the media is doing. They loved Tim Russert and having the control of the levers of the media they are making America share their grief.

Second, one must understand that you can tell a great deal about a people when you look at who they grieve. America’s Hollywood and Media personality culture is evidenced in the way that we are all being held captive to the elites grief, and inasmuch as average Americans are truly grieving it reveals how America is a culture which has taken the Hollywood and Media elite as their representatives. Since I don’t particularly esteem the Hollywood and Media personality culture I am not particularly prone to grieving one of their own as if he was one of my own.

Third, the Hollywood and Media elite are overwhelmingly comprised of people who have no use for Christian notions of God and religion. As such, when a sudden death like this hits them they have no way to handle it. They are a people without God and without hope. When a death of a comparatively young colleague comes suddenly, like Russert’s has, they are brought face to face with their own mortality and like children scared of the night they have to yell out. Given the fact they have all the microphones, when the Hollywood and Media elite ‘yell out’ everyone is forced to listen.

I am honestly saddened for the Russert’s in their time of loss. It is sad whenever somebody this young and productive is summoned. I sorrow more for a culture whose grief is wrapped up in a Hollywood and Media elite culture.